#cyrille lestrange
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Tag Yourself - Part 2. Slytherin Leading Men (Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, Cyrille Lestrange, and Tom Riddle) & How They Finger You
In loving you, these men, who adore you, love when they get to hold you - maybe by gently hugging you and letting you rest on their chest, or perhaps by casually holding your hand and kissing the back of your small hand in theirs. However, in making love with you, their strong, broad hands will tend to wander elsewhere, and while all of them prefer to keep you all filled up with them until you simply can’t think about anything else, they each touch you in their own fitting manner - some with lithe and graceful fingers, others with thick and dominating fingers - so that they each prefer to keep you occupied just a little differently…
[Warning: Please note that these are significantly darker than the Marauder’s ones.] [Warning: Rough Sex.] [Warning: Strong Dom/Sub Dynamics.] [Warning: DDLG Dynamics.] [Warning: Nonconsent.] [Warning: Bondage.] [Warning: Mentions of Bruises.] [Warning: Possessive Behavior.]
Please heed the warnings above before continuing. Keep yourself safe and well. Thank you for taking care of yourself.
Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Cyrille Lestrange is an OC. Thank You!
Severus Snape:
Severus loves hates when you squirm under him, so his hands are usually wrapped tightly around your wrists and pinning you down - against the bookcase, table, wall, bed, rug, doesn’t matter - you’re his. He uses his hips to firmly pin you down, and often uses his knees to spread your thighs as far as possible, because, he claims, it’s the only way to keep you still enough to take my cock, you naughty little thing.
When Severus takes you like that, pushing into you roughly while your legs are splayed wide open for him, thighs flush against his hips, and your arms pinned above your head, and feeling his strong fingers curling tightly around your wrists, you feel all stretched-out and so very vulnerable. The rough burn building up between your legs makes you all breathless, and before long, you feel like your heart is going to burst. Your cries become high and raspy as Severus continues to take you. In fact, Severus loves the way you cry out for him and beg for him when you’re like that. But even though he eventually lets you wrap your legs around him tightly, for you to release some of that intense tension you feel in your body by holding onto him and squeezing his hips with your legs, Severus keeps your wrists pinned down.
Keeping you in such a position lets him bend down and suck hard at your neck, multiplying your soft little moans until they become nonsensical, lilting whimpers of “ah... ah... ahh...” Severus merely groans softly in reply, but inside of his head, he’s dying for adoration and want of you. How can she sound so very beautiful? he wonders, surprising himself with his own sentimentality. Does she know what she’s doing, moaning like that? I mean, does she know what she’s doing to me? Does she know that I find her soft moans perfectly unbearable, and that, consequently, I’m already slipping, already losing control, so that it’s only a matter of minutes before I -
Severus doesn’t realize he’s fucking you harder and harder. His attempt at restraint in keeping back his moans and growls - and dare he admit, his whimpers, means that the unbearable tension rising inside of him has to release another way, and it does - by his pounding into your little pussy until his hips are snapping hard against yours.
“S-Sev! Ah!” Your soft cry rises and falls in longing and desperation. You want more, and yet, you can’t even take this.
“M-mmm-mmm,” you mumble out a soft string of incoherent moans, half in pleasure and half nearly begging - for what? You don’t even know. But you trust Severus to give it to you. So, you babble out, “Give it to m-me, Sev, p-please. W-Want it - ah! - Mmm, please, want you s-so bad, S-Sev,- ah, ah, a-ah...!”
Severus growls, and he pounds you even harder. You can’t believe it. You just can’t - take - it - “Ah! Ah, ah, ah! S-Sev! Ah!”
Driving me fucking insane, Severus growls in his head, and he feels his cock throb in absolute need of you, knows he’s very, very close. And when he’s close, Severus grips your wrists even tighter, and his fingers squeeze hard, almost creating yet another soft burn on your body, lighting up gently around your wrists. By this point, however, you love the feeling of Severus holding onto you like this; it’s the only thing reminding you that you’re still here, in this world, safe with him, and not floating off into some dark paradise all by your lonesome, which is what you’re apt to believe when you’ve been reduced to a moaning, breathless, trembling little mess underneath Severus as he uses your sweet cunt unapologetically for his pleasure.
When he finally cums in you, Severus returns to himself a little, and he soothingly strokes your face before pressing his hand warmly against your flushed, pretty cheek. You moan weakly, and finally, Severus lets go of your wrists. Your arms fall down, and you immediately try to find Severus. Lightheaded and dizzy as you are, your hands still manage to pat gently over Severus’ chest until you find your spot - your spot, on his broad, sturdy chest, where you always rest your hands when you’re with Severus, whether it’s after Severus has made love to you or when you’ve fallen asleep on top of him after a long night of waiting up for him to come back from his office.
It isn’t until a few hours later that impressions of Severus’ thick, strong fingers appear as soft blushing decorations on your wrists. Horrified, Severus ignores your protests that you’re fine. He wraps his arm around your waist and gently but very firmly drags you into his office. There, he quickly applies a soothing balm over each and every bruise with the utmost care, and then he wraps each of your wrists tenderly in bandages.
Kissing your hands softly, he promises he’ll be more careful next time. You marvel at how very soft and tender he’s being with you. When Severus notices your bright eyes studying him most lovingly, he frowns says curtly, “What?” Instead of answering right away, you first sit in his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders.
After a few moments of sweet silence, where the two of you simply hold each other, you whisper mischievously that you rather like the way he holds you down when he fucks your little cunt. Severus tenses at first, not quite believing you. In fact, he pries you away from him and studies your face. He hates to be pitied and doesn’t ever want you hiding your true feelings for his sake. However, you mean it and when you keep reassuring him that you love it because his holding you so tightly makes you feel so connected to him, in a contrasting, yet equally wonderfully way from the way he ravishes the rest of your body, Severus finally calms down.
Speaking a bit gruffly to hide both how embarrassed and pleased he is by your genuine liking the way he grips your little wrists in his, Severus still promises that he’ll be gentler with you next time. You agree, but you give him a little smirk, taking that as a bit of a challenge for yourself, and leaning forward, you playfully bite Severus’ neck, causing him to immediately grip your waist far tighter than he means to. When Severus scowls at you and takes his hands away, you laugh softly and hug him all the tighter, burying yourself against his warm chest.
Lucius Malfoy:
You love to suck on Lucius’ fingers. You don’t know exactly why, but feeling your small fingers wrap around his wrist, drawing his elegant hand towards you, and then bending your head just a little to let his smooth, beautiful fingers slip between your lips... You exhale in pleasure as soon you feel his fingertips grazing your soft little tongue. You love the taste of Lucius - whether it be his fingers, his neck, or his cock. It’s just that when you’re busy kissing his neck or sucking his cock, you can’t really observe him at the same time, and you like to see him slowly but surely give into you. He’s a cold, stern, and unforgiving man, but when you can heat him up softly by running your warm mouth all over him, you find that he melts a little for you - however much he tries to deny it, you know.
Often Lucius is busy writing letters - what he’s so upset about that he has to go dashing off letters to the Ministry all the time, you can’t comprehend, but you do know that his hands can be put to better use - namely, by pleasing you. So, you meander your way over to him.
“What?” Lucius asks coldly, not even sparing you a glance.
“Nothing,” you reply, sounding equally disinterested. But you lean over his shoulder and pointing, you murmur softly, “Oh, look, a spelling mistake...”
When Lucius pauses and drops his quill for just a moment, you very quickly and slyly take your chance to slide your way in-between the table and his chair, ending up right in his lap. You immediately make yourself at home, rubbing your plush ass against his thighs until you’re quite happy with your lot. Then, beaming up at Lucius, you draw his hand up to your mouth and take your fingers into your mouth, and you suck on them, all the while staring up at Lucius with a most pleased smile on your face, eyes and cheeks glowing at your petty victory.
At once, Lucius draws his hand away, pretending to be disgusted by you, but you just smirk knowingly and slid off of his lap. Sliding onto the floor in a soft heap of lace and silk until you’re sitting between Lucius’ feet, you lean up a little, until your head is poking out from under the desk and beneath his thighs, and you slide your hands up the inside of his broad, strong thighs. Then, for the quickest second, you lean forward, bury your face between his strong thighs, and place your soft, pretty mouth against the evident bulge in his pants.
Lucius’ brow furrows, and his hands fall to either of the chair armrests at his sides. He exhales sharply; his proud chest unexpectedly deflating as he breathes out in a sharp, almost pained huff of breath. Quick as a snake, you yank his hand off the chair arm and once again suck on his fingers. This time, you give him a vicious grin, and your eyes glint at your tactic. You disarmed him by teasing him, by giving him false hope for just that second that you might possibly start to take his cock in your mouth, but no, you won't.
Feeling both ashamed and angry by your false taunts and the fact that he even let himself get his hopes up for a second, after being tricked by you so many times now, Lucius growls furiously, “You think you’re funny, kitten?”
With a sincere look and his fingers still in your mouth, you blink at him and shake your head emphatically. No, not funny. Not funny at all. But then, you smile the tiniest sliver.
With an even deeper growl, clearly indicating how displeased he is with your antics, for Lucius demands to be taken seriously, Lucius stands up suddenly. In one swift motion, he yanks you up by your neck and pins you down roughly against his desk. You gasp, but your mouth has barely fallen open in a hushed gasp, when Lucius is already groping your body, taking special care to massage your soft breasts all over with his greedy, rough hands. He touches you passionately enough to make you cry out, as his fingers thumb rather meanly at your nipples through your lace dress.
“No bra, you naughty little thing,” he whispers to you in a near hiss. “Can’t even properly dress yourself.”
You mewl somewhat indignantly as your cute, expensive dress, made entirely of silk and lace, falls apart so quickly under Lucius’ hands. He doesn’t care, that piece of fabric is utterly worthless to him - at least, compared to what’s underneath. His broad hands roam very possessively over your sweet little body, pushing your breasts together before running up and down your curves and then passing softly over your soft tummy.
Then, cradling you in his arms, he kisses you. With you all gathered up underneath him and in his arms, the dress straps slip down your shoulders. At the same time, you feel Lucius’ hand hurriedly hiking the hem of your dress all the way up to your waist. But the time Lucius lays you back down, your dress has essentially pooled to your middle, all bunched up over your tummy and just barely clinging onto your hips.
Lucius doesn’t care, so long as it’s out of his way as he jerks his trousers down and takes his position to fuck you. Your eyes widen and you gasp in both pleasure and surprise as Lucius takes you as his. Thankfully, your sucking his fingers and his touching you all over has made you wetter than you’d like to admit, so it’s easy for Lucius to slip in. But as soon as he’s inside of you, a soft burn lights up between your thighs and you moan, feeling Lucius lean forward to press himself deeper inside of you, taking your tight, sweet cunt for himself.
“You think you can get away with being so naughty all the time, distracting me with your silly antics, not even having the decency to be properly dressed?” Lucius half-purrs and half-scolds you. “What have I told you about disobeying my rules, kitten?”
“I... I...” But before you can get any coherent words out, Lucius is fucking you, making love to you roughly and passionately, and it’s all a blur. You’re completely blanked out on his cock, on his gorgeous, thick cock stuffing your precious little cunt all full.
Overwhelmed by how deep inside of you he is, your eyes sparkle with tears as you reach for his hand again and put his fingers back in his mouth. Lucius gives you a dark, warning look, but damn it all if his cock isn’t twitching inside of you at the sight of you reaching for even more of him, to want his fingers even when he’s giving you his cock so very deep inside of your tight little body.
She should be pushing me away, but she’s wanting more of me. What a devious, dumb little kitten she is, he thinks, frowning at you. For a moment, he takes in the way you’re lying back on his desk, and he sighs as he realizes that you’ve messed up his desk entirely again. But clearly, you don’t care one bit that you’ve messed up all of his letters by how much you’re thrashing about as you take his cock, arching your back, shaking your head, and trembling your little legs.
No, little one, you don’t care about anything as long as you get what you want, don’t you? Lucius thinks to himself, staring down at you. But he can’t hold the thought for very long. You’re so tender and sweet as you lay there, his fingers shoved in your mouth and his cock stuffing your pussy, and you’re still diligently holding up your little legs, with your hands tucked just beneath the back of your knees, as you present yourself so beautifully for him.
Oh fine, Lucius groans, and with a long groan of relief and release, he cums inside of you. Lucius isn’t one for cuddling, and he falls back into his chair as soon as he’s certain that you’ve taken every last bit of his cum inside of you. But you tiredly push yourself up and then flop over onto him, forcing him to catch you. Lucius lets out a disgruntled noise, but all the same, he pulls you up into his lap and gathers you up in his arms.
You lean forward and kiss his lips sweetly. When Lucius pulls away, you laugh, and then your little hand sneaks down to your waist and before Lucius knows it, you’ve pulled his hand back up to your mouth and are sucking on his fingers yet again.
Always getting what you want, Lucius thinks, with a sigh. He stares at you, reluctant to betray the deep fondness he feels for you as he watches you humming in pleasure and with your eyes sweetly closed as you suck on his fingers hungrily.
But a moment later, when your eyes open, you pause from sucking on his fingers to smile at him, clearly letting him know that you’ve won this round, that you’ve successfully distracted him from his letter and enticed him to spend time with you, to make love to you, and Lucius finally (though silently) gives in to you. This time, he lifts his hand and slips his fingers into your pretty mouth himself, giving you, his sweet little kitten, exactly what wants from him.
Cyrille Lestrange:
Well, you’ve noticed by now that Cyrille’s long, elegant fingers love to wrap around your throat. He whispers in his silvery voice all of these endearing nicknames like, “Princess,” “Sweetheart,” and “Angel” - but all the while he’s absolutely punishing your pussy.
Just when you’re begging to cum, Cyrille pretends to pity you, purring in your ear, “Aw, is Angel feeling all trapped in her little ribbons?” You nod, tears in your eyes, and Cyrille’s fingers slip away from your neck. Thinking that he’s going to let go of you, you start to exhale, but that’s right when Cyrille sneakily and suddenly tightens the ribbons around your body and throat to up the tension that you’re feeling all throughout your body. You gasp; Cyrille doesn’t always choke you, but how deftly he keeps you trapped in his arms and in these seemingly innocent silk ribbons always catches you off guard and leaves you breathless.
But then Cyrille’s fingers, after pushing into your pussy a few times, making a few wet squelches ring out into the air because of how wet you’ve become for him, slip right back around your neck and tighten, and your eyes roll back softly. For you’ve learned that when Cyrille does choke you, it’s precisely when you’re most desperate for air - not one beat sooner or one beat later.
However, Cyrille is careful. He never leaves marks on your neck, nor does he ever choke you for too long. All he wants to do is to heighten your pleasure to a dizzying, almost incomprehensible height: to add that extra bit of buzzing, high-heaven sensation throb through your already pulsing body, all feverish with lust (and love, Cyrille hopes) - in short, to make those angel’s wings on your back flutter uncontrollably with sinful pleasure - and then to be there to hold you and kiss you when you come back down to earth.
And Cyrille does all this with you, guiding his angel high up until she’s losing her mind in his arms, and then he brings you right back down, softly, from your spiraling high, covering your face with soft kisses. He keeps his fingers wrapped around your neck, still - but gently now, and more to help you keep your head up so he can kiss your face than to actually apply any pressure.
Breathing shallowly, you blearily open your eyes, body completely limp against your lover’s, and Cyrille is there, as sturdy as you could wish for, despite his long, thin, and cut frame. Because your Serpent Prince is a master of control, one who teaches you simultaneously about heaven and hell.
Truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve fallen deeply in love with this man of a thousand disguises - the man who turned his own devilish powers against those who corrupted him to Heal countless victims, and more personally, the man who first made love to you under the brilliant canopy of a glittering night sky atop the Astronomy Tower and has since proved his love to you a thousand times over since...
“Cy?” you whisper exhaustedly.
“Yes, angel?”
“Was I a good submissive today?”
Cyrille chuckles lightly at you. “Are you ever?”
You frown a little at this. “But I did my very best.”
“Oh, angel, I know you did. I know,” Cyrille says reassuringly.
“I let you wrap me up in these ridiculous silk ribbons again,” you say, now almost scowling at him.
Cyrille laughs inside of his head at how quickly you’re slipping back into your normal demeanor. And with that scowl plastered across your face, he knows exactly what you want - you want to be held and rewarded for your efforts. “Come here, princess.”
You feel the silk ribbons fall away from your body, and you find yourself nestled most comfortably against Cyrille. You smile wanly up at him, and he rewards you with a long, soft kiss that steals your breath away in yet another way. Cyrille lightly runs a finger over your nose and lips, tracing his precious angel’s beautiful face.
“You can’t help but be a brat,” Cyrille lets you know, but he’s smiling softly down at you as he continues on, in his lovely, soft, silvery voice, “But I love you for that, princess.”
A moment later, your lips move under his fingertip, and you tell him earnestly, “Love you, too, Cy.”
Tom Riddle:
Tom’s hands are always, always deathly cold. He knows that, because he can feel how warm you are, this soft, warm, whispering little cloud in his lap, telling him (taunting him, it seems) with promises of love and heaven that he can never believe in, no matter how much he wants to.
“Tom, when I’m with you, I feel so safe,” you confess, burrowing your face sweetly against his neck. “My friends tell me to be careful around you, but I don’t understand them. You aren’t dangerous, are you?”
Tom pauses. A pleased smile appears on his face, as he tells you softly, “No, of course not. What a ridiculous thing to say.”
“Right,” you say, almost sharing in his smugness (or so you believe) as you smile in satisfaction at his answer and go back to laying little kisses up and down his neck and sharp jawline.
“Why do you care what they say about me?” Tom lifts an eyebrow thoughtfully. He knows he could shut them all up if he wanted to.
“Oh, just because, I feel like people go out of their way to misjudge you,” you reply earnestly. “And it makes me sad to think they can’t see you the way I see you.”
Oh, that’s why? Well, that’s no concern of mine. Who cares how anyone else sees me, so long as she still graces my nights with her silly little thoughts and soft little shape? Tom thinks to himself, and he instantly reverts back to his careless, arrogant demeanor, knowing that his relationship with you isn’t threatened at all by these so-called ‘rumor-mongers.’
“Well, why should they see me as you do?” Tom returns haughtily. “I take no delight in pleasing anyone but you. You ought to know this by now. Or shall I remind you of what it means to be mine?” This is when his fingers begin to travel lightly on the outside of your arm, and the chilliness of his hand makes you shiver in his lap.
“Hm, little one?” Tom asks, barely holding back a smirk as he watches your brow furrow, for you’re trying not to turn away from his cold hand. But a moment later, you give up entirely. Instead, you burrow further against his neck and chest, now pressing yourself up against him.
Tom lets you press yourself up against him, and he remains silent. However, he then knowingly traces his fingertips up your shoulder, then slipping into your hair, before grazing the back of your warm, bare neck.
You jolt slightly, twitching against him, and Tom smirks. It pleases Tom to no end that he’s the man you’re sharing these lovely, otherworldly moments of romance with.
But then, you draw back a little and you gaze at Tom with such sincerity as you whisper, “Are you cold, my love? I can bring you a blanket or a cup of tea. Just tell me what you want.”
At this simple gesture of kindness, Tom’s eyes flash coldly at you, losing the slight kindling of warmth that had barely begun to spark in his locked-away soul. Because, truth be told, while Tom enjoys entertaining what he thinks of as ‘your delusions of love,’ sometimes, as in this moment, it annoys him how sure of yourself you seem to be in loving Tom.
You’re obviously wrong, little one, Tom thinks scathingly while gazing at you. There is no such thing as true love in the world. So, why are you so exasperatingly foolish, as to keep forcing this illusory idea of love upon me, when it doesn’t exist? But the very thought that it might exist and that it might be sitting in his lap right at this very moment, gazing concernedly at him, terrifies Tom - terrifies him more than all the stages of Dante’s Inferno combined. Therefore, it’s in a very cold and unforgiving voice that he murmurs back to you, “Well, if you truly mean for me to tell you what I desire, then might I remind you that there are other ways for you to warm me up tonight?”
That’s why, when Tom has you undress yourself and present to him in only your panties, lying down on the bed and waiting for him, Tom decides to teach you a little lesson. He first runs his cold fingers lightly up and down your body, barely touching you. He wants you to feel as vulnerable before him as you make him feel before you. Sure enough, you shiver and stare up at Tom with wide eyes.
With a gratified smirk, Tom rips your panties off with one easy yank, and then plunges two of his cold fingers into the warmth wetness of your pussy, making you gasp in surprise. Your heartbeat jumps up to a racing speed in a matter of seconds, and your pretty eyes go wide with shock. Tom feels such a thrill when he notices how your warm little cunt clenches so very tightly around his cold fingers. He pushes his fingers in even deeper, until his cold rings push at your little pussyhole - you both clench your teeth together - and then when his rings slip in, too, you both moan, you because of the sensation of being finger-fucked by Tom Riddle, and Tom because of the gratification he gets from watching you moan and shiver for him like this.
“So c-cold, Tom,” you bleat out pitifully, clutching at the sheets.
“Mm, I know,” Tom says, and his voice lacks even a drop of empathy. He loves seeing you like this, using you like this.
Before long, his fingers are cruelly and mercilessly pumping away at your pussy, and when your pussy gets all wet and flushed, he reaches over with his other hand and slaps your pussy hard, making you cry out.
And you’re getting all dizzy, as the ceiling spins above you, and you have to hold onto the sheets as hard as you can to keep any semblance of reality, but Tom is pushing and pushing and pushing at your little hole - and - and “Ah!” you gasp loudly. “Tom!”
“Yes. Keep going. Keep cumming. Keep saying my name,” Tom growls at you.
“C-Can’t!” you stutter out. “Can’t anymore, p-please!”
Tom smirks, and he whispers to you in his most silky and deep voice, “Of course you can. You don’t need to hide how desperate you are in front of me. I know what you want, my love, and I’ll give it to you - on the one condition that you never hold back from me. So. Let me hear you moan. Cry out for me. Don’t hold back any longer.”
His permission unlocks a realm in your mind that you didn’t even know you wanted, but it turns out that it was all you were waiting for. You cry out mindlessly, with the sweetest voice, “A-Ah! Ah, ah, ah!”
Tom’s in love with you. He knows it, even if some part of him wants to deny it. He loves the way you give yourself to him - which is acceptable. But worse, he desires to be there for you when it’s all over. He doesn’t want just this, as gratifying and incredible as it all is. He wants you.
Meanwhile, your entire body trembles and you fall into that subconscious realm of sex, passion, possession, darkness, and domination - where you know your Tom will be waiting for you, waiting to meet you and make you his, just as your little heart desires.
And at the very, very end, when you ignore Tom’s irritated remarks that he doesn’t want you to lie on his chest and you cuddle up against him anyways, it’s you that has the satisfied smile as you whisper to him adoringly, “Guess what, Tom?”
“What?” he asks, annoyed.
You place a kiss on his chest before reaching over and dragging his arm around your waist. Then, comfortable with where you are, with your love, you tell him, “Now you’re warm, too. I win.”
And before Tom can even berate you, you’ve fallen asleep with the most peaceful smile gracing your lovely face.
#tag yourself#harry potter imagine#harry potter smut#severus snape#severus snape x reader#lucius malfoy#lucius malfoy x reader#severus snape smut#lucius malfoy smut#cyrille lestrange#cyrille lestrange x reader#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle smut
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[Fantastic Beasts] Desiree Lestrange Moodboard
“It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small,
And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all!
It's time to see what I can do --
To test the limits and break through!
No right, no wrong -- no rules for me...
I'm free!
~“Let It Go (cover)” by Elsie Lovelock
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Tagging @kathrynalicemc because her brainstorming fueled mine times ten -- love you, girl!! 💙💙💙
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The Lestrange family was well-respected in Europe, particularly in their home country of France. Among the heirs of the Lestrange family was Cyrille Lestrange, fourth of his name, who fathered two very beautiful and talented children: an analytical, sensible daughter named Desiree and a careless, arrogant son named Marius. Unfortunately, Cyrille died very suddenly of dragon pox, leaving his son and heir to inherit the entire family fortune at the ripe old age of sixteen. Marius Lestrange almost instantly relished the privilege that came with becoming head of the household, spending lavishly on parties, fine wines, and pleasurable company and leaving his mother and sister to try to pick up the pieces for his bad behavior as best they could. Desiree was pressured, from the time she was very young, to set a good example for Marius and take responsibility for all of his mistakes, both as his older sister and as the more grounded of the two siblings, since “boys will be boys” and Marius as heir really never had as many expectations or boundaries placed upon him by either of his parents. Desiree was also expected to take on a job that would earn her money so as to mitigate Marius’s bad spending habits, which ended up leading her to work for the Banque Ducristaux, the most well-regarded bank in France, as Head Cursebreaker. Everything changed one day, though, when Desiree collided with the Captain and navigator of the infamous flying ship Empyrean. Although few know the full story of how this starry-eyed rapscallion with no glory in his surname swept such a down-to-earth, practical woman from a wealthy, well-respected Pureblood family up in his dreams of sky-sailing and high-flying adventure, one thing is for certain -- if she was forced to go back in time to the day she left France, Desiree would take flight on the Empyrean again a thousand times over.
#fantastic beasts and where to find them#hphl#hphm#desiree lestrange#about desiree#face claim is ruth negga -- isn't she pretty??#yes she's a distant cousin of leta lestrange#who honestly deserved SO much better in the films *sips tea*#being a cursebreaker desi's most expert at translating languages and defense against the dark arts in general#seriously this girl is awesome at wizard dueling she can and will kick your arse if she has to#she's also really organized though so you can expect her to sort your socks if she does laundry and your stuff is in it#hahaha#but yeah this girl finally found the joy in deciding to work for someone out of her own choice rather than solely obligation#so she's all the more passionate in what she does now that she's in a place where she can both feel useful and actually have FUN#thanks jules :')
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CORNELIUS CRABBE is TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD and an AUROR in THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT at THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. He looks remarkably like CHANCE PERDOMO and considers himself aligned with THE DEATH EATERS. He is currently TAKEN.
→ OVERVIEW:
Raised in money and born to pursue power and status, Cornelius Crabbe was raised with the understanding the world was his oyster due to their family’s immense wealth and impressive family dynasty. The only child of CYRIL CRABBE and ESMEE MONTAGUE, Cornelius was raised near the Muggle Parrish of Chalfont St. Giles, at Silverwater Manor, one of the larger estates owned by families within The Sacred Twenty-Eight, surrounded by beautiful gardens and a lake so ethereal it looks as though it is filled with liquid silver glimmering in the sunlight. As a child everything was done for Cornelius. Food was brought on a silver tray by their elves and every whim was catered to, with his mother and father at their long solid wood dining table they told him how marvellous he was. Cornelius was their golden boy, their shining wonder and all they could have ever hoped for in a son, but all of their love and attention did not mean he escaped the heavy burden most Sacred Twenty-Eight children had weighing heavily on their shoulders and for Cornelius it weighed far more heavily than others. As their only child it was Cornelius’ duty to carry on his family line with grace and diligence, inserting himself within the Ministry or in academia as all other members of his family had done before him and keeping his bloodline pure in the process.
His mother and father met whilst Cyril was away from Buckinghamshire onespring, meeting his soon-to-be wife Esmée who worked in the records room for The French Ministry of Magic in Paris. Esmée was a prospective match for Cyril, though he was glad to have fallen in love with her. It was Esmée who introduced a love of history into Cyril’s life, the two amassing the largest collection of accurate historical documents kept by private owners which are currently on display at Silverwater. Though historically his family had always been purists, their obsession with ruling over Muggles had begun with his parents who had collected various letters and newspaper clippings referring to GELLERT GRINDELWALD and had slowly become sucked into his doctrine. As Cornelius walked amongst the displays at Silverwater, with his mother’s hands on his shoulders she encouraged him to aspire to a place amongst them and never lose sight of how he would be remembered long after he was gone. This idea of being remembered was what fuelled Cornelius and as he was sorted into Slytherin with the hat barely touching his head he was both pleased and unsurprised, Determined and resourceful, great people had come from Slytherin and Cornelius he was sure would be another feather in the cap of his house.
His name alone attracted great friendships, forging close bonds with RABASTAN LESTRANGE and ADRAIN CAVERLY who became his closest friends before he spread his wings further and began getting into an older crowd of students, becoming instantly incredibly close with CAIUS BURKE, LAVENDER BULSTRODE, ERIK BORGIN, LACHLAN MCTAVISH and ANYA ROOKWOOD who held similar outlooks on the future. He was drawn to those who longed to make their mark on the world, though he had always been too proud to idolise or be in awe of anyone. A wise and diligent student, he became a prefect alongside the lovely ANDROMEDA BLACK, who had similar ambitions of his own he understood to follow in her family’s footsteps to an influential position within the Ministry and quickly sought out a friendship with her, though he was sorry to say it didn’t amount to more than that. With his parents more concerned with Cornelius making his way in the world as a younger man, the topic of marriage was not something on his mind, garnering a reputation amongst the upper classes as an untrainable catch that a fair few sorcerers had tried to ensnare. The beautiful ALYS WARRINGTON was someone who often catches his eye, though even someone as divisive as Cornelius believes she was too sweet to break the heart of.
As he progressed into adulthood Cornelius became far less selective as to who he spent time with and enjoyed trifling with those who were dangerous, privately enjoying the company of vampires, werewolves, veelas and Muggle-Borns who strike him as particularly interesting, though it is not known at all to the rest of his community. It is Cornelius’ wandering eye that has led to his only ‘near misses’ in life. The first being GENEVIEVE AVERY, the only person who tempted Cornelius to suppress his constant desire for companions. Cornelius found her the most interesting and complicated woman he had ever known, though even she found him difficult to pin down. Cornelius has never been one to judge someone on their desires and pursuit of them, although a large part of him wondered as he flicked through The Prophet after she had come Genevieve Avery-WIlkes, if it was wiser to stay a single man or risk ending up dead on your wedding night with a very rich widow which would have certainly thrown a wrench into his plans. A long-standing member of THE DARK LORD’s following after being introduced by his friend Rabastan not long after he had graduated, Cornelius has been playing the tole of inside man within the Ministry which hasn’t exactly been easy, though he believes he has done it well.
Working closely to those marked as suspicious by The Death Eaters, including HESTIA JONES, KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT and ALASTOR MOODY who he believes value him as a dependable member of their team, Cornelius feels somewhat invincible and is confident in his ability to lie and procure information. Although Cornelius is not the most devout purist, his obsession with power has made him an excellent fit for The Death Eaters and his charisma and intelligence mean he is well placed to gain important information for their cause. As always however, Cornelius is always thinking two steps ahead and has his sights set on a senior position within The Dark Lord’s Army which would ensure he obtains his highest goal. Becoming The Minister for Magic. A ruthless individual, Cornelius is not afraid to cut down those he considers close friends in order to achieve this goal and had found his plans going fairly well until he made the acquaintance of a certain journalist one evening in the early spring. EMILIA GREY is a Muggle-Born beautiful enough to rival even that of a veela and a determination to get ahead which rivals even that of Cornelius own, which he saw at length when she turned up at his office and proceeded to blackmail him with a photo of them together at a party.
Her offer was one he wasn’t sure benefited him until he considered it at length. She would publish information he gave her, keep him anonymous and become famous in the process? But what was in it for him? As he swirled his whiskey he saw the headlines made possibly by him. Cornelius had information by the bucketload, he just needed someone with a quill to publish it in the exact way he needed. Accepting her offer, Cornelius was quick to notify Emilia of the attack on BENJY FENWICK which had been orchestrated by BELLATRIX BLACK, feeding her information that the Ministry had been unable to protect him and allowing her to make her own links to a similar attack on BOOKER BAGNOLD sixth months prior. Cornelius watched as the drama unfolded the following day, his office in uproar, fingers pointing as to who had leaked the information and his name far off anyone’s lips as they scrambled to find the vampire who had attacked him. Safe to say Bellatrix was impressed by this small victory, but for now Crabbe wants to keep it to himself. Him and Emilia had much further to go before he gets what he wants and only at the right time will he present his activities to The Dark Lord and leapfrog the competition to the highest seat in office.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:
Blood Status → Pure-Blood
Identification → Cis Male
Sexuality → Pansexual
Relationship Status → Single
Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Slytherin)
Societies → N/A
Family → Charles Monteague (cousin), Darcey Monteague (cousin)
Connections → Caius Burke (best friend), Lavender Bulstrode (best friend), Erik Borgin (close friend), Anya Rookwood (close friend), Lachlan McTavish (close friend), Rabastan Lestrange (close friend), Walden MacNair (close friend), Adrian Caverly (close friend), Alys Warrington (close friend/potential love interest), Andromeda Black (friend), Emilia Grey (confidant/potential romantic liaison), Genevive Avery (former romantic liaison), Alastor Moody (boss), Bellatrix Black (boss)
Future Information → Father of Vincent Crabbe
CORNELIUS CRABBE IS A LEVEL 7 WIZARD.
#marauders rpg#marauders rp#harry potter roleplay#harry potter rp#marauders roleplay#Cornelius Crabbe#wizard#death eater#The Department of Mysteries#Ministry of Magic#Auror office#taken lgbtqia+#taken#taken wizard#taken death eater
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summary : a collection of the cultural influences on the character of taliesin lestrange, including a look at the three lestrange bloodlines, welsh language, food, holidays, and and legends tagging : @burialnetwork ( task 003 )
bloodlines. there are three primary bloodlines of the lestrange family. the family is originally from the burgundy region of france, with the cyrille and corvus bloodlines still calling the country home. however, at some point a portion of the family migrated to wales. this line was previously referred to simply as the welsh line, but after taliesin’s great grandfather’s time as minister of magic became known as the radolphus bloodline. the radolphus bloodline is, despite the amount of time they have been located in wales, still close with their french cousins, although culturally they are far more welsh than french, as can be seen in how they pick their names. radolphus lestrange children are often gifted traditional welsh names. taliesin’s own name is a reflection of this practice, named after a legendary wizard from wales, and his middle name, cadfael, being both the name of his uncle and meaning battle prince in welsh.
language. taliesin grew up speaking both english and welsh, which his father taught him. in the lestrange household, english was the casual and common language, partially due to the fact that dorthea was not fluent, though she had picked up aspects of it over the years. welsh was often reserved for serious and likely tense exchanges between aneurin and taliesin. in fact, it was in welsh that taliesin was reprimanded for the use of the s-word. for this reason, welsh is a much more emotionally charged language for him, and is often what he’ll turn to to express anger or frustration. for example, an exclamation of pain is more likely to be cachi than fuck. likewise, if he is with someone who also speaks welsh, he will instinctively switch to welsh if the conversation grows tense.
food. when taliesin taught himself to cook, he often turned to traditional recipes. part of this was due to the number of dishes he could think of that did not require the delicate touch of steady hands, but also because it provided a comfort, a piece of home he could make himself while he was at the clinic. cawl and rarebit are two of his favorites, especially in the winter. he’s tried his hand at making bara brith but has learned that baking does require more exact measurements, though pice ar y maen is something he can manage if he is careful.
holidays. instead of halloween or samhain, taliesin grew up celebrating nos calan gaeaf and calan gaef on october 31st and november 1st respectively. within the lestrange household, officially, it was little more than a time for family to gather together for a meal, with treats for the children and some caution extended due to the fact that the distance between life and death was slimmer. both dorthea and aneurin had little time for what they saw as the more lowbrow traditions the surrounded the holiday, however that did not mean that taliesin never experienced them. a practice of having a bonfire on nos calan gaeaf is common and is often accompanied with a divination practice in which participants write their name on a stone and leave it in the fire. if your stone was not found the next day, it meant you would die within the year. older cousins of taliesin, morys, rhydian, and aerona, saw this as a perfect opportunity to mess with the younger boy. they snuck off to have their own bonfire several years, over which they would frighten him with stories of yr hwch ddu gwta, reminding him that they had to get home before the fire burned out or the spirit would eat their souls. the practice continued in secret among the cousins for several years, until taliesin was nine and morys thought it would be funny to remove taliesin’s rock before he was able to check for it the next day. taliesin, convinced of his own imminent death, spilled the secret of the yearly bonfire to his mother.
legends. as a curious and adventurous child, it makes sense that taliesin grew up enjoying stories of the fantastic. one such story was of the merlin, morgan le fay, and their involvement in the court of king arthur. knights being aided by magic was perfect to capture the young boy’s attention. however, due to growing up in wales, additional characters appeared in the versions taliesin was told or read. besides that, tales of specifically welsh magical exploits were also his to enjoy. giants like ysbaddaden, the wizards gwydion and math, and others, all captured taliesin’s imagination. his own namesake even appeared a few times. he enjoyed them to the point of naming his pet, an eagle-owl gifted to him on his eleventh birthday ( with the assumption that it would help him keep in touch from hogwarts, but ended up serving the same purpose from a different location ), eliwlod, after the nephew of king arthur who was likely an animagus, as he was known to have the ability to turn into a raptor.
#i. selective vocabulary means the details are somewhat obscured ; concealed or complicated with purpose. : about.#burialtask#burialtask003
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HOUSE OF SLYTHERIN
— Max Irons as Aerys Novak O'Malley
— Diego Barrueco as Jaxon Fuentes Travers
— Anya Chalotra as Walburga Black
— Jamie Campbell Bower as Abraxas Malfoy
— Mena Massoud as Orion Black
— Freya Allan as Druella Rosier
— Louis Hofman as Charlie Rosier
— Avan Jogia as Alphard Black
— Miguel Herrán as Alfonso Nott
— Robert Sheehan as Elijah Mulciber
— Alberto Rosende as Santiago Avery
— Jeremy Irvine as Cyrille Lestrange
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Oh hey, it’s LUDOVICA LESTRANGE, the 6th year CISGENDER FEMALE SLYTHERIN. I always thought SHE looked just like the muggle, MARILYN LIMA. I’ve heard they’re ASTUTE+TENACIOUS, but also MOODY+SPITEFUL. Hope they have a good year!
hello i’m cinnamon and i’m so excited to plot with everyone! here’s my baby ludovica!
( tw divorce )
Ludovica Lestrange was descended from Cyrille Lestrange’s bloodline. Her mother, Pucine, had married an Italian pureblood wizard – also from a known family, old rich. A good match, their families would say. They eventually settled in Great Britain.
Ludovica was coddled as a child, her parents having wanted her to have the best upbringing. She was growing up to be bright and talented, and her childhood was more than comfortable, materially, anyway.
At first, it was the little fights she had noticed. At some point, her parents had stopped getting along as well, and she never quite knew why until much later. They separated when Ludovica was nine. It was a chaotic time in their lives and Ludovica had not wanted to take sides. She was always taught that family was important. Such a belief was tested, and she won’t admit it, but it’s something she thinks about from time to time.
Ludovica ended up taking her mother’s maiden name and staying with her mother until she had to go to Hogwarts. There is still occasional contact with her father.
In Hogwarts, she was sorted into Slytherin. No surprise there, most of the family were.
She’s sharp and driven, perhaps a bit opportunistic and self-preserving, but she knows how to get ahead, or at least stay ahead, her methods quite artful as she advanced through the years.
There was always a charm about her, something beyond her name, a glint in her eye that spelled danger but at the same time drew others in with its promise of thrill. She’s a rule breaker whenever she could get away with it, and get away with it she did so plenty.
She could be more than a bit temperamental, perhaps a little intimidating to those who do not know her well, though those who did just knew it was the way Ludovica was – a little unpredictable, sometimes hard to read, but never boring.
Her best subjects are Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Charms. She is part of the Dueling Club as well as the Potions Club. She was taught Occlumency by her mother, but this is not a widely known fact.
possible connections, leaving these vague so we can discuss deets:
Flings, FWBs, one night stands - Probably had several of these. Ludovica is pansexual, enjoys the company of another, though has always had a problem committing.
Old friend - They got along before they had a Big Fight™ and stopped talking to each other for a period of time.
Unlikely friend - No one expected them to hang around each other but somehow it happened.
Enemies - Ludovica’s rubbed them the wrong way somehow.
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The Curse of Time
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2WzwFUd
by TheMafiaPureblood
Cyrille Sitara Potter was praying that when she had received her letter telling her about a school for wizardry and magic, she would have tons of friends, find love, and love her life happily.
Little did she know she would have friends and love, but would experience much more. Pain, suffering, preparation for a war, and heart break. All for her to have a chance at her happy ending.
Being James Potters twin, a mischievous prankster, and a sarcastic trouble maker. She seems to have a long few years ahead of her.
Words: 54, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Characters: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, Dorea Black Potter, Charlus Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Marlene McKinnon, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Frank Longbottom, Alice Longbottom, Regulus Black, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Walburga Black
Relationships: Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s), Remus Lupin & Original Female Character(s), James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Charlus Potter/Dorea Black Potter, Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Additional Tags: Heartbreak, Death, Sex, Violence
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2WzwFUd
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The Curse of Time
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2WzwFUd
by TheMafiaPureblood
Cyrille Sitara Potter was praying that when she had received her letter telling her about a school for wizardry and magic, she would have tons of friends, find love, and love her life happily.
Little did she know she would have friends and love, but would experience much more. Pain, suffering, preparation for a war, and heart break. All for her to have a chance at her happy ending.
Being James Potters twin, a mischievous prankster, and a sarcastic trouble maker. She seems to have a long few years ahead of her.
Words: 54, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Characters: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, Dorea Black Potter, Charlus Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Marlene McKinnon, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Frank Longbottom, Alice Longbottom, Regulus Black, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Walburga Black
Relationships: Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s), Remus Lupin & Original Female Character(s), James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Charlus Potter/Dorea Black Potter, Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Additional Tags: Heartbreak, Death, Sex, Violence
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2WzwFUd
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Tag Yourself - Things You Can’t Help But Do When Your Lover Makes Love To You - Part 5 – Cyrille Lestrange
You just can’t help yourself when he’s touching you like that, can you?
[Warning: Dominant-Submissive Dynamics.] [Warning: BDSM Dynamics - Spanking, Bondage.] [Warning: Use of Derogatory Phrases.] [Warning: Nonconsent.]
*Cyrille Lestrange is an OC.
*Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
When Cyrille Lestrange makes love to you, you can’t help but be a brat.
It’s never intentional.
No, no, you shake your head with utmost genuineness. I would never, Cy. Only good girl for you.
You can’t help it. It’s instinct to lean over and stick out your ass for Cyrille to spank you, and then, when Cyrille lifts his hand - to quickly jolt your hips forward, making Cyrille miss your little rump.
“Angel,” he growls.
“Sorry, sorry.” You center yourself again. You grit your teeth and – whoosh – Cyrille’s hand flies by you again as you just turn your hips to the side.
“That’s it.” Cyrille gets up and ties another ribbon around your thighs, looping it around you so that his fingers just barely graze against your pussy as he passes the rope between your legs.
“Ah…” you breathe out. You wiggle your hips a little, indicating that you want Cyrille to forget about this silly tying-you-up thing and just touch you already.
But he growls at you, “Be still” in a voice that not only makes your pussy wet, but also makes you obey him.
Finally, tied to your proper place by silk ribbons, Cyrille spanks you – smack! – “OW!”
It’s only when your ass is blushing a bright pink and you have tears in your eyes that Cyrille finally touches you between your legs. But when he does – it’s heavenly, and the ribbons wrapped around your throat and body and the tingling all over your ass heightens the feeling of his touching you. Your entire body is singing aloud, alive and stinging and humming with the knowledge that you’re his.
And when Cyrille means to punish you by making you sit on his lap and warm his cock without moving for over an hour, it’s only natural for you to start to squirm – isn’t it?
“Angel,” Cyrille warns you. “Cock sleeves don’t squirm.” He arches his eyebrow at you as he whispers darkly in your ear, “You want to be a cock sleeve or a cumslut?”
What’s the difference? You wonder to yourself as you put your hands in your lap and try to stay still.
Only, you swear Cyrille is growing bigger inside of you and you simply can’t resist it anymore. Abandoning all pretense, you put your hands on the desk in front of you and you start bouncing away on him.
“Princess, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Um, you said to s-stay in your lap, ‘member? And uh, I just – ah – am thinking of ways to entertain m-myself…”
Cyrille sighs. He reaches over you and grasps your chin and makes you look over your shoulder at him. With his other hand, he gently pushes your hair away from your face so he can look up at you and see your cute expression, the way your eyes have already gone all dreamy as you make use of Cyrille, make good use of his cock inside of you…
“I believe I told you to be still,” Cyrille reminds you.
“I – I am. I’m not walking away or anything,” you mumble back. Then, closing your eyes, you moan out rather lewdly, without holding back at all.
“Don’t even have the decency to try to hide your pleasure,” Cyrille mutters. “I guess you’re choosing cumslut then.”
You’re not really hearing him anymore, but you nod pleasantly, agreeing with him out of instinct.
It shocks you, then, when Cyrille suddenly picks you up and drops you onto the table.
“W-What?” you breath out, heart thundering as you look up at him.
Cyrille smirks at you. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He quickly coaxes your legs apart. He asks you, ”What’s your safe word?”
“Um. Raven – but why - ? Ah!” you gasp out, as Cyrille proceeds to push your panties to the side, and then slam his cock inside your tight pussy.
When you cry out loudly, Cyrille reminds you, “You asked to be my cumslut.”
“I – I did? When?” you bleat out, grasping desperately at the edge of the table as Cyrille makes you take his cock in your pretty little pussy.
“Just now.” Cyrille pauses, letting you adjust to him and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek to remind you that his priority is still to keep you safe and happy. “Am I hurting you?”
“No!”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No, Cy, p-please keep going!”
“Then tell me you’re my cumslut.”
You blink furiously. “I’m a – a what?”
“A cumslut, Angel. Is it hard for you to learn new words when my cock is inside you?”
You can only whimper. But you have enough sense in you to reach down and grab Cyrille’s hips, and you try to tug him back-and-forth, needing him to move inside you.
Cyrille laughs lightly. “What are you doing, Angel?” Reaching down, he grasps both of your wrists in his hands and then, leaning over you, he pins your hands hard against the tabletop. “Tell me you’re my cumslut, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Your eyes get all misty, and your pussy’s all aching and wet, and so you bleat out pitifully, “I – I’m your, um… cumslut.”
“Good girl,” Cyrille praises you. Then, standing up straight again, he proceeds to pound your little pussy to your heart’s desire, making you cry out all night and limp tomorrow morning.
And oh yes, when Cyrille tries to choke you lightly when he kisses you, you do him the favor of biting his lip back. It’s just a favor.
“Fuck,” Cyrille growls lowly when he feels your little teeth sinking into his lower lip. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Huh?” You pull away, startled by the mere thought that you might have done anything wrong.
“You’re biting me.”
You snort at this. “You do all sorts of stuff to me. Why shouldn’t I bite you? I’m still the tame one, between the two of us.”
Cyrille sighs. “You’re not supposed to be the tame one. You’re supposed to be the tamed one. Do I have to teach you the difference?”
You eye him suspiciously. “Are you going to bring me a dictionary?”
Cyrille reaches up and grasps your face in his hand. “What a smart mouth you have, princess.”
Stubbornly, you reply, “It comes from a smart brain.”
“Then,” Cyrille responds silkily, “you should be able to learn without a dictionary.”
Five minutes later, Cyrille has tied you all up in ribbons – at your request, mind you – only, you somehow end up remarking (providing a kind-of social commentary, if you will) on the quirkiness of the kink.
“So you like this, Cyrille? You like seeing me all wrapped up in ribbons?”
Cyrille nods once.
You muse, “Oh… So what is it about it? Is it because I look like a present now? Or… is it because the ribbons are all shiny, in contrast to my body? What does that mean, d’you think, if you like seeing me all tied up in something shiny?”
At this, Cyrille remarks wryly, “I didn’t realize you were so interested in psychology.”
“Oh.” You frown. But then, you cheer yourself up by saying, “Well, my strong point has always been my curiosity. It makes me smart.”
Cyrille’s eyes narrow. “It makes you a brat.”
When you look offended, Cyrille sighs. “I’m supposed to be enjoying you in those ribbons, and we’re simply sitting here talking about it.”
“Well, then, why aren’t you enjoying me?” you fire back. “Aren’t you the dominant? Seems like that’s your shortcoming, not mine.”
And with that, Cyrille proceeds to prove to you exactly how he is the dominant: yanking at the ribbons and making them tighter the closer you get to cumming, until your toes are curled up so tight because of the electricity running all over your body, but you can’t even feel your toes anymore; gripping at your hair and tugging your head back while he bites your neck and chest all over, making you moan and squirm, and then, when he has you looking up far enough that you can’t see what he’s doing, he slaps your pussy hard, and you cry out loudly, as your little cunt turns all pink and wet from his harsh touch; and then, you finally cum for him, he stuffs the silky ribbon into your mouth and then kisses you and chokes you so that you can’t breathe – you can’t – you can’t - !
“There you go,” you hear Cyrille whisper softly amidst your intense daze. “Now you’ve found your proper place.”
Your entire body is drooping, kept up only by the silk ribbons crisscrossing your entire body, and cum is streaming down your thighs – both his and yours.
“You make it very difficult to tame you, but once I do, you’re a perfect submissive,” Cyrille tells you in his lovely, silvery voice. “And I know, deep inside, you want to be tamed. You want to be made into a good girl, an angel, my Angel, don’t you?”
You nodded tearily. His words make both your heart and your pussy ache, but in such a good way. Because you love being his, you love being taken like this. And the reciprocal side is that he’s yours, too. You know he is.
“That’s right,” Cyrille continues. His voice becomes softer, falling from a dominant praising his submissive to just him praising you. “That’s why I forgive you for being such a brat. Because I know you’re my angel inside.”
“Yes,” you whisper. “A-Always, Cy.”
With that, Cyrille’s mouth captures yours in the softest, gentlest kiss imaginable, as he begins the slow, loving process of bringing you back down to earth.
And when you softly bite him back – biting down on his lower lip, Cyrille realizes that you have learned absolutely nothing about being a submissive from this encounter, and he sighs and smiles to himself, giving into and actually quite pleased with the fact that you will never actually be tamed – by him or by anyone else.
She’s the real dominant, he thinks, and I’m completely in love with her. Bite my lip all you want, Angel. I reckon that’s what it’s there for.
Tagged User(s): @saltstacks
#harry potter smut#harry potter imagine#cyrille lestrange#cyrille lestrange x reader#cyrille lestrange smut#tag yourself
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Hm... A Long Question and a Brief Update
Question about Joke’s On You: I usually just write and post whatever I think best, but I’m really on the fence about this one, so I will ask: I think I already mentioned this elsewhere, but I originally wrote Joke’s On You to be a four-part series. Should I just release it as a short series? (Like Serpent & Sin.)
The thing is, I had so much fun writing Joke’s On You all the way through, but when I edited it I realized that if Reader plays these ‘games’ on Fred once or twice, it’s still cutesy and all, but if it keeps going and actual emotions get involved, it slides into more manipulative/slightly dark territory? (I’m fine with writing darker material, but it’s very character-based for me, if that makes sense.) It’s hard for me to explain, but basically, the first time, it felt like (to me, anyways): Oh, Reader got Fred back for being such a careless ass all the time. Second time felt iffy, but okay, I guess if Fred’s really asking for it. But at some point... I think it gets into the sad aspects of it all because we start to see more of Reader's control and commitment issues or just how bad Fred wants her and how she seemingly doesn’t want him.
I wanted it to end on a good note, especially for Fred. They don’t get together, but they also don’t forget each other, and Fred finds his own path in life, and Reader is secretly so proud of him - that he didn’t listen to her and he’s now living in his element, and she’s living in hers.
But the other parts do give more moments that play out their teasing, feisty dynamic, and I guess that’s still kind-of cute? Like in one of the chapters, (possible spoilers?) Reader makes Fred cum way too early, and she teases him and asks, “Want to be my boytoy?” and Fred gets all flustered and embarrassed, because no, he doesn’t want to be a toy, ever, but fuck, it’s you, and yeah, I want to be yours... And then later Fred catches you cumming while thinking about him and he teases you, “Sounds like someone’s falling for their boytoy...” And you blush, but you just say, “Shut up and come eat out my pussy,” and Fred replies, “Gladly” and comes over to you and runs his hands up your thighs and then bends forward... and you get the picture.
I don’t know! I will munch on this a bit longer, but if anyone has strong thoughts, please feel free to let me know. Thank you muchly. ♥
Update on “Light and Dark”: Just wanted to say for anyone who liked Light and Dark, while the main story is complete, there are plenty of side-stories and flashback pieces I will release in the future that are Cyrille Lestrange x Reader and James Potter x Reader. I just find myself with limited time and am more focused on moving forward my in-progress stories like Foxtail & Wolfsbane and Ash & Skylight, but I do hope to release more Light and Dark-related stuff at some point! Thank you to anyone who ever read and liked that story. ♥
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It’s 1 AM and I just finished Light and Dark. Honestly, I put off for about a year because I didn’t want it to end. Let me tell you something, it was soooo good.
First off, I love her friendship with Em. Secondly, the love interests were well developed. I have a softer spot for Cy than James, which is why chapter 22 hurt… a lot. But it’s okay because I just pretend like it didn’t happen. The epilogue for Cy and the reading was absolutely perfect! I did read James’ AU chapters. Remember how I asked about Sirius seeing James and the reading going at it at the Potter house? Well you told me you had something planned in the future and it DID NOT disappoint! If you ever decide to do something like this for James and Sirius, I’ll be first in line to read.
Honestly, you’re my favorite author on here. I’ve read the Charlie/Oliver and Remus/Rowan/Tristan (love Rowan and Tristen so much btw. What is it with you and OCs that make me fan girl a little too hard?) stories. Sorry I always forget tittles, but I love them too. Thank you so much for the amazing writing! I can’t wait to read more :)
-🦭
Hello hello! Ah, this is so lovely. I remember receiving some of my first messages from you, close to the start of Light & Dark. Thank you for sticking with it and finishing it. It's truly wonderful to hear that you liked it right up to the end. I honestly had a hard time finishing it because there were so many things I wanted to show, but ultimately, I think it came together okay.
I want to respond to your individual comments, but I also want to avoid potential spoilers and not annoy anyone with a huge (really, huge), rambling block of text, so it'll be under this cut:
First - Emmeline Vance! Yes, I saw Em as this understated, but very confident person, even as just a first-year. And then here you were, this slightly stand-offish, unsure person, with your arms crossed across your chest and a somewhat confused and profoundly displeased expression on your face all the time. You drew together because both of you had this quiet, tough energy. Also, it didn't really show up in this story because Emmeline realized you were struggling during the years the story takes place and was very gentle with you, but I imagined Emmeline as having Sirius-level recklessness and biting sarcasm, except with more of a forward-thinking brain and less of a need for dramatic flair - so truly, a force to behold. An amazing friend - hence, why your and Cyrille's daughter is named after her.
(Also, I mentioned it only a couple times, but in Light & Dark, I thought two of your other friends, Amelia and Hestia, fell in love and dated at Hogwarts. The same night you reunited with Cyrille on the Astronomy Tower, Amelia and Hestia played some drinking-and-kissing game in the Hufflepuff common room (where you were supposed to be) and realized they were just as compatible as lovers as they were friends.)
Second - Yeah, Chapter 22 was... I put a warning up because I didn't want anyone to have any bad feelings while reading the story. However, I think sometimes we fantasize about 'bad-boy-or-girl/dominant/experienced' tropes (which, why not?) without acknowledging the flip side of that. Physically, having a sexually experienced partner means just that - if this is a new relationship and that person is already sexually experienced, then they obviously had those experiences at some point with someone else.
With Cyrille Lestrange, it's especially dark. Cyrille's ability to dominate you and his incredibly mesmerizing aura, which you might find as attractive features, came from his 'training' to seduce someone whilst maintaining total control over the situation, ultimately to persuade that person to give whatever is needed. Fortunately, with you/Reader, Cyrille is slowly able to let go of that aspect (which is why in Part 19, he confesses to you that he doesn't know how to be intimate without putting on a mask, and why Cyrille always affectionately thinks of you as his true dominant, since with you, he finally feels free and light-hearted and gets to be emotionally vulnerable with you when the two of you are together.)
It's not just Cyrille. I almost always think there is a flip side. For example, in my head, Remus Lupin's gentle and humble traits might draw you in, but they arise partly from his lack of self-esteem, which might play a key factor in pushing you away. Sirius Black's roguish charm and confidence might attract you to him, but they come partly from his independent upbringing (not having anyone to care for him), so those aspects will likely go hand-in-hand with his shutting you out and with his more reckless behavior.
Also, Chapter 22 is a slight reminder that we see the story from your/Reader's perspective. Part of the later chapters (hopefully) contain these flashes of realization where you suddenly comprehend what other characters were thinking at a prior point in time. For example, the James A/U is meant to highlight what he was personally struggling with back when the two of you first broke up (i.e. the significance of 'choice' over instinct). And Chapter 22 shows flashes of what Cyrille had to endure to, as he believes, 'save the people around him.' It is also a very, very slight parallel to what Cyrille may have felt when, after you lost your memory, you started to date James. Obviously, there are huge differences - for one, you didn't know about your link to Cyrille and you were genuinely happy with James and your actions had no consequences beyond Cyrille's suffering; whereas Cyrille is obviously thinking about you and is totally miserable and is enabling this terrible regime of Voldemort. But for me, the point was not to take character traits and perspectives for granted. I always meant to include Chapter 22 in the story, but at the end of the day, it is upsetting and disgusting. I hope it didn't upset you too much!
Also, I shouldn't say this, but I love that you had a softer spot for Cyrille. I can imagine him somewhere out there, smirking and softly stroking your hair, so utterly pleased that he's definitely won his Angel back over from that 'uncivilized, messy-haired, stupidly-proud-Gryffindor, can't-control-his-own-damn-mouth-long-enough-to-say-hello, how-dare-he-look-at-another-girl-when-he-has-you, never-deserved-you-anyways prick.'
Third - the Sirius and James chapter! I had that saved for ages. It never fit into the original story (because I felt like it was too much insecurity and drama when combined with the main issue of Lily-James-you), and I was so excited to finally share it with everybody. I have lots of ideas about Sirius, as well as about all of the inter-Marauders dynamics. I hope I'll eventually get to share them here.
Fourth - Rowan Scamander and Tristan Graves. Ah, thank you for saying this! I get so nervous with featuring OCs. I see their personalities and histories so clearly in my mind, but I never know if it comes through correctly in the actual story. I don't want to say too much on these characters because Foxtail & Wolfsbane is still in-progress and they both continue to be involved in the story, but my initial conception of each of them was something like the following:
Rowan is the Golden Child, and he initially takes to this position very easily - not only smart, but witty; not only popular, but kind. However, the older he grows, the more his parents' fame and his bright aura wear on him as everyone's expectations of who he should be start to suffocate him. Because, the truth is that while Rowan inherited many qualities from his parents, he doesn't naturally have either of his parent's gentleness, which is part of what they're famous for. He doesn't have his father's awkwardness or love of creatures or his mother's understanding nature and sense of deep duty. Instead, he has his own sense of adventure and intense personality. But whenever he acts like himself and lets his ambitions show, he seems to disappoint people. So, not only is he expected to be perfect, but he's expected to perform perfectly as though it was nothing, and to follow his parents' footsteps and even have their personalities as though it all comes naturally to him. Thus, he stays this beautiful, bright, charismatic young man, but a certain edge starts to grow in his fierce soul as he realizes that fame is a cage and the only reward is power, but never peace.
Tristan is, in some ways, Rowan's reverse. He initially comes off far too authoritative and independent (seemingly ordering people around without listening to their views) and basically like some arrogant prodigy who only ever has master-servant relationships (e.g., having Susana as a 'maid' or telling Cas that she can't love him or keeping you prisoner in the United States). Then, you learn about his past - how he was caught between his parents, the Obscurial, and an entire team of Aurors, and how he only survived because both of his parents died for him. But just when you are about to garner some sympathy for him, instead of being grateful, Tristan blatantly shows that he hates any comparison to his father and swears that unlike his father, he won't die for just one lame, undeserving person, which is a shocking way to talk about a parent who loved you and died to protect you.
Only then, it all starts to unravel: Tristan only kept you with him in the United States to figure out if you were telling the truth about the Nine-Tailed Fox and that you weren't alleged with Voldemort and to keep you safe from all of the Aurors who wanted to kill you because they thought you were an Obscurial. He willingly let you go once he knew you were telling the truth and that you could take care of yourself. Tristan saved Susana from being sentenced to death merely because she was Grindelwald's secret daughter and he uses his knowledge of ancient metal magic to curb her power at her request, because Susana inherited Grindelwald's dark and destructive bent in magic. Tristan only told Cas not to love him because he knew he had the shard of Obscurial locked away in his soul and as his depression grew, he felt it growing stronger in his soul, and he was afraid to hurt Cas. (There was a storyline I originally sketched out where Tristan had a prior childhood crush, Mary Jauncey, whom he hurt badly and ultimately lost when Tristan first discovered the Obscurial had gone into his body by the Obscurial bursting out of him when he got angry, but I took it out. The importance of that was that it became a deep trauma for Tristan, in addition to his parents' death. There are hints of the loss of Mary Jauncey in the first few chapters where Tristan appears; that's what the passages of Hades and Persephone were about - Tristan is Hades, Mary is Persephone, only in the real world, they can never reach each other. Even magic cannot bring myth to life; only myth is myth. The Nine-Tailed Fox, as a mythical creature herself, senses this desire and pain in Tristan.) Tristan also believed that Cas was MCUSA's greatest asset, and when he overheard other Aurors talking behind her back and saying that she only ranked high because of her relationship with him, he became furious and tried to put some distance between the two of them, at least until she established herself among the Aurors, which Tristan knew would not take long. The sum of this is supposed to be confusing - Tristan says he doesn't want to be like his father, that he would never sacrifice himself for a single individual and yet he has, time and time again - for Susana, for Cas, for you - and then, finally, you learn that when Tristan talks about that lame, undeserving person, he meant himself, as a little kid whose parents sacrificed themselves for him. Tristan believes that no matter how many people he helps, it could never amount to the potential his parents had for helping people, and for that reason, he wishes that he had died instead and that his parents could be alive in his stead. When the Nine-Tailed Fox helps him to find forgiveness in himself (through you), that wound in his soul becomes healed enough that the Obscurial is forced out of him. That's his arc up until now (Part 26).
Finally, and most importantly - Thank you very much for leaving such sweet messages and giving my stories all this attention and love. ♥ I hope this wasn't too long; I just want to make sure I'm reciprocating your good energy. Cheers!
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Light and Dark | Part 18
Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Explicit Domestic Abuse.] [Warning: PTSD.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain from that person, or anyone else. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦
Chapter-Specific Note: Extended Italicized Font indicates past events/memories. Regular font indicates current (in-present-time) events.
Cyrille woke up to the sounds of water beginning to splash down against tile, and the gentle scent of pear blossoms and light citrus wafted over to him. He opened his eyes to see your beautiful silhouette from the back, with your curls brushed over your shoulder, which you were busy untangling with your hands as best as you could. Your garter set had been stripped off and lay next to his cloak on the hanging rack.
When the water and bubbles were waist-deep in the prefects’ tub (which was honestly as large as a pool), you waded over slowly and turned off the jeweled faucets. Cyrille saw you put your arms down over the edge of the tile and crossing your arms, you rested your head on your arms and hummed lightly.
Cyrille got up and stripping off his clothes, he joined you in the water. You heard the shifts and light splashes in the water as he came in, but you simply waited for him. When he joined you at the edge and wrapped his arms around you just as you predicted, you smiled.
“Good morning,” you mumbled pleasantly.
“Good morning, angel,” he returned, resting his head lightly on top of yours.
“Did you sleep well?” you asked him. “I tried to move you off the floor, but you started to stir before I even touched you. I figured it was best to let you be.”
Cyrille chuckled softly. “I was fine. I’m a light sleeper, but I can sleep anywhere.”
The foaming bubbles were gradually releasing more of the lovely pear blossoms and citrus scent, and the water was so warm that the two of you lightly dozed off like that, with him draped over you at the pool’s edge, and you all cozy in his arms.
But forcing yourself awake, you nudged Cyrille with your shoulder and said, “Cyrille, we can’t fall asleep here. It’s dangerous. And we’ll get all wrinkly in the water.”
Cyrille smiled at your words. "All right, angel.”
Reluctantly releasing you from his embrace, Cyrille stepped back a little.
You began to lather yourself with the bubbles, as they were enchanted to magically fit your needs as either soap or shampoo. (Amelia had been your year’s Gryffindor prefect, so you’d been in here a few times before.)
Cyrille helped you, running his hands over your body to soap you up. You meant to start to massage the bubbles into your curls, but you had to admit that you were getting a little distracted by Cyrille’s hands passing over your skin, slowly caressing your hips, your tummy, and your breasts. Your hands slowly stopped, as Cyrille lovingly took over taking care of your body for you.
“Lean up on the edge for me, princess,” he said.
You did as he asked, propping yourself up on the edge of the tub and pulling your lower body out of the water.
Cyrille lathered your thighs, your ass, and your pussy.
As you felt his hand slip between your thighs, you involuntarily let out a soft sigh. He held you gently with one hand by your tummy, and his other fingers wetly pushed up and down over your puffy pussy lips to make sure you were thoroughly clean. A little moan escaped you.
Cyrille paused. Lifting his eyebrow at you, he said, “Angel, you can’t possibly want more sex already, can you? I used you until you were drunk on cum last night.”
Embarrassed, you splashed back into the water immediately. “Don’t say it like that,” you told him half-heartedly.
“All right, I’m sorry,” Cyrille apologized at once, reaching for you.
You made to escape him, but he pinned you against the tub wall with his hips. “Angel, I wasn’t serious.”
“Don’t be mad, please,” he said to you. Sighing, he admitted, “If anything, it’s me who’s wanting.”
And you felt what he meant because as Cyrille’s hips pressed into yours, his cock, semi-hard, also pressed into you.
You looked up at him in surprise. But Cyrille’s eyes sparkled down at you as he returned your gaze. His lips quirked into a playful smirk as he said teasingly, “I suppose you could say that... I’m wet for you.”
You rolled your eyes, knowing that he was referring to how you were always wet for him. However, you couldn’t help except laugh, genuinely amused. When Cyrille was playful, he was surprisingly soft and adorable.
Wrapping your arms around his waist and drawing yourself closer to him, you asked, “Do you need me?”
“No, angel. If we’re going to fuck every time I get even a little bit hard around you, we wouldn’t be doing much else,” Cyrille told you wryly.
“Come on,” he told you. “Turn around. I’ll lather your hair for you.”
You turned around, but as you felt his fingers begin to massage your scalp, you couldn’t help except to press your ass up against him.
“All right, well, if you do that...” Cyrille said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“I don’t care if it’s indecent,” you blurted out. “I want you again.”
Since you were facing the other way, you missed the pleased and self-satisfied smirk that slipped onto Cyrille’s face at your words.
“And you?” you asked him softly, a bit tense at his silence.
“Oh, angel, I always want you. I’m just waiting for you to come to me,” Cyrille assured you affectionately.
You reached back with your arm to slip your finger under Cyrille’s chin and pull his head forward. Cyrille’s breathing hitched slightly. Then, your hand slid up his handsome face. Holding his cheek in your palm, you leaned back and kissed him. Cyrille found that your morning kisses felt different from your other kisses - they were lazier, and very tender.
As the two of you traded deep kisses that lingered on each other’s lips, your back slowly pressed into his firm chest. Cyrille also felt your plush ass, all soft in the water, press up against him in such a lovely way, seemingly pleading with Cyrille (it seemed to him, anyways) to run his hands all over your ass before touching you between your legs.
But right now, Cyrille wanted to satisfy you romantically, and he willingly gave your pretty little mouth all of the attention you wanted. He kept kissing you, enjoying the way the two of you kept your mouths lightly pressed together and softly traded warm breaths when you were too tired to keep up the kissing.
However, as time passed, Cyrille could no longer help himself, and his needy hands had wandered up to gently grasp at your breasts.
You moaned out an appreciative little sigh against his warm mouth when you felt his large hands softly kneading your breasts. To be honest, you had never really thought much of your breasts. They seemed perfectly average to you. You couldn’t quite cup them entirely in your small hands, but they certainly weren’t as shapely as some of your friends’. But Cyrille could cup them in his larger hands, so long as he made the most of his long, graceful fingers. And he seemed to get quite a bit of pleasure from pressing your breasts together, containing your softness entirely in his hands and massaging them so that your nipples slipped between his keen fingers.
Since Cyrille paid more attention to your breasts than you expected, you had begun to also consider them a bit more. Perhaps they were small - after all, he could fit them in his hands, and yet, maybe there was something nice about them, if he loved them so much. You sort-of regretted not buying the bralette that came with the lingerie seat you’d worn for him yesterday.
You were loathe to let go of Cyrille’s gorgeous face, very much appreciating his loving kisses against your mouth, so you kept your hand pressed against his cheek to have him keep kissing you even as he touched you. But, wanting to touch him too, with your other hand, you reached down into the water and reached behind you. Finding his cock easily, you wrapped your hand around him and gently pumped his cock in the water. You heard Cyrille groan softly, and the next moment, he returned the favor by softly sliding his fingers against you, rubbing you between your thighs.
“Mmm...” Pleasant moans and hums sounded out from the both of you as you traded soft kisses and touched each other in all the right places.
Cyrille’s other hand (the one not between your thighs) slipped up from your breasts to your throat.
He gripped your neck lightly as you kissed. Then, he squeezed softly, his palm putting gentle pressure against the front of your throat, and his fingers sliding around the sides of your pretty neck. Your breath caught.
You opened your eyes and looked up at Cyrille. “Okay, it may be a little too early for that,” you told him.
Cyrille merely smiled and murmured, “Pity.” He let go of your throat and pressed his hand across your chest, pressing you back against him again. Closing his eyes, he bent down to push his soft mouth against yours once more. The very air around the two of you seemed to hum softly, shimmering as the early morning sunlight danced on the bubbly and warm bathwater surrounding you both. The sunlight came in through the large colored windows of the ceiling of the prefects’ bathroom, throwing small rainbows here and there on the tiles. Time seemed to lengthen, allowing the two of you to enjoy each other in this sweet suspension of life.
And then, it happened so naturally and gracefully, one minute he was pressing up against you and and you were stroking his cock, and the next, after only a couple seconds of guiding him to your waiting pussy, and he was slipping inside you.
You both breathed out in deep sighs of pleasure. Cyrille wasn’t completely hard, and he slipped inside of you easily. And your pussy was quite soft and warm in the morning, and even more so because you were very relaxed from soaking in the water.
“Mm...” Leaning back against Cyrille and arching your back into a beautiful curve that would have made Aphrodite jealous, you draped both of your arms behind you, resting them on his shoulders. Your arms crossed just behind his head, and reached up towards the ceiling beyond him.
Cyrille took a moment to just gaze at and appreciate your body. After all, he hadn’t had much chance to savor and cherish you the way he wanted to. Yes, he wanted to push you, devour you - but slowly, dragging out every bit of the experience, so that he could lavish your body with his tongue and lips. To Cyrille, nothing tasted sweeter than you.
Now, seeing the way your wet, freshly washed body glinted in the subdued morning sunlight coming down through the colored glass windows, Cyrille realized that despite how very soft you were all over - from your puffy pussy lips to your soft nipples to your little tummy to your creamy thighs to your heart-shaped face - you had quite a tight set of abs running down your sides, just inside of your softer curves. It made your body look absolutely amazing to him, and especially in this soft lighting, with the water glimmering over all of your curves, including even the smaller dimples of your body like the soft dip in your hips, your shoulder blades lined out softly in your back, and your abs appearing in a gentle outline when you stretched back like this over him.
Cyrille ran his hands all over you, very slowly, taking his sweet time to touch your every curve, and making you feel so warm in his hands. You melted against him in a lovely haze of pleasure. Oh, you thought to yourself, so he has this side to him, too - all soft and like. He’s always been quite tender, but never like this.
“Cy...” you called out to him.
“Yes, my love?”
You smiled at the new nickname. You knew you’d been the one to call him that first last night.
“I love the way you... touch me...” you confessed, feeling his palms gliding smoothly over your waist and hips.
“Angel, you’re stunning,” Cyrille murmured. “I mean, I always knew you were, but I feel a little regretful knowing I was fucking you all this time without knowing just how stunning you are.”
“Stop,” you told him, blushing. “You don’t have to say things like that, Cyrille. You’re already in my good graces for, you know, agreeing to love me in the bath first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not trying to flatter you right now,” Cyrille told you. He whispered seductively in your ear, “There are other ways to get in your graces, and I know them all like the back of my hand...”
“Do you?” you pushed back, lifting your eyebrow.
“Yes,” Cyrille said, without any hesitation whatsoever.
“You like punishment, princess,” Cyrille told you knowingly. “You can’t deny it anymore, and I will explore that quite deeply with you, for your gratification, but also for my pleasure, too...”
“But calling you ‘stunning,’ that’s just the simple truth,” he said, and his voice dropped into a husky and sweet tone, “You’re gorgeous through and through, my love.”
“You’re soft in the mornings,” you teased him, giggling a little. “Washing me, telling me I’m beautiful, giving in to having a morning round in the bath... What’s next? Going to ask me to marry you?” you said, laughing.
But as Cyrille suddenly paused in his hands roaming all over you, you also found yourself abruptly falling silent.
“Erm...” You shifted a bit uncomfortably against him.
Unexpectedly scrambling to recover from the sudden disjunction in your light-hearted and tender morning, Cyrille cleared his throat and asked you softly, “Should I fuck you now, my angel?”
“Yes,” you said immediately.
“Yeah? You want to feel me inside you?” Cyrille whispered, pulling you closer to him by lazily wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you back towards him, so that your back was once again snug against his chest.
“Yeah, I wanna feel you,” you whined softly. “But, can - can you be a little gentle? I’m still a little sore from being stretched out last night...”
“Of course,” he reassured you. “And I apologize for last night. I was too rough. I was painfully hard. It was almost torturous for me, though the release made it all worth it. But the point is, if it was rough for me, I can’t imagine what it felt like to you.”
“You were really thick last night,” you told him. “I mean, compared to how you took me in the forest, last night’s pace was fairly calm, but you just pushing your cock inside me filled me up and spread me open so much. I almost couldn’t take it.”
You felt Cyrille shift against you a little, and his cock hardened inside of you.
“Oh,” you said, and you smiled a little. “You like seeing me all filled up with your cock?”
“Yes,” Cyrille said quietly.
“Tell me the truth,” you said, half-teasing and half-serious. “You like seeing me struggle to take your cock, don’t you?”
Cyrille paused.
You waited expectantly.
“...Yes,” he admitted. “But not if it hurts you, or causes you any discomfort, angel. I truly want you to feel pleasure from it.”
“I did feel pleasure,” you admitted.
“What?” Cyrille said, surprised. He had taken you as someone who only liked gentle or blissful pleasure (perhaps called “vanilla”), not pleasure derivative of pain or restraint.
“Yeah,” you told him. “But it takes me a long time to get there. It’s not immediate. But I think it’s because I’m not fully relaxed at the beginning. Because, you know, it feels so intense between us...”
You both paused, feeling the truth of that statement a little too strongly.
You tried to carry on, “Um, but once my body is relaxed, it does feel nice to just be so... completely filled up...”
You sighed happily as you remembered the feeling. Thinking about that lovely, full feeling, you pushed yourself back gently on his cock, and the water splashed up between the both of you, cresting gently on your hips.
Cyrille paused. Then, wishing very much that he would not scare you away with this next question, he asked you carefully, “Angel, would you ever... consent to being spanked?”
You thought about it. “You mean with you, right?” you clarified.
“Of course.” His hold on you tightened. “No one else, angel. I can promise you that.”
“Then... yes, I would try it,” you replied.
“Really? You would?”
“Now, don’t get carried away, Cyrille Lestrange,” you warned him, laughing a little. “Right now, I need you to treat me gently.”
“Yes, my queen,” Cyrille acquiesced. Cyrille reached down and grasped your hips, admiring how perfectly they fit in his hands, and how smooth your hips looked glimmering in the bubbles. Your tummy, too, still stretched out a little, glistened beautifully with water droplets.
In love with your body and in love with you, Cyrille began to softly move his hips against you.
“Mmm, yes,” you sighed out. “Feels so good. Just like that...”
But as the initial flash of pleasure subsided into a more consistent and gentler stream of ongoing pleasure, sending rippling currents of pleasure between your thighs from taking his cock, you suddenly picked up on what he had called you.
“My queen?” you repeated skeptically. “We’re, uhn, we’re coming up with nicknames rather fast, a-aren’t we?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Cyrille countered. “Angel because that’s what are you are. Princess because - mmm- ” He paused for a few seconds to just fuck you slowly and gently in the water. Then, he continued, “Princess, because you’re so fucking tight it makes me think your previous lovers all spoiled you silly because you struggle so much to take cock in that tight little pussy of yours. Seriously, fucking you is almost like taking a virgin every time. And also, you whine and squirm under me sometimes...like a brat.”
Cyrille paused, not wanting to give away how much he liked that. He quickly carried on, “I figure you prefer ‘princess’ to ‘brat,’ though. And now, uhn, we h-have my love -” he pushed his cock a little harder into you, making you moan softly - “and my queen.”
“‘S lot,” you mumbled, trying to maintain the proper neutral tone in presenting your point, but some of your blissful mood bled into your voice anyways. “H-How’d we get so many s-so fast?”
“Well, we have ‘my love,’ because we confessed to each other that we do love each other last night,” Cyrille explained patiently, smiling in victory as he recounted that fact. Meanwhile you blushed, still embarrassed about not only your confession per se, but also how you’d confessed to him last night. So, while Cyrille was holding on very tightly to that memory of you struggling to confess through your beautiful moaning that you loved him, you were desperately trying to erase that same, subjectively cringey memory from your mind.
“And ‘my queen,’ because that’s what it felt like last night,” he finished.
“What do you - ah - What do you mean?”
Cyrille gently pinned you against the edge of the tub as he took you just a bit harder, causing the warm bath water to slosh up against the wall of the tub in time to his gently fucking you.
“Mm, uhn...” you breathed out softly, feeling your thighs gently bounce against the tile wall as he took you from behind.
“You wearing my family crest pendant, and in that gorgeous dress and lingerie, and having you all to myself in that tiny carriage. It’s like stealing you away, isn’t it? And when I spread you out on the seat and held you down and ate you out, with that lingerie on, you did truly look like a queen...”
“You’re v-very romantic,” you accused Cyrille, more than a little amused. “Do the other Slytherins k-known you’re - mm - like this?”
“No, angel, of course not.”
You smiled to yourself, but Cyrille, always so aware of his partner’s moods, noticed your mood shift into arrogant pleasure.
“And why are you suddenly so pleased, princess, hm?” Cyrille’s hands slipped up your back. As they had been grasping your hips in the warm water, they were now wet and dripping with warm bath water. He ran both his hands up your back, making you shiver from the sensation of warmth traveling up your back. But, only a few seconds later, the remaining trails of water left on your back brought the first sense of chilliness into your pleasant morning, and you suddenly felt very exposed.
Cyrille gripped your shoulders, and he began to gently but firmly push you back on his cock.
“Mmm, mm - !” You moaned a little louder, feeling his cock pushing in a bit deeper than before and the water slapping up between the two of you at waist-level. Bending forward from the hip, you slowly sank down until you were leaning over the edge of the tub, breasts slightly pressed up against the cold tile floor outside the border of the tub.
You had one arm stretched out in front of you to keep yourself from falling completely onto the floor above the tub. With your other hand, you reached back to press your hand against Cyrille’s waist, wanting to touch him and wanting him deeper inside of you.
You felt his sharp, cut body tensing even as he taking you so gently, just as you’d asked him to. You wondered if he was holding back. Both wanting him deeper yourself and hoping to please him, you jutted your hips out against him, playing into his hands that were guiding you back to him, so that you were displaying your efforts to have him deeper inside of you, too.
His cock was now deep enough inside you, and stiff enough, that his tip grazed up against your sensitive spot inside of yours. As his cock began to press against your soft spot more and more frequently, your thighs began to quiver slightly in the water.
Cyrille let out a soft groan, watching the water splash over your tight ass, with a soft line of bubbles clinging to your beautiful waistline just above the water as he fucked you gently over the edge of the tub.
“- ‘M close,” you whispered in a tight voice, and your hand curled into a fist against the floor of the prefects’ bathroom.
“Me, too,” Cyrille breathed out. He shut his eyes and softly yanking you back so that you were upright again, he wrapped his arms around your front and pressed you to him. Holding you in that position, he hit up against you deeper, pushing his cock far enough into you that your ass was being slammed into a little. Your back arched as you gasped out softly.
“Uhn, fuck, feels so good, angel,” Cyrille groaned into your ear. He bit your ear gently, and then quickly kissed your cheek before moaning softly over how good you felt around his cock.
“Uhn, uhn...!” You moaned out. Reaching up, you grasped his forearms in your hands and squeezed them tightly in your grip as you felt yourself nearing your climax.
Both of your bodies jerked back and forth together, bending at the hips as one, almost like a flower in the wind.
Then, Cyrille suddenly groaned louder than before. Leaning down, he hugged you softly by the waist and collapsed against your back, accidentally pushing you back down over the edge of the tub. You felt your breath get pushed out of you and your tummy softly folded over the edge. His cheek pressed against the back of your neck as he breathed out heavily as he came inside of you.
“Mmm,” you moaned out, your lips pressed together to hum blissfully before you bit your lower lip as you felt warm, tight waves of pleasure wash over you.
For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that. In some strange, poetic way, you had both returned to your first position of being together at the edge of the tub, with Cyrille draped lovingly on top of you. The two of you were poised almost as living sculptures, as the still muted morning light filtered down over you both, casting a subtle yet beautiful glow over your intertwined forms.
As your warm release of cum mixed with Cyrille’s cum deep inside of your sex, you turned your head over your shoulder, and his head slipped forward onto your shoulder.
Your cheeks hinting at the loveliest tinge of pink, you smiled at him while still biting your lower lip.
Cyrille brought his hand up to touch your lips, pressing his thumb softly against your mouth. Having pressed your lower lip open, he gave you an open-mouthed kiss, tasting you deep in that morning.
You felt so incredibly happy, all wrapped up in his arms, filled with his cum again, only hours after having had sex with him before, and now to be so affectionately and lovingly kissed... You exhaled sweetly against his mouth, giving him a little moan that told him how you were absolutely melting for him.
Cyrille’s lips pushed up into a soft smile, too, when he heard your sweet moan.
* * * * * * * * * *
Finally, you finished washing up and the two of you got out of the water. You took slightly longer, mostly to finish washing your curls.
By the time you came out, Cyrille had already dressed and pulled his long hair back in a low ponytail.
You grabbed your towel and dried yourself off, quickly running your towel through your hair. You felt your airy curls dry rather fast, as they always did.
Cyrille was sitting back on the lounge chair. As he gazed at you drying off, he discovered a new kind of loveliness in you, one he’d never had the opportunity to see before. He’d never seen your hair like this before - not done up at all, in any way. You never tamed it, but you did still try to brush it or add something to it to give a bit of shine most days. But now, freshly washed and quickly dried, your hair was in such soft curls, shaped in little ringlets that he could swear were halos. You’d also wrapped yourself in a fluffy ‘prefect’ robe. On top of that, Cyrille had never seen your bare face before. He found you very graceful-looking and surprisingly adorable without any makeup on. Your eyes appeared softer and sweeter, and your cheeks seemed to be a bit fuller so that when you smiled, your whole face lit up with a pretty glow. And there was a tiredness to you, too, a sigh in your demeanor suggesting that life had not always been kind to you, but Cyrille loved that too, more than even you knew.
Merlin, I don’t want to let her go, Cyrille thought. He suddenly imagined a life with you - waking up with you like this every day. If you had children someday, Cyrille already knew you would make an amazing mother. The thought of having children someday made Cyrille incredibly nervous, to the point that his throat literally dried up. Cyrille didn’t trust himself to be a father just yet, and he wanted to be your equal in taking care of the kids. Still, the idea of you as the mother of his kids made Cyrille’s chest tight, both with fear and with a lovely sort-of hope.
After you’d pulled on a robe, you reached for your wand to cast spells on yourself to prevent pregnancy. Just before you did, your tummy tensed slightly, though you didn’t know why. You simply figured that you were hungry. You couldn’t see Cyrille’s thoughts and his wishes to have a future with you. Oblivious, you cast the spells on yourself successfully.
Then, you looked up at the clock in the far corner of the bathroom.
“We should probably head back,” you said, sighing a little. “It’s nearly breakfast time.”
“Yes,” Cyrille agreed. He came over to you and handed you your dress. “I did fix it, but... I tore it a bit more intensely than I thought. It may not be the exact same... I’m sorry. I’ll buy you another dress, angel.”
You shook your head and laughed lightly as you took it back. “It was for you, anyways,” you told him. “So, I guess it was yours to rip, too.”
“You’re welcome!” you joked brightly, as you wrapped up your lingerie in the dress in a makeshift bundle.
Standing up on tip-toe, you kissed Cyrille briefly and said, “Thank you for everything.”
Not quite ready to let you go just yet, Cyrille hugged you tightly, squeezing you in his arms. You smiled and pressed yourself to him, snuggling up in his embrace. You felt his arms cross over your back and his hands slipped into your soft, if not messy, hair.
You giggled and said, “You probably don’t want to do that. My hair’s a right mess when it’s just dried.”
But Cyrille shook his head and said softly, “I love you this way.”
He paused, and then, tangling his fingers gently in your ringlets, he whispered to you, “Well, I love you in all ways.”
He let you go, though he kept holding your hand. You both held hands tightly for the short walk over to the door. Then, he cast you a bittersweet look as he saw you off first.
Above you both, on one of the large painted glass windows of the prefects’ bathroom, the painting of the mermaid was blushing profusely at what she had just witnessed. She hid her eyes behind her auburn hair and closing her blue eyes, she hummed a song of a tale long forgotten amongst humans, except when, on the rare occasion, it was re-discovered by star-crossed lovers.
* * * * * * * * * *
At long last, you crept up to Gryffindor Tower, ready to sleep in the comfort of your own, fluffy bed.
But life had other plans. Because James Potter was waiting to have a word with you.
* * * * * * * * * *
At one in the morning on the night of the Yule Ball, James would have traded in his proficiency at Transfiguration for Charms in a heartbeat, just to master the Memory Erasure Charm ”Obliviate”. Because he could not get this damned image out of his mind. It was like someone had seared the vision to the insides of his eyelids. The more he tried not to see it, the more visceral it all became.
I asked her, he thought to himself. I asked her if she was seeing him and she said no. Then...
He growled in frustration.
Last night, after midnight (which was when curfew had been pushed back to to account for the Yule Ball), James and Lily had been asked to do rounds. Since it was cold outside, James offered to do the grounds search, while Lily would take the castle. They weren’t expected to be too diligent about their rounds that night. It was really a preliminary search before the Professors and Filch conducted a more thorough search prior to closing up the castle once and for all.
James went down to Hagrid’s first to ask if everything had gone all right with the thestrals. James rather liked Hagrid. He didn’t have a particular reason why. He just liked something about Hagrid’s gruffness. If there were to be a special reason to like reason, James supposed it was because he had asked for Hagrid’s help on caring for “animals” on more than one occasion. In fact, Hagrid’s advice had been essential for James, Sirius, and Peter to care for Remus immediately before and after the full moon. All in all, James had warmed up to Hagrid considerably, so it was with a friendly tone that James asked him, “How’d the thestrals go, Hagrid?”
“Think they were all right. They dun’ always like being around people for too long, but they handled it well,” Hagrid answered sagely.
“I meant from the students’ perspective, Hagrid,” James said, amused.
“Ah, righ’, righ’. Well, I’m sure everyone liked the thestrals. What’s not to like?” Hagrid asked seriously.
Right... What’s not to like about winged skeletal horses that apparently only people who have witnessed death can see? James shook his head, grinning. “All right. Cheers, Hagrid.”
With that, he went off across the grounds. Everything seemed quiet.
But then, as James made his way back towards the castle, zigzagging through the parked carriages, gleaming in the cold winter moonlight, he suddenly picked up on a series of soft sounds...
He hesitated. What is that sound? Is someone hurt somewhere?
James began to head towards the sound. He drew out his wand just in case.
As he approached the last line of carriages, he could hear the sound a bit more clearly.
“...ah! ...ah....ah...!”
He frowned. What the hell is going on?
Then, James realized that one of the last carriages was subtly shifting, rocking back and forth on its wheels.
James blew out a short, terse breath. He did not need this right now. Merlin’s beard. Who in their right mind is fucking in a carriage at one in the morning? he wondered.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Closer now, James could hear the moans much more clearly. The moans were gasping slightly, and almost wailing. Whoever that is is really taking it hard and rough, James thought to himself. Damn it, do I have to interrupt this? Aargh, all right, James. Just be professional about it. Get them back to the castle. Then, you can go back to Lily’s room and cuddle with her until you fall asleep...
“Ah, ah, ah!” The moans were becoming even more desperate and high-pitched. The carriage was definitely shifting now and James could hear a slight thudding sound as someone was being rammed roughly against the carriage door.
Rolling his eyes, James headed towards the rocking carriage, ready to yank the door open and tell the students to get lost.
But as he neared the carriage, he hesitated as a fuzzy realization began to enter his mind.
Those moans... I think I might know those moans... No way. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. It can’t be...
Suddenly, a girl’s delicate, but desperate hand slammed against the glass window, grasping in vain at the glass.
It must have been very heated and humid in the carriage, because the windows were completely fogged up. But as the woman’s hand slowly began to draw back in as she subconsciously realized she could not hold onto the glass, that it would not support her as she was being ruined by whoever was inside there with her, her fingers left long streaks in the fog. Water droplets appeared in the left-behind finger tracks, and began to streak down the window, providing a clear crosshatch design that erased the fog, allowing James to see through the window if he got close enough.
Frowning deeply, James forced himself to look inside of the carriage.
It took him a long moment to figure out what the hell was going on.
At first glance, all he could see was a man’s large back, stretched out possessively as he leaned over someone, with his back muscles straining as his hips and thighs jerked back and forth roughly. He was definitely fucking some poor girl relentlessly. James wasn’t sure who the man was at first, as he had a large dark blue, almost black, tattoo snaking across his back that James had never seen before. However, the man’s long silvery hair did give James a vague idea of who it might be.
Damn it, James thought. If that’s who I think it is, he’s the last person I want to see in any situation, let alone this situation. I hope he doesn’t give me trouble.
James could also see the lower half of the woman’s figure. As James peered in through the window, he saw the girl’s hips being forcefully jerked up and down by the man’s rough pounding. The girl, whoever she was, was struggling to find any semblance of support. One of her legs was trying vainly to press up against the carriage seat, but was slipping down thrust by thrust, and her other leg was high in the air, over the man’s shoulder, and her heel was hanging on only by her tiptoes.
In the short seconds that James watched, her lover thrust into her so intensely that her heel finally fell off and clattered loudly onto the floor.
James tried to make out the woman’s face, but he couldn’t see anything of her from the waist-up. Although, speaking of her waist... James paused. That soft little tummy, and those pretty thighs jerking back and forth - But no, James stopped himself from finishing that thought, because the girl in the carriage was wearing quite an elegant lingerie set that was very fitting and very sexy. Even through that blurry window, James could see that the lingerie had a little slit in it, so that, in all of the lace and whatnot that came with it, the woman wearing the lingerie could also be enjoyed without having to take it off.
When James saw that lingerie set, he let out a deep sigh of relief. Because he knew that you would never wear anything like that, let alone to be fucked in a carriage by some strange man with a huge tattoo snaking across his back. In fact, James had once caught you trying on a pair of his briefs because “you wanted to see if they were more comfortable than your own boyshorts,” which had traumatized him for a good few days. Strangely, he was the one embarrassed and you were the one laughing at him all week. Then, you had made a joke of it and showed up to his room wearing only his briefs.
Sirius had whooped and applauded. Remus had turned beet red and muttering furiously about a book he had to return, he left, with no book at all. And Peter died on the spot. Just died. Right there.
James gave you all of ten seconds to explain yourself before he forced Sirius and Peter out of the room, grabbed you, pushed you down on the nearest bed (unfortunately, poor Remus’), ripped down his briefs on you to your thighs, and fucked the daylights out of you, making you cry out and grab Remus’ pillow tightly in your little hands, squeezing it so hard that the downy feathers started to peek through the cotton covering.
Anyways, all that to say that the woman in the carriage was definitely not you...
More moans spilled out. Well, more accurately, they had never stopped, but they were becoming more and more intense. “Ah, ah, ah!”
But that sound... James bit down on his lower lip, and his brow furrowed. Yeah, that’s not her, but... She used to moan that way. Well, I mean, she used to moan that way for me. I’m sure she still moans that way, just not for me anymore...
But no, she doesn’t wear lingerie like that. She’s not into it. And she told me she’s not with Lestrange. So, that can’t be her.
Right?
But what if it is...?
Fuck.
Losing to his doubt after his internal bout with himself, James decided to go for it. At the risk of embarrassing himself, he tried to look closer, peering more intensely into the window.
But exactly at that moment, the man’s hand slammed down on the girl’s hand in the window, pinning it down and covering it in his large, tight grasp. The girl cried out loudly, still taking a pounding from the man leaning above her, who was clearly enjoying her like this, under him and all stretched out - in more ways than one. James jumped back in surprise, but he caught a glimpse of the man’s rings pressed up against the hard glass, making a soft rattling sound, for his rings knocked up against the window as he held the girl’s hand tightly in his, not letting her slip down or move her hand away.
Wait, I know that insignia. All the purebloods know that sign, if not all witches and wizards... That’s the Lestrange insignia, James recognized. He let out a short, impatient sigh. Then, that’s Cyrille Lestrange for sure. God damn it.
Just then, James heard a desperate cry wring out, and suddenly, the girl’s hips buckled and she abruptly came hard, squirting hard all over the man’s cock and herself, her cum drenching her pretty lingerie.
But Lestrange didn’t let up one bit, fucking the girl anyways, using the girl’s wetness to his advantage to ram his cock into her even harder, making her slide up and down on the slick seat as she took his cock.
“A-Ah, ah, a- uhn! Uh, uh, uh, uhn....”‘ The girl’s strangled half-whimpers and half-moans sounded out so pitifully, but even James had to admit that there was something quite lovely about the way her moans lilted. Because James now heard what Yaxley had heard up on the Astronomy Tower - that whoever the girl was, she must be so in love with this man as to give him such vulnerable, soft, and amazing whimpers and moans... And the way that she was letting him use her body suggested a deep devotion to her lover. Maybe she was enjoying it, too, but it was clearly putting her under quite a bit of strain, so she either trusted or loved the man she was with very much.
Just then, Lestrange’s head dipped low and he growled something to the girl.
At that moment in which Lestrange bent over his lover to growl his demands into her ear, the woman’s face - your face - appeared over Lestrange’s shoulder.
James’ jaw dropped. No. No. It can’t be.
His mind tried to go straight to denial. No way. No fucking way.
But it was impossible to deny that it was you. Of all people, you.
How could it be? She said... She said she’s not seeing him. A heavy stone dropped straight through James’ stomach. He found himself clutching his wand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
Fuck, that’s her. That’s really her. My baby. Wait, no - not my baby anymore. But someone who once was... my baby, and my sweetheart. Mine, under any name. And now...
James could not tear himself away from this horrible and gut-wrenching sight of you being held in the arms of another man - no, not even being held, but being cruelly held up by his hands pinning yours down, and even then, not by holding your hands sweetly, but by pinning them down through brute strength against the cold glass of the window.
James still could not believe the truth staring him straight in the face. You were being fucked by Lestrange, of all people and like this - ! Fuck, just look at her - Look at Baby, James thought numbly. Your face was flushed red. You were sweating, with your pretty face glistening in the dim light that entered the carriage. Your legs were splayed out. You obviously could not take Lestrange’s cock all the way in your tight pussy, but you were certainly trying your damned best for him.
And then - if all of this was not enough to torment James, the most unbelievable and insufferable thing happened - you begged for him. You fucking begged for him. Not just once, or twice, but repeatedly. And from the sweetness and total desire seeping through your pleas, it was very clear to James that you were doing it of your own free will.
You whimpered to Lestrange, in your perfect, lovely, half-sobbing little voice, “Please, please, please, please.”
Only half a beat later, and you were at it again, crying out weakly, “Cy...! Oh, p-please!”
James shut his eyes and held his breath, unable to take it.
But the sounds alone were enough to tell him what was going on.
“Good fucking girl,” Lestrange growled at you. “Yes, you are.”
“Yes.” -Thrust - The carriage rocked. - “Ah!” you cried out so sweetly and so needily.
“You.” - Thrust. - The carriage rocked again, loud enough to creak. -“Uhn!”
“- Are.” - Thrust. The carriage door literally shivered and nearly fell open, as you were slammed up against it. - “A-Ah, f-fuck!” you whimpered, your voice breaking.
James’ mind was numb. Lestrange was clearly fucking you hard enough to, at least on some level, make you ache. And yet, your want for him was so evident, not just in your moans, but in your words- specifically, your unrestrained pleas, which was something you never gave James. You never let James have that, not once, in two years of dating. Sure, you’d let a plea slip into your moans sometimes, but it was nothing close to the fucking spectacle you were giving now - to Cyrille Lestrange.
What is Baby doing, giving herself to this bastard, letting him fuck her until she’s sore and aching and hurting from his cock, wearing fancy lingerie for him, and pleading for him like he’s the best thing she ever had? James wondered, and his thoughts were shot through with hurt, disbelief, and anger.
More whimpers spilled out of you as Cyrille tried to kiss you, but you pushed him away and whined, “I- I can’t - ah, ah, ah! - C-Cy, I can’t b-breathe!”
But he must have kissed you anyways, because the next moment, a series of muffled cries and moans spilled out from your captured lips, trailing into, “Mm, Mm, Mm! Mmm...!”
This bastard is using her. He’s fucking smothering her with kisses when she needs to breathe. James nearly wrenched the carriage door open in that very moment to get to you, but just then, he heard you gasp loudly, gulping air into your lungs.
Then, you cried out, “U-Uhn, ah, ah, ah!”
Is it just me, or are her moans starting to sound hoarse? James wondered. Maybe I’m losing my mind...
And then, cruelly compounding the torture you were putting James through, your fervent desire for Lestrange was evident yet again as you burst out, “Please! Oh, please! Cy!”
She really... wants him, James thought. He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to face the fact that you might genuinely... like him.
“Fuck,” Lestrange cursed loudly enough for James to finally hear his growling voice. James opened his eyes again just in time to see Lestrange’s hand squeeze yours even harder against the window.
I should leave. Yeah, let me get the hell out of here, please, James thought, finally coming to his senses.
James began to turn away, when suddenly, he noticed that Lestrange was starting to pull away from you, and pull out of you, but you locked your legs tightly around him and gasped out, “Wait, n-no, don’t! Stay inside me. C-Cum inside me!”
Cyrille groaned in response to you. The beginning of his reply was hard to hear through the window, but James overheard the last bit of “Uhn... It’s not... We’re too- ”
James began to feel one tiny bit of relief at knowing that Lestrange was not going to cum inside of you, but then you shattered that one ray of hope when you begged Cyrille fervently, “Please. Please. Cum inside me. Please.”
James knew then that Lestrange would give you what you wanted. No man could resist you when you were asking for him to cum in you in such a wanting little voice, James recognized. Even all disheveled, you looked so lovely, and you sounded so sweet. What man wouldn’t want to fill you with his cum?
Just as James thought that, Cyrille moaned, and the sound was softer than James expected. “I can’t - can’t hold it. Angel...”
Angel? James nearly scoffed in disbelief. He called you ‘angel’?
Your voice rose up again, as though you knew James was standing outside having to listen to all this, unable to run away, transfixed to the ground in the middle of a cold winter’s night, shivering with cold and anger, only a few steps away from the carriage that you and Lestrange had heated up with your overwhelming lust for each other.
And as though you were determined to never let James forget that, you moaned for Lestrange, “Please, I need you to cum inside me. It’s what I need. For me. Please. Please. Please.”
Your moans were so unbelievably soft, and yet, they were just desperate enough to carry through and reach James’ ears.
“Angel!” Cyrille suddenly growled your name in a rough voice that tore at his throat. Then, he thrust into you hard one last time -
“Uhn!”
“Ah!”
Cyrille’s moan tangled in the air with your own strangled, wrenching, and utterly exhausted cry.
I can’t do this, James thought, heart-broken. I cannot do this.
Before he knew it, he was running as fast as he could back towards the castle, trying to force his mind to erase what he’d just seen. But of course, the harder he tried to forget everything he had seen and heard, the deeper it planted itself into its memory and into his heart.
* * * * * * * * * *
James had managed to pull himself together long enough to be there for Lily, to hold her against his chest until she fell asleep. He gently tucked her into bed, and lovingly kissed her forehead before he slipped away.
But instead of going back to his Head Boy dormitory, James went back to Gryffindor Tower. It was nearly four in the morning. James wasn’t sure whether you had come back or not yet, but it didn’t matter. He would either catch you coming in, or he would find you going down to breakfast or lunch. It truly did not matter. He just had to see you.
As he sat there in front of the fireplace, he remembered how Cyrille Lestrange had always seemed to have his eye on you. Lestrange had been the first one to call him out for having feelings for Lily while dating you. James still remembered that terrible day where he had accidentally marked you up all over your chest and neck because he’d been so fired up by Lestrange’s taunts. And there was that other time, when James thought you might have accidentally seen him and Lily hold hands for the first time outside the Great Hall... Lestrange had been the one who stopped James from going after you, and even though he hadn’t been able to see it with his own eyes, James had always suspected that Lestrange had gone after you himself, and that thought had always bothered him.
If that thought had bothered him, imagine what this was doing to him. James took off his glasses and tiredly pressed his palms against his eyes for the hundredth time, praying to forget what he’d seen.
Maybe I should just pretend like it never happened. I never saw it. Yeah. Who am I to ask about Baby’s love life, anyways?
Shit, James berated himself, I need to stop thinking about her as Baby. She’s not that to me anymore.
James sighed. He had never been able to call Lily any of the nicknames that he had had for you. Not that he needed to, the name ‘Lily’ offered a plethora of sickly sweet nicknames on its own - ‘Lils,’ ‘Flower of my Heart,’ ‘The Only Flower I am Not Allergic to.’ Though factually true, Lily had nonetheless slapped James in the face for that last one.
Behind them, Sirius had grumbled and slipped a sickle to Remus for losing the ‘Lily will slap James for the 86th time today’ bet. Peter opened his Potions textbook and make a scratch, as he was keeping count.
Lily had once asked James to call her ‘sweetheart,’ and James had tried, but it just didn’t sit right with him. It didn’t flow off the tongue like it did with you, and James had no idea if it was because it was always weird to use an ex’s nickname for someone else, or if it was because it had been particularly fitting for you to be his sweetheart.
Stop it, James growled at himself. This is wrong.
He blew out a long breath. I should go. So what if she is seeing Lestrange? I have no right to stop her. Hell, I don’t even have a right to ask her about it. After I hurt her, she -
Suddenly, James paused. He jolted up in his seat. What if it’s because I hurt her that Lestrange was able to sink his venomous fangs into her? Everyone knows he’s the master of manipulation. Even Sirius has heard from other women how charming Lestrange can be. He’s famous for his ability to seduce people into believing what he wants them to believe. And if... if after I broke up with her, she felt vulnerable, what if it was my stupidity that let Lestrange have his way with her?
James sank back into the couch, horrified by the thought that this could somehow, at least in part, be his fault. But the realization of that possibility renewed his determination to stay up here and wait for you. Yes, he was angry with you, but he also just needed to make sure that you were all right. And that was genuinely the main thing for James. He was worried about you.
Even now, in his heart of hearts, James knew that he could eventually get over what he had seen today. His own pride wasn’t that important when it came to you. Feeling betrayed was his problem, and James knew that. Above all, James just needed you to be safe, healthy, and genuinely happy. To him, you would always be the woman that he so respected and loved, no matter what label you’d put on that love.
So, James settled in and tried his best to stay up for you.
* * * * * * * * * *
“James...? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be up in the Head Boy dormitory?”
“James? Earth to James?”
A shadow passed over James’ soundly closed eyes. He slowly blinked awake to find that you were waving your hand over his face.
He heard you sigh and murmur, “Maybe I should go get Sirius...”
James’ eyes finally took in his surroundings, and took in you, just as you began to turn away to go back.
Baby...? he thought tiredly. What’s...? Oh!
Suddenly, he sprung up from the seat and quickly grasped your wrist.
“Wait!”
You turned back and looked at him.
“Wait,” James repeated again. His voice was slightly husky from having just woken up, not to mention the sleepless night he’d spent waiting for you - well, until he fell asleep.
He cleared his throat. “I need to speak with...you.”
But then, he paused. His eyes went up and down, and then he asked you, “What on earth are you wearing?”
“Er... a bathrobe?” you replied, confused. Isn’t it pretty obvious what this is? I’m sure he’s seen a bathrobe before. “You sure you’re awake?”
“That’s a prefect’s bathrobe,” James recognized. “I forced Remus to wear one in the Great Hall once.”
You did, in fact, recall James’ pulling one of these embroidered ‘prefect’ bathrobes over Remus’ head at breakfast, shouting down Remus’ half-hearted insults and pleas of resistance. Remus had always tried to hide the fact that he was a prefect, but James, Sirius, and Pete had determined among themselves that Remus’ prefect status was should be something to be celebrated and flaunted in front of everyone. Literally, everyone.
You still had disturbing memories of Sirius shouting out loudly, “Prefect Moons!” and pouncing on him in the hallway. Being James’ girlfriend came with a certain level of risk, you’d found out. In fact, you swore your reflexes had developed tenfold in the two years that you’d been with James.
James pulled you out of your memories by asking you, “Well, you weren’t with Amelia, were you? I saw her come through last night, and it’s still early in the morning...”
He paused. Then, his brow furrowed as he realized slowly, “Wasn’t Lestrange the Slytherin prefect for our year?”
Shit, why did James have to remember that? You tried very hard to keep your expression neutral, but it was all for naught, as James muttered bitterly, “Never mind. As if I need further proof. I’ve seen it all already.”
You frowned. “What are you talking about? Proof of what?”
James wasn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, he was glaring down at the rug between the two of you.
“James? you said, concerned.
James took a deep breath. Then, he asked, in a pained voice, “Why did you lie to me?”
“Lie...?” You were starting to realize what James had come to know, but you hadn’t quite put all of the pieces together.
However, James left no room for misunderstanding as his eyes slowly traced up to you. In a quiet voice that was most unlike him, he said knowingly, “You’re with him, aren’t you? Cyrille Lestrange.”
Your eyes fell to James’ feet, and you clutched your dress quite tightly in your hand. “I told you,” you replied, in a similarly muted voice. “We’re acquaintances. Classmates.”
“No, you’re not,” James retorted, nearly cutting you off. “If you were just acquaintances, you wouldn’t beg so sweetly for him.”
Your mouth fell open as your eyes flashed back up to James’ face in complete shock. “How did you- ?”
“I saw you with him.” James swallowed hard. “You were begging for him to... to finish inside of you.”
Your eyes widened and your cheeks tinged quickly with embarrassment. “How - W-What?” you stuttered.
But before you could find a coherent way to formulate your astonishment, James stepped closer to you. Gripping your shoulders in his hands and looking down at you, he pleaded with you fervently, “Listen to me. You have to wake up.”
His warm brown eyes, which you still knew so well, bled with worry for you.
But you knew that his worry for you was misplaced.
“Wake up from what?” you pushed back. “Cyrille isn’t going to hurt me.”
Hearing you call Lestrange by his first name made strange and unfamiliar emotions tangle up in James’ heart.
Why does it affect me so badly to hear her call Lestrange by his first name? James wondered. Is it because I heard her moaning it the entire time he was inside of her last night? His name coming from her lips, in the midst of her needy moans, intense whimpers, and breathless little pleas...?
Damn it, no. Don’t think about that! Stopping himself, James told himself sternly, It’s just a name. Pull it together.
Steeling himself, James tried to be calm and rational. He inquired, “Why do you trust him so much? What makes you think he’s on your side?”
“Because... I’ve - I’ve spent time with him,” you finally admitted.
But instead of being appeased, James pressed you harder for answers.
“You know what everyone calls him, what he’s known for,” James reminded you. “He’s the ‘Serpent Prince.’”
Gazing at you with deeply skeptical eyes, James asked you seriously, “How can you allow yourself to be with someone like that?”
“Cyrille isn’t like that,” you told James firmly. “He doesn’t believe in the whole ‘pureblood’ and ‘prejudice’ nonsense.”
“How do you know that?” James asked insistently.
“Because he told me so himself,” you answered, starting to get a bit heated. Why is James being so stubborn about this? I get his concern, but he’s pushing me so hard.
“Well, of course he would say that,” James said, also starting to get frustrated with you. “He knows that that’s what you want to hear!”
“It’s not,” you argued back. “James, I trust him.”
“Look at what he does,” James urged you. “Have you seen who he hangs out with?”
“Well... I’ve spoken to him about it,” you said, finally giving a little ground.
“Oh, you’ve spoken to him about it,” James repeated. The frustration in his heart was paving the way for his skepticism to win out over his intent to be calm. “And after your conversation, has he actually changed who he spends time with? No, he’s still one of those damned Slytherin purebloods.”
“They’re not all bad!” you said, your voice rising.
“You can’t trust him,” James said, becoming more and more confident now that Cyrille was tricking you to get what he wanted - well, namely, you. But the way James saw it, Cyrille was telling you sweet nothings to bed you, to use you as his plaything, and not because he cared at all for you. In James’ mind, because James knew for certain that you did not condone prejudice, it followed that if Cyrille cared for you one whit, he could not continue to be a part of the group that was set to be Death Eaters.
As for you, you were currently stuck between a rock and hard place. You didn’t feel like you could reveal Cyrille’s intentions and mission to James. It wasn’t your place. You didn’t have the right to tell that secret. At the same time, you realized that you couldn’t otherwise convince James that Cyrille was a good person.
But wait, why do I have to convince James anyways? you suddenly found yourself wondering.
“James,” you said firmly, “this is not your problem. In fact, this has nothing to do with you!”
James’ face flushed a little as he replied clumsily, “I know that! I’m not - I’m not trying to - I mean, it’s not that I want to steal you away from him and be with you myself! It’s just that- ”
You blinked, taken aback by James’ honesty. Unexpectedly, a wave of hurt washed over you, as though you had only broken up with him yesterday. Before you could help yourself, you murmured aloud, “No, of course not. You never wanted to be with me. Why should you feel differently now?”
James paused. Suddenly realizing how his words must have sounded to you, he quickly backtracked and said loudly, “No! That’s not what I meant. I’m just - Aargh, I’m just saying that you can’t trust everything he says!”
“Well, at least he says the things that I need him to say!” you shot back.
“Because he’s lying to you! I was being honest with you! And you never gave me time before you single-handedly decided I wasn’t worth it for you, even though I was working up to lov- !” James abruptly cut him off.
Both of you were shouting at each other, arms crossed defiantly over your chests, and faces only inches apart.
As James suddenly shut up, you both fell silent, breathing hard as pent-up emotions started to pour out of the cracks in your hearts.
A fair number of students had overheard the commotion that the two of you were making, and they had sleepily come down to see what was going on.
Seeing people start to gather, James reached out and grasped your hand. He pulled you away from the crowd, taking you out of Gryffindor Tower.
He led you further down the hallway before suddenly turning and catching you in his arms, shoving you gently up against the wall behind you. Startled, you brought your hands up to your chest, shrinking away from James a little. You’d forgotten how his physique made you feel. With his broad shoulders and chest, his boxing you in like this suddenly made you feel at very close quarters with him. And his body just radiated warmth and energy like no other.
Staring down at you with a hard look in his eyes, James spoke in as serious a voice as you’d ever heard him use. “Tell me the truth. Do you really know that Lestrange is someone you can trust?”
Calming your heart now, you returned James’ hard gaze with your own, fierce stare.
“Yes,” you said firmly, determined to resolve any doubts on this score. “James, listen to me. Cyrille Lestrange is a good man, as deserving of honor and love as anyone else!”
When James heard you answer, speaking so assertively on behalf of another man who was your new lover, James’ anger slowly faded into pure hurt. His arms dropped back down to his sides, and his eyes also fell to the floor.
Your heart ached when you saw his wounded expression.
“James...” You tried to find a way to explain yourself without giving away Cyrille’s secret. “Not all Slytherin purebloods are bad. You trust Sirius. You trusted me...”
James looked up at you, confused. He frowned as he said to you, “What are you talking about? You’re a half-blood. And you’re in Gryffindor.”
You let out a deep breath that even James’ heard. He looked at you with concern etched deep into his warm brown eyes.
“James,” you said quietly. “I’m not a half-blood. I’m a pureblood.”
“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” James asked, seriously worried now.
“My last name is not the one I go by every day.” You looked up at James. Swallowing hard, you finally confessed to him, “I’m a Rosier.”
James’ jaw dropped. His eyes flashed in alarm behind his glasses.
You shut your eyes tightly and waited for his response. He’s going to be angry at me for not telling him, you predicted.
Instead, James growled thunderously, “What kind of utter bullshit did Cyrille Lestrange put into your head?”
Your eyes snapped back open. “What?” you said, in total disbelief. “You think Cyrille planted this into my head?”
“Well, where else would you get it from, huh?” James pushed back. He was panicking.
“James!” you shouted loudly. But you didn’t know what to say next because you were panicking, too.
Both of your emotions were bleeding out all over the place, but especially onto each other.
For a moment, you both shouted over each other.
“He’s telling you lies to bring you onto his side -!”
“If you’re going to go so far as to insult my own self-proclaimed identity -!”
You suddenly cut off, biting on your tongue on accident.
“Ow!” you shouted out.
James immediately shut up, concerned. “Shit, did you hurt yourself?”
James instinctively put his warm, broad hand on your cheek and pushed up your face to make sure that you weren’t hurt.
To his surprise, he found you furiously blinking back tears - not because you were in any physical pain, but because of James’ reaction to you telling him your true identity.
“B-Baby?” James said weakly, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to call you that anymore.
For a moment, hearing James call you by your old nickname disarmed you. I used to love hearing him call me that. Maybe I took it for granted back then...
But then, you pushed his hand away and glared up at him, furious. “If you’re not going to believe anything I say, then why bother having this conversation with me?” you said coldly.
You crossed your arms over yourself, both to appear intimidating to him and to hold yourself together.
James was silent, his jaw clenched tightly, as his mind raced at a hundred thoughts a second.
You started to step away, but James gently grabbed your shoulder and pleaded with you.
“No, wait! Please don’t go,” James begged you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, all right? I’m so sorry.”
You let him gently pull you back in front of him. But you just shook your head at him, showing him that you were done with this conversation.
“It’s just that... I’ve never heard you mention this before,” James told you quietly, trying to explain his disbelief to you without offending you or questioning your integrity. “I mean - do you actually remember your parents, then? Or... Or growing up in the Rosier household? Because then, I mean, wouldn’t the other Slytherins know you better, or make a big deal out of you the way they did Sirius?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just don’t understand where this is coming from all of a sudden,” James said, purposefully keeping his voice very gentle as he spoke to you, even though he was actually struggling quite a bit to keep his emotions at bay. “And even you have to admit, this sounds like exactly the kind of thing Lestrange or some other pureblood would plant in your brain to garner loyalty or sympathy...”
You were completely silent throughout all of this. Because the truth was - no, you did not remember your parents very well. They had been absent for most of your childhood, as you had been raised by a nanny. Then, when you were old enough to start to take on the family mantle, you finally began to receive training directly from your parents. You knew from flashes in your memory that it had not gone well, mainly because of your difference in ideology, paired with your utterly impatient and unresponsive attitude towards their way of thinking.
But then, right before the summer of fourth year, your memories cut off. For the summers of your fourth and fifth years, your mind was totally blank.
Your memories picked back up in full detail at the beginning of fifth year, which was when you developed a serious crush on James and decided to give it a try.
James’ anxiety had risen to an all-time high as you stood there before him, looking upset, but also with blank eyes.
“I’m sorry...” he repeated hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to blow up at you. I didn’t mean to question you like that. I’m just really worried for you - Hey, wait, where are you going?”
You ran back to Gryffindor Tower. Ignoring Emmeline’s sleepy inquiries as to what you were up to, you quickly changed into your blouse and skirt. You shoved your dress, still wrapped up around the garter set, into the trash can.
Then, you ran back down the dormitory stairs.
James had followed you in and was worriedly waiting for you in the common room. He tried to step in front of you, but you pushed him away from you. James didn’t dare try to physically hold you back, but he trailed after you as you stepped back into the hallway.
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” James asked you, almost begging with you to answer him.
After muttering aloud, “My memories,” you abruptly took off down the hallway, running as fast as you could towards the stairs at the end of the hall.
“Wait! Where are you running to?” James shouted at you.
You didn’t respond as you raced off towards Dumbledore’s office - to get your memories back, once and for all.
* * * * * * * * * *
You stood uncertainly in front of the golden eagle guarding the Headmaster’s office.
“Password?” the golden eagle cawed.
“Um, I don’t know. I’m - I’m just a student. I need to see the Headmaster.”
The golden eagle remained still for a few seconds longer. Then, to your amazement, it spread out its magnificent golden wings before it began to turn sideways and up. Stairs appeared, rising out of the ground, climbing up its wings. You stepped quickly onto the rotating steps, and let them bring you up to the door of the Headmaster’s office.
When the stairs stopped and you were facing the door, you knocked twice.
You heard Dumbledore’s cheerful voice say, “Come in.”
You pushed open the door and walked in.
When Albus Dumbledore saw you striding into his office, his bright blue eyes flashed down at you from behind his half-moon glasses.
“Ah, and how may I be of service to you?” he greeted you. “It must be very important, seeing how early you’ve come to my office. I must confess, I barely just got up myself.”
He chuckled lightly, but you could not bring yourself to do the same.
Instead, standing before him, you said nervously, “Headmaster, I’ve been told that I once came to you and asked you to take away some of my memories. Is that true?”
Dumbledore paused. Bringing together his long fingers, he rested his chin at the tip of his fingers as he looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling was covered with moving models of the planets, stars, and other celestial bodies.
Finally, he replied in a quiet voice, “Yes, that is true.”
You took a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, you asserted boldly, “I would like those memories back.”
But Dumbledore met your grand proclamation with the lightest of voices, telling you in a politely interested tone, “Well, of course, the paradox of making an informed choice in your case is clear. You cannot remember the effect of the memories on you, which would, and perhaps should, function as the main deterrent in regaining your memories. To remember the effect, you must regain the memories themselves, which, in turn, defeats the purpose of having a choice at all.”
Looking back down at you, Dumbledore asked you, “May I ask why you’ve decided to ask for your memories back?”
You hesitated. How do I explain this complicated situation...? In various ways, your relationships with Cyrille, James, and even your mother, all hinged on what had happened in the past. Thinking hard for a long moment, you ended up saying honestly, “I need to know myself.”
Dumbledore slowly nodded at your answer. “Well, if you put it that way, the answer does seem clear. And, of course, only you have the right to decide. They are, after all, your memories. But I must warn you, it may be very painful to regain them.”
“I still want them back.”
“Very well.” Dumbledore sighed. “Come to me, child, and we shall retrieve your memories from the Pensieve.”
* * * * * * * * * *
James stood there in the hallway for a long time after you left, pacing and holding his head in his hands, pulling at different tufts of his hair. He groaned every few seconds.
Shit, what did I do? Did I hurt her? But I wasn’t trying to - Ugh, I let it get out of hand. Why did I let it get to me so badly?
His heart whispered the real answer: Because you’re jealous.
No, he told himself. I just care for her. As a person. I’d kill anyone who dared to lay a finger on her.
True, his heart whispered back, but doesn’t it make it a million times worse that the one who could hurt her is her new lover? The man she tried to hide from you, said that they were just acquaintances, and that same night, you discovered her begging for him to cum in her as she’s never begged for you before. You really think that’s not part of all this? You really think that’s not why you’re overreacting to this?
James growled. Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I have to protect her. Even if everything she said is true - and I don’t care if she is a Rosier - if Lestrange has that information and is using it to his advantage, I’m going to make him pay. I’m going to fucking make him pay.
James suddenly bolted down the hallway, heading down to the Slytherin common room. He followed two Slytherin students in, ignoring them when they yelled at him.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to come in here!”
“Lestrange!” James shouted out, ignoring the other students’ indignant cries.
“What in hell- ? Why is James Potter in here?”
Recognizing Sirius’ little brother, James called out to him. “Regulus! Where’s Lestrange?”
Regulus looked startled at being called out by his brother’s best friend. But slowly, Regulus lifted his hand, pointing James down the hallway.
James took off.
Without warning, he burst into Lestrange’s dormitory. Not only was Lestrange there, but so was Yaxley, Crabbe, and Goyle.
But James made a beeline for Cyrille.
Roughly grabbing the front of his shirt, James immediately shoved Cyrille against the bedpost.
“What did you do to her?” James snarled at Cyrille.
“Is it so hard to act remotely civilized?” Cyrille asked in a very quiet voice, staring at James without a speck of fear in his eyes.
Cyrille merely looked lazily inconvenienced, as if James were a fly on his hand. “Learn to say ‘hello’ sometime, would you?” he told James coldly. “It’s a useful word to learn, I promise you.”
Behind them, Crabbe grunted out, “What the hell is going on?”
“Stay back for now,” Yaxley drawled, amused at the thought of Cyrille being taken to task, and secure in the knowledge that James was well outnumbered, if things did get out of hand.
“Answer me,” James growled, shoving Cyrille back hard against the bedpost. “What did you do to Baby?”
“Baby?” Cyrille’s eyes flashed. In a low voice that only James could hear, Cyrille challenged James by saying, “Surely not your ‘baby’? Last time I checked, she was mine.”
“Yours?” James scoffed in disbelief. “You’re using her, you son of a bitch! That does not make her yours.”
“I have never used her,” Cyrille said calmly. “I’m not like you, Potter. I only love one woman.”
Then, noticing Goyle pointing his wand at James’ back, Cyrille said harshly, “Put down your wand, Goyle. We don’t need magic to deal with the likes of him.”
“Listen!” James demanded through gritted teeth at Cyrille. “Because of your lies, she’s lost her mind, running off all of a sudden, muttering about ‘her memories’! What the hell did you do to her? Huh?”
Cyrille’s eyes flashed open. “What? What did you just say?”
“I don’t know!” James said, anguished. “She said something about ‘her memories,’ and then she took off like a mad hare!”
Cyrille shoved James aside. Her memories! Cyrille’s mind had gone hazy. His heart was suddenly thundering in his chest. Did Angel -? No, she couldn’t have gone to Dumbledore...
Cyrille was out of the dormitory before anyone could even blink. But then, James leapt into action, too, sprinting off after Cyrille to try to catch him.
Goyle tried to take this chance to curse James, but James was able to pull his wand out quickly and bellow, “Impedimenta!”
Goyle went flying back and hit the wall with a loud thud!
* * * * * * * * * *
“Ah!” You cried out and fell to your hands and knees as months’ worth of memories began to crowd into your mind all at once.
You were fourteen, and your parents had coldly declared that you were completely unfit to “take on the Rosier mantle.” They were furious to find that you weren’t just Gryffindor. No, your pathetic mind had been “wrongfully indoctrinated” with “Mudblood-loving ideology.” You were immediately sent to the Lestranges, with a letter asking them to train you “out of your mistaken beliefs.”
On your second day at the Lestranges’ cold and expensive estate, you wandered into one of the large ballrooms. A lilting voice behind you rang out, “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting my parents? They’re waiting for you in the drawing room.”
You turned to see Cyrille Lestrange, also fourteen years old, standing at the entrance of the ballroom, leaning easily against the doorway. You recognized him from school, of course, but you had never spoken directly with him.
Cyrille continued, in a voice that merely suggested observation, “So, it’s true what they say. You have no manners.”
His silver eyes disarmingly flickered all over you as he read your countenance. Smirking a little, Cyrille said casually, “See, guests usually don’t wander around all over the estate behind their host’s back.”
Your upper lip curled in distaste at him.
“Not a very friendly greeting,” Cyrille said, smiling thinly as he clearly identified your displeasure towards him.
“Why should I give you a friendly greeting?” you asked him, watching him warily as he entered the ballroom and stepped towards you now. “You’re like your brothers - worse than the devil himself. In fact, I’d say you are literally the spawn of Satan.”
To your surprise, Cyrille burst out laughing at your comment. He stopped right in front of you and looked at you with amused eyes. He tilted his head at you as he said lightly, “Then, does that make you an angel?”
You blinked. Then, you began to blush. Trying to hide it, you said, highly irritated, “Don’t tease me.”
Cyrille smirked at you.
Hating that look on his face, you walked out of the ballroom first, leaving him behind.
* * * * * * * * * *
But the two of you were the only children at the vast estate (as Cyrille’s brothers were both quite a bit older than he was), and you were getting quite lonely. Still, you thought to yourself, better no company than Cyrille Lestrange.
You had brought your favorite book along, called “Princess Bride.” It had been featured as “Recently Published” in the “Muggle” section of Flourish and Blotts last year. You’d quite taken to it, though you hid it from your parents, afraid that they’d take it away from you if they ever found out that it was written by a Muggle author.
You sat down before a piano and began to read your book.
“Here you are. My parents are asking where you’ve - What’s that you’re reading?”
You snapped shut the book at once when you heard Cyrille’s voice.
You stood up and hid your book behind your back as Cyrille came in.
Cyrille hesitated. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Um, no, you didn’t,” you replied, a bit flustered.
“Were you reading?”
You paused. If you said yes, he would be sure to ask to see your book. You resolutely shook your head.
“Oh, really?” Cyrille said wryly, barely keeping from rolling his eyes. “All right, then what do you call it when you draw your eyes across the words of a page, hm?”
You flushed with embarrassment.
But then, Cyrille suggested teasingly, “Do angels call it something different? Prayer, perhaps?”
Surprised at his warm, teasing tone, you found yourself looking up at him curiously.
“Anyways, my parents are furious that you’ve missed lunch again, so be on your guard,” Cyrille told you, nodding at you over his shoulder before he stepped out and left you there, alone.
* * * * * * * * * *
Sure enough, when Cyrille’s mother, Alexine Lestrange, found you later in your hallway, making your way back to your room, she was furious.
“Girl, we have brought you under our tutelage under your parents’ request, and this is how you treat us? By forgetting to appear on time for meals and skipping out on lessons?” Alexine berated you.
Seeing the book in your hand, she snatched it from you. “What is this?”
“Give it back!” you cried out.
Just then, Cyrille and his father, Thadeus Lestrange, appeared around the corner.
They both stopped when they saw the confrontation going on between you and Alexine. Cyrille’s eyes immediately snapped to the book in his mother’s eyes.
“Mother,” he said quickly, “what are you doing with my book?”
Alexine hesitated. “Your book?”
“Yes. Madam Pince gave it to me to read. I have to return it to her.”
“Then why does she -” Alexine jerked her head at you “- have it?”
“I gave it to her to borrow,” Cyrille replied straightforwardly. Seeing his mother’s skeptical look, he copied his parents’ oft-used language and said, “I thought you would approve of my... educating her. See, that book is about pureblood traditions. Proper traditions.”
Alexine slowly began to believe her son’s story. Finally, she handed it back to you. You snatched it right out of her hand, hugging it to your chest. Then, you dashed away to your bedroom.
“I told you to stop running in the hallways!” Thadeus’ furious voice boomed after you. “There will be no supper for you today, girl!”
* * * * * * * * * *
Later that evening, you were lying in your bed. Your stomach was growling non-stop. You were so hungry. You curled up in your bed, trying to hug your stomach. You tried to think of a way to get food, but you were sure that the Lestranges would have told their house elves not to give you any. You sighed.
Then, a soft sliding sound interrupted the quiet of the night. You sat up. Turning your head towards your door, where the sound had come from, you noticed that a thin bundle of napkins had been shoved under your door.
You walked over and carefully opened it. Two pieces of toasted bread, cheese slices, and somewhat flattened but not-yet-burst grapes had been wrapped up in the napkins. You ate it all at once, savoring how delicious it tasted.
Then, as you licked your fingers clean, you suddenly realized that you’d never thanked the person who gave the food to you.
Creeping over to the door, you pressed your ear to it, and whispered uncertainly, “... Cyrille? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
You were quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. Finally, you murmured, “Thank you.”
“I can’t really hear you,” he replied, whispering back.
“Oh...” You reached up and very quietly opened your door.
Cyrille slipped in, and you closed it behind him, being careful not to make any noise.
Cyrille pulled out his wand. Pointing it at your door, he murmured, “Muffliato.”
“Makes it so that anyone trying to listen in just hears a buzzing noise,” Cyrille explained to you. “Severus taught me that one.”
“Oh.” You shifted uneasily on your feet, not sure how to talk to him.
“So, now that I’ve covered up for you, would you be willing to tell me what the book’s really about?” Cyrille asked you, smirking a little.
You frowned a little, not wanting to. But, you figured that you did owe him for covering up for you today and for bringing you food. So, you began to offer a brief explanation of the story, “It’s about this woman called Buttercup, and she falls in love with a man named Westley. Westley decides to go and seek out a fortune so that they can marry, but Buttercup hears bad news about him being attacked, and thinks that he’s dead. So, she agrees to marry this prince. However, she’s kidnapped by a trio of outlaws. And anyways, Westley comes back and saves her. But it’s filled with a lot of adventure, like there’s a swordfight between Westley and Inigo- ”
“Swordfight?” Cyrille interrupted you. “What’s the point of a sword when you’ve got a wand?”
“Oh... Right. Well, this is a Muggle book. I mean, it’s written by a Muggle author,” you explained.
"Ah, I see,” Cyrille said.
You waited for him to say something mean or degrading about the book, but instead, Cyrille asked you, “Can I read it? I promise I’ll return it back in good condition.”
“Or... should I say, same condition?” Cyrille amended, looking at the copy to find it already with a drooping spine and dog-eared pages from your repeated reading.
“You want to borrow it?” you asked him, surprised.
“If it’s all right with you,” Cyrille responded.
* * * * * * * * * *
A week later, two nights before you were both set to go back to Hogwarts, Cyrille returned your book to you.
“Did you like you?” you asked him excitedly.
“Sure, except... It was a bit over-the-top with the romance,” Cyrille told you, handing it back to you a bit carelessly.
Disappointment bloomed in your stomach. “What do you mean?” you said indignantly, feeling insulted.
“As you wish?” Cyrille repeated, raising his eyebrow at you distastefully. “What a ridiculous phrase. That’s even worse than when I tried to call you ‘angel.’”
“Well, maybe some of us like being called angel!” you said hotly, meaning to defend the book.
Cyrille paused.
You did, too. And then, you blushed crimson.
You hurriedly began to turn away from Cyrille, but he reached out and gently grasped your arm.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said quickly. “You’re really going to shun me for that? It’s just my opinion.”
“Maybe... But it’s my favorite book,” you told him, not meeting his eyes. “You could be a little bit nicer, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” he told you sincerely.
You stayed there, letting him hold your arm. The two of you had ended up quite close to each other, as your face was level with his chest now.
“I’m sorry,” Cyrille repeated. “How can I make it up to you?”
You looked up at him with soft, shy eyes. In truth, you wanted him to hug you, or... kiss you? Your tummy gave a soft lurch as you thought about him kissing you. You hadn’t had your first kiss yet, and you wanted to know what it would feel like...
Cyrille’s brow furrowed for a moment as he read you, just like he was trained to do. Looking into your soft, curious eyes, he murmured, “Do you want me to kiss you?”
A soft tinge of pink appeared across your cheeks, like a cloud kissed with sunshine floating across your face.
“You do?” Cyrille said, surprised.
Finally, you nodded.
“Well,” Cyrille told you quietly, “your wish is my command.”
He leaned down and softly pressed his lips against your waiting ones. You shut your eyes and waited for the lightning to strike you and send you straight to heaven. But nothing like that happened.
Nonetheless, it felt quite pleasant to have his warm mouth pressed up against yours.
But it was over very quickly.
And then the embarrassment hit.
You immediately hid your face from him, putting your head down towards his chest, though not actually resting your head against him.
“What?” Cyrille said, laughing a little. “Don’t tell me that was your first kiss.”
He reached down and hugged you against him. He tried to peer down into your face, but you were doing a good job of evading him.
But after a moment, you said hopefully, “Now that we’ve kissed, do you think maybe - maybe you could call me ‘angel’?”
“Um, sometimes?” you amended hastily, trying not to show how much you liked that nickname.
But you could not be more obvious about it in Cyrille’s eyes.
“Sure, angel,” he told you, squeezing you a little in his arms before he let you go.
* * * * * * * * * *
But the night before you both went back to Hogwarts, Cyrille came to you and said, “You know, you might not want to be close to me at Hogwarts... You’ve done a pretty good job of just avoiding all of this pureblood stuff up to this point. Best to keep it that way.”
“Why does that mean I should avoid you?” you asked him.
“Well, I’m someone different at school,” Cyrille replied, a bit depressed.
“Oh,” you said, and that was that.
* * * * * * * * * *
But as your fourth year played out, news of your behavior at school reached the other pureblood parents through their students. You became known as ‘a Mudblood-lover.’
Your father, Evan Rosier, was beginning to feel his legitimacy among the rising Death Eater group as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Purebloods crumble. He consulted with your grandfather, Marcus Rosier, and the two of them secretly put out a story that falsely said that your mother, Irina Rosier (nee Nott), a pureblood and also a daughter of one of Sacred Twenty-Eight families, was actually a Muggle-born, and that she had lied about her pureblood status before she married your father. Your father planned to divorce your mother if his reputation suffered any further. “Muggle-born” was equated to “crazy” within the Death Eater circles, and so it became known that you were a “Mudblood-lover” because you had inherited the insane gene from your mother.
Your father had deeply underestimated your mother, however. Your mother was a deeply clever, calculating, and selfish woman, and when she heard the rumors of herself circulating throughout the pureblood community. Your mother immediately put two and two together and realized exactly what was going on, though she was powerless to quash it directly, since the source of the information was secretly your father (and she knew that it would be detrimental, if not fatal, to challenge him directly).
* * * * * * * * * *
When your fourth year ended, you stopped briefly at your home to greet your parents. Your mother was surprisingly sweet, telling your father off for berating you and presenting you with a pair of her expensive earrings.
“Amethyst and ancient gold. Perfect for you, darling,” she said, slipping them onto your ears for you. But then, she noticed how your wild curls covered up the earrings almost immediately.
“Oh, you need to tame your hair, child. It’s unruly and ugly. I can’t even see the earrings because of your hair,” your mother told you, frowning. “That won’t do. Learn how to sleek down your hair, please. Alexine will be able to teach you.”
Then, you were sent back to the Lestranges to ‘continue your education.’
* * * * * * * * * *
“What are you wearing?” were Cyrille’s first words to you.
You quickly took off your mother’s earrings and put them away. “They were my mother’s earrings, and she wanted me to wear them,” you explained quickly, not really wanting to talk about it.
“Is that... bad?” Cyrille asked, picking up at once on your mood (once again, as he had been trained to do in all situations.)
“Well, no,” you replied, “but she made a comment about my hair. She hates it. She said that it’s ugly, and that I need to tame it.”
“Well, all of the aristocrats in our circle do comb back their hair, I guess,” Cyrille said, shrugging. “Is that such a big deal?”
“It’s just that I like my hair. I know it’s not pretty, but I like the personality it has. It fits me, somehow,” you confessed.
Just then, there was a knock on your bedroom door. Alexine’s voice rang out, “I’ve received instructions from your mother to teach you how to do your hair. Are you ready for me?”
Cyrille looked over at you. “Follow me,” he whispered. To your utter surprise, he opened your window and jumped lithely out of it. You peered out of your window, and gulped. Though you were only on the second floor, it still seemed quite high up.
Cyrille beckoned to you to hurry up, and put out his hands to indicate that he would catch you.
“You insolent girl, I know you’re in there!” Alexine’s voice rang out on the other side of the door. “I’m coming in!”
You jumped, holding back a scream. Cyrille caught you, and gently set you on your feet. Then, grabbing your hand, the two of you ran off together into the extensive gardens of the Lestrange estate.
* * * * * * * * * *
When the two of you were far enough away, you burst out laughing and fell into the soft grass behind the rose gardens. Stretching out on the grass, you stared up into the wide sky breathlessly.
“That was a rush,” you told Cyrille. He sat down next to you, stretching one leg out and bending his other leg at the knee. He casually rested his elbow on his knee. He gazed down at you and smiled when he saw a few scattered rose petals caught among your curls already.
“Well, you said you didn’t want to change your hair, and - what’s the phrase? Oh, right. ‘Your wish is my command,’” Cyrille told you, and his smile deepened into a mischievous smirk.
You shook your head at him, though you couldn’t help except to smile back. “That was last year,” you told him. “I’m not obsessed with that book anymore.”
“Oh, really?” Cyrille said, shifting back to lie back on his elbows. “That’s a pity. That phrase was really beginning to grow on me.”
“What about ‘angel’?” he asked you. “Do you still like that?”
“Oh...” You pretended to think about it, although you already knew the answer quite clearly in your heart. “Um, yes, please.”
Cyrille looked over at you, amused at how much you seemed to like that name.
But it really fit you, he found himself thinking. He had just picked it out as a way to disarm you and by disarming you, to turn the tables on you so that you wouldn’t call him names anymore. Unexpectedly, though, the disarming may have worked the other way, Cyrille thought.
“What?” you asked him, as you noticed him gazing at you.
You felt a bit self-conscious. “Is there something on my face?”
You reached up to touch your face to check. But Cyrille turned over slightly so that he was leaning on his side and reaching over to you, he grasped your wrist and said, “No, angel, there’s nothing on your face.”
“But,” he whispered softly, “there are rose petals in your hair.”
Suddenly, he pinned you down by holding you by the wrist and pushing your arm down. In a flash, he was sitting on top of you.
“C-Cyrille?” you said, startled.
Cyrille leaned over you and slid his other hand into your hair, feeling the rogue rose petals among your curls slip under his fingertips.
He leaned down until his lips were hovering centimeters away from yours. You had already squeezed your eyes shut and were busy holding your breath in anticipation. Cyrille smiled softly. Then, he asked you in a low murmur, “May I kiss you, angel?”
You paused. Still with your eyes tightly shut, you nodded.
And then Cyrille Lestrange pressed his lips to yours, kissing you for a second time in that beautiful garden filled with the first bloom of summer flowers.
* * * * * * * * * *
The two of you could not escape all lessons though (and actually, Cyrille was quite diligent about taking lessons from his parents, as long as he wasn’t helping you to escape them). So it was that the two of you found yourselves sitting in the Lestrange library, poring over the names of the old pureblood aristocrats and famous wizards and witches.
You were disinterestedly skimming through the book, when suddenly, you happened upon Cyrille’s name.
“Look,” you told him. “Your name means ‘my lord’.”
“Yes,” Cyrille confirmed, not looking up from his own studies.
“You already knew that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. So, if I call you ‘Lord Cyrille,’ is that ‘Lord Lord’?” you teased him. “Maybe I should call you that.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cyrille replied lightly, still not looking up from his book.
“Then, what about ‘my lord’?” you asked, absent-mindedly.
Cyrille paused and looked up at you.
Just then, Alexine’s irritated voice slithered over from two bookcases over. “Who’s talking?” she snapped. “Focus on your studies!”
You sighed and looked back down at your book ago.
Twenty minutes later, you were woken up by Alexine’s shriek.
“You drooled all over the page with our family name! ‘Cyrille’ is on this page, you despicable girl!” Alexine yelled at you.
Cyrille coughed, barely biting back a laugh.
* * * * * * * * * *
Later that evening, you both had to take ballroom lessons. The Lestranges had hired an actual instructor named Felicity, who was very hands-off. She was a good teacher and an excellent dancer herself, but she left early almost every lesson.
Still, you and Cyrille had gotten into the habit of practicing with each other for the full two hours, dancing quietly with each other even without a teacher there.
As you danced together that evening, Cyrille said to you, “You really hate studying, don’t you? I’ve never seen someone sleep so deeply on top of a book.”
“I don’t hate studying,” you told him honestly. “I study really hard at school. I just don’t want to study the stuff your parents want to make me study.”
“You study hard at school?” Cyrille picked up. “Why?”
“I... I want to be an Auror,” you confessed to him. “You know, a Dark Wizard-catcher. And you need top marks, for that.”
Cyrille suddenly stopped dancing with you. “An Auror?” he repeated.
You nodded. “Yeah...”
“So, you’d be coming after people like our parents,” Cyrille said quietly.
You nodded again.
“People like me...” Cyrille murmured.
“No, not you.” Bringing your hand down from his shoulder, you reached out and touched his chest gently. “You’re not one of them, Cyrille. I can see it in you. You don’t believe in our parents’ ideology any more than I do.”
“But the thing is, you don’t need to believe something to act on it,” Cyrille said. His voice was barely above a whisper, as though he were afraid of his own words.
“You won’t,” you assured him, now pressing your hand more firmly against his chest. “I know you won’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Cyrille pushed back, and his voice was resigned and depressed. “There’s nothing else that I can do, angel. I was born and trained for my life to take one pathway alone. I’m not good at anything else.”
“You’ll find your calling,” you told him gently. “When you do, you’ll know. And it’s not going to be to follow in your parents’ footsteps - or your brothers’, for that matter.”
Cyrille let out a deep breath, comforted by your soothing reassurances.
He bent his head down to kiss you, but suddenly, the clock chimed. Knowing that his parents might decide to come in to check on the two of you, Cyrille let you to the dress closet in the corner of the ballroom. It was a separate room, but it was tight and cramped. There were all kinds of fancy dresses crammed in there, and barely any room to stand.
But it didn’t matter. Cyrille was already kissing you, and you were on tip-toe, with your arms around his shoulders, and kissing him back.
You felt Cyrille’s hands grasp your waist tightly, pulling you to him. The two of you stayed together that way for a long time.
As you were on your tip-toes the whole time (though Cyrille was supporting much of your weight by holding you so tightly in his hands), your legs were beginning to get tired. You kept shifting, putting your weight first on one foot, then on the other.
But as you shifted, you became aware of a distinct wetness between your thighs.
Cyrille didn’t quite know what was going on, but he could feel your breathing getting shallower and shallower and he could feel your tummy squirming slightly in his hands.
“Angel?” he murmured against you lips. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah...” you said back sweetly, still kissing him.
But then, Cyrille felt your tongue flick out and swipe across his lower lip.
It happened so quickly that Cyrille was immediately sure that you didn’t mean to do it.
Cyrille looked down at you. Your face was flushed, with a beautiful and heavier-than-usual blush flaring up in your cheeks. Your eyes were half-lidded and as you had your arms wrapped around his shoulder and your back arched slightly, your head was tilted back a little, and you were gazing up at Cyrille with unexpectedly and clearly unintentionally sultry eyes.
Cyrille asked you, “Angel, are you turned on right now?”
Cyrille had been with a few more people than you at this point (well, you had only kissed Cyrille and tried out one kiss with Emmeline), and he was starting to recognize the signs of when exactly people were becoming more wanting.
“U-Um,” you said softly. “I think so? I’m kind-of... wet... between my legs.”
At your words, Cyrille gripped your waist harder. “Angel,” he said to you, “do you ever touch yourself?”
You hesitated.
“You can tell me,” Cyrille said, noticing your pause.
“Well, yeah,” you finally admitted. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Most likely,” Cyrille replied easily. “But some people do it a little differently. People like different things.”
You paused. “Have you... been with other girls already? Or boys?”
Cyrille glanced up at your eyes. He meant to be flippant about it and just say yes, but the sudden look of incredible vulnerability in your sweet eyes stopped him short.
“Uh, yes, I have, I can’t lie,” Cyrille confessed. “But I...”
His voice faded away. He’d been taught to use sex to further relationships as he wanted. His father always told him that people like to use and be used.
But that was not what your eyes were signaling at all.
“Oh,” you said softly. You turned his head away from him a little. “I guess that’s no surprise. I hear the other girls talk about you sometimes...”
“Wait, angel,” Cyrille said, feeling his heart jolt a little. “Don’t turn away from me.”
“It’s just people. It’s just bodies,” he said quietly, repeating what his father often said to him.
But you shook your head. “Maybe it is for you, but it’s not for me. I only - I only do this with you because it’s you, and not anyone else. You were my first kiss, and I wanted you to be my first...” Your voice trailed off. “But I’m not your first, so...”
“Angel, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to,” Cyrille promised you. “I didn’t realize...” He bit his lower lip, feeling incredibly conflicted. He knew that his charisma and his disguise depended largely on sex. It was a way of getting close to people - or at least pretending to.
But with you, it couldn’t be that. You wouldn’t let him. You demanded something real, and you would promise all of yourself to him, only in return for the same.
For the first time, Cyrille was the one who was flustered, who was being pulled in, as opposed to him always being the one who was in control of the situation. The problem was that Cyrille was slowly becoming completely smitten with you. Your soft, yet cheeky charm was irresistible to him.
“Show me,” Cyrille whispered to you, and his voice was tender. “Show me how you touch yourself. And I’ll only think of you. That way, even if I’m with someone else, I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Couldn’t you - Couldn’t you just be mine?” you asked him shyly, blinking up at him.
When Cyrille paused, you whispered, “No? You don’t want that?”
“I do, but I’m not - I’m not sure that that’s something you can have right now, angel,” Cyrille said, regretting his words as soon as he spoke them. “I’m a Lestrange.”
“But you’re Cyrille,” you reminded him. “Before you’re a Lestrange, you’re you.”
“Yeah, but no one cares about Cyrille,” he replied.
“That’s not true,” you fought back. “You know I do.”
Your voice faded into a murmur as you reminded him, “To me, just Cyrille is ‘lord’ enough.”
“And would you be mine, angel?” Cyrille asked you, his voice falling into a low pitch to match yours. “Would you let yourself become mine?”
“Yes...” you said softly.
Cyrille was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by you. He didn’t know how to respond to you, how to - as his father would say - “deal” with you.
Cyrille, feeling too vulnerable and out of his comfort zone, reverted back to what he knew best: to giving and asking for favors. He commanded, all of a sudden, “Then touch yourself for me. Show me that you can be mine, that you can be a good girl for me.”
“What?” you said, blushing hotly at the mere thought of showing him how you touched yourself.
“Just a little bit. I just want to see what you do,” Cyrille replied soothingly.
“I... I just, um...” Still holding onto his shoulder with one hand, you reached down with your other hand and slowly slipped it between your thighs. You didn’t bother lifting up the skirt of your elegant velvet ballroom dress. You simply slid your hand between yourself, pushing the fabric between your thighs, too.
“Like this...” You slowly began to move your hand against yourself. The soft rustling of the fabric slipping over your thighs sounded out.
Cyrille watched your hand moving between your thighs, but when your other hand gripped his shoulder, his eyes flickered up to your face to see your lips pressed together tightly, trembling as you strove not to make any noise.
But even then, Cyrille instinctively knew what to do to make you moan out loud. He suddenly kissed you, more roughly than he ever had before, pushing your lips open with his own.
“A-Ah!” Soft, sudden gasps escaped you as you moaned into his mouth. You both fell back against the soft fabrics of the many dresses stored in the closet. Falling through the dresses and onto the floor together, the two of you were suddenly surrounded by tulle, silk, and velvet, all dripping with sparkling jewels. In that tiny and unexpected glittering world, the two of you held each other tightly.
Cyrille leaned into you, and your hand, which had been gripping his shoulder, abruptly slipped over and around his shoulders. Suddenly, your head was snug against his shoulders, with your curls pressed up against the floor and his arm. Cyrille gazed down at you.
“Do you still want to show me how you touch yourself?” Cyrille murmured softly to you. “Or... do you want me to touch you, angel?”
You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. The light coming down reflected off of the beautiful fabrics and jewels hanging just above Cyrille’s head, casting softer light over his silver hair and giving his silver eyes a beautiful dimensional effect.
“Angel? You’re staring...” Cyrille told you. He meant to sound arrogant about it, but he was so lost in looking at you, too, that he forgot to smirk or do anything of the sort.
Finally, you nodded and you sweetly spread out your thighs underneath your dress.
“Yes, please,” you breathed out.
As Cyrille reached down and began to push up the heavy folds of your dress, you told him a bit breathlessly, “You know, you’ll be my first...”
“First?” Cyrille repeated.
“First... love,” you told him.
Cyrille paused. His eyes softened at you as he replied, “Good.”
Then, he gently pushed his hand between your thighs so that the side of his hand grazed your panties.
“Oh...” You breathed in, in a soft whimper, as you felt his hand brush up against you.
Just then, you both heard the ballroom doors clatter open.
The two of you froze.
“Where’d they go?” Alexine clucked her tongue loudly. “That teacher. Always leaving early. We should find someone new.”
Thadeus responded in his booming voice, “Yes, but where are the kids?” He sighed loudly before saying, “You know, I think Rosier’s a bad influence on Cyrille.”
“Yes,” Alexine replied in a clipped tone. “In fact, I’ve already asked Irina to come and fetch her troublesome daughter...”
Her voice drifted away as she and Thadeus left the room.
“No...” you heard yourself whisper. “I don’t want to go back home.”
“Won’t it be better than here?” Cyrille asked you, withdrawing his hand and gently smoothing down your dress for you.
“No,” you replied. You buried your head against Cyrille’s shoulder. “Not without you.”
Cyrille didn’t know what to say to that, but his heart was suddenly racing at a much faster pace, even compared to just a couple of minutes ago, when he’d been about to touch you between your legs.
* * * * * * * * * *
Only two days later, your mother really did arrive. She came with another pureblood aristocrat, Eva Marie Avery. Eva Marie brought her six-year-old daughter, Jean, along.
Your mother told you and Cyrille to play with Jean while she spoke with Eva Marie, Alexine, and Thadeus.
You, Cyrille, and Jean went outside to the front yard.
Jean took an immediate dislike to Cyrille, which flustered him, but Jean got along quite well with you. The two of you played ‘Glacius,’ where you would both run around and dance like crazy until someone pointed at the other and yelled, “Glacius!” and that person would have to freeze. If they failed to do so and stumbled over, the other person would win a point. At some point, Jean got caught standing on one leg. She nearly fell over, but you ran over and caught her before she could hurt herself. In catching her, you fell over yourself, but you swept up Jean in your arms and the two of you rolled down the grass together, hugging each other and shrieking with laughter and happiness. Cyrille watched the two of you from the front porch, marveling at how good you were with kids.
At that moment, however, the three women stepped out. Your mother, Irina, was horrified to witness how you were behaving - and with Eva Marie’s child no less. Her face became hard with anger as she barked out sternly, “Stop that at once!”
You immediately got to your feet. Your hair was a complete mess, with twigs and leaves in it. Jean, too, was a bit scuffed up, though far from being hurt in any manner whatsoever.
“Get up here right now!” your mother yelled at you.
“Merlin’s beard. How did you raise your child, that she behaves that way?” Eva Marie said to your mother, horrified. “Oh my God, look what she did to my child!”
“Jeannie!” Eva Marie called out sharply. “You come here! Get away from her!”
Jean shot you a sad look as she left you and went over to her mother.
Only pausing to shoot your mother a dirty look, Eva Marie took her child home at once.
Alexine, who was watching this all unfold with a grim satisfaction (since Cyrille was clearly the only one who had behaved properly throughout all of this), said in a low, amused voice, “Well, it’s exactly how I would expect a dirty Half-blood child to play around. It must be the Muggle in her.”
Your mother flushed, completely mortified by the comment. In fact, just yesterday, your mother had received a letter from her birth family, the Notts, explicitly stating that if the rumor spread anymore about her being a Muggle-born, or if Evan Rosier decided to disown her, the Notts would take no part in helping her, as they had their own pureblood reputation to uphold.
Now, your mother had given up everything to live up to the pureblood image of decorum, and in her mind, because of your reckless behavior, she had lost every bit of benefit due to her. A slow, simmering rage began to bubble up deep in your mother’s heart, and her upper lip curled when she looked at you. You were a completely filthy mess, your mother thought to herself. You came into her life with your grubby hands and smart mouth and messed up everything.
And deep in her heart, your mother knew that you were growing up to be even more beautiful than her, for you had taken on your father’s softer eyes. Worse still, you undeniably had your own singular and radiant spirit, which made you glow in a way that was quite absent in your mother’s hard and sharp beauty.
Your mother suddenly grabbed you by the hair and dragged you back into the house.
“Ow!” you cried out. “Ow, mother!”
You thrashed out at her. You managed to hit her arm hard enough that she let you go. You fell down onto the cold marble floor of the entrance hall of the Lestranges’ house.
Behind you, Alexine and Cyrille were standing in the doorway, and able to see what was unfolding in front of them.
Unfortunately, your nail had accidentally scratched your mother across the face, leaving a long, ugly red line across her cheek. Your mother, with a trembling hand, reached up and touched her cheek. When she saw blood, something in her snapped.
“You animal!” she screamed at you. She grabbed you by the hair again and yanked you to your feet.
“Ow, mother, please!” you gasped. “You’re hurting me! Please let go of my hair!”
“No, this is punishment for you, you selfish, ignorant child!” your mother yelled at you, furious out of her mind. “This is what you get for never listening to what I say! How many times did I tell you to fix your hair, hm? How many times did I tell you to tame your disgusting, out-of-control hair?”
“Mother!” you shouted. “Let go of me!”
“No! I have had enough. Because of you, my name has gone to shit. Do you know what people call me these days - ‘Mudblood Madwoman’! That’s what they call me! And it’s all because of you, child! All because you have to be a dirty Mudblood-lover and flaunt your ridiculous Gryffindor colors! I tried to give you a chance because you were my daughter! I gave you my best earrings - you don’t wear them! I brought you over here and asked favors from the Lestranges to give you a chance to be a better daughter, even while my reputation was suffering - and now look! Even the Lestranges and Averys think I’m a good-for-nothing now- a fucking Muggle-born, of all things, when I’m a Nott, a daughter of one of the sacred Twenty-Eight! You have done all this to do me, and yet you still have not TAMED YOUR FUCKING HAIR!”
Both of your faces were beet red - your mother’s from screaming, and yours from crying. Your hands were gathered above your head as you grasped at your mother’s hand in your hair and tried to push her off. But she wasn’t having any of it.
She drew out her aand and screamed, “CUT IT! CUT IT ALL OFF, YOU SELFISH CHILD!”
“MOTHER!” you screamed.
But your mother ignored your cry and yelled, “SECTIS!” Her face glittering with a frightening fury, she brought her wand down in a sharp and aggressive slash.
Cyrille’s eyes widened. The way that she had thrown that curse, straight at the back of your neck, was so incredibly dangerous. That curse with that aggression... It could kill her! Cyrille realized with horror. NO!
Cyrille raced forward, throwing himself between you and your mother. Alexine screamed and reached for him, but it was too late.
Blood spurted in the air, and then splattered on the cold marble floor.
“CYRILLE!” Alexine cried out.
Cyrille was kneeling on the floor. He had pulled you away and was now holding you against his body, tucked inside his left arm. With his right hand, Cyrille had grabbed your mother’s wand hand and yanked it away towards the ceiling. But he had grabbed her wrist a little too late, and the spell had not only made it to your neck, but it also had slashed into his eye. Luckily, he’d only gotten the tail end of the spell, and he’d reflexively closed his eye in time to save it.
But you - your hair was chopped off on the floor. However, what was far, far worse was that the back of your neck was spurting out a fountain of blood.
At that moment, Thadeus, hearing his wife’s screams, had come sprinting in. Completely aghast, his eyes widened in horror as he took in the gruesome scene.
“Father! Help, please!” Cyrille begged him desperately. Letting go of your mother’s hand, he pressed his hand against the back of your neck to try to stop the blood as you lay there in his arms, unconscious. But the blood was flowing out of your neck so fast that Cyrille couldn’t stem the flow, and he didn’t know what else to do.
Cyrille also only had one eye open, so he couldn’t see very well. “Help!” he cried out again. “Help me save her, please!”
Cyrille wished, more than anything, that he knew how to stop the blood. He would have given up anything in that moment in order to know how to save you. He had never felt so helpless in his life.
Only last night, the two of you had snuck out together to look up at the stars. Cyrille was fascinated with Astronomy, and you loved to hear him tell you stories about the constellations. And now, now, everything that made up you, his beautiful girl, the one who demanded and gave the purest version of love he’d ever known, was slipping away before his very eyes - and he still did not know how to save you.
Alexine was busy subduing your mother, who, upon seeing you and thinking that she might have killed her own child, had dissolved into wailing her regret.
“NO! No, my child...! How could I have - ? ” she sobbed. “No, I didn’t mean to - ! No!”
Thadeus rushed forward and taking you in his arms, he instructed Cyrille in a fierce voice, “Grab my arm tight now. We’re going to Apparate.”
Cyrille nodded.
With a loud crack!, the three of you Apparated to St. Mungo’s Hospital Ward.
* * * * * * * * * *
You woke up in the hospital ward three days later. The nurses informed you that you were going to make a full recovery, except for the scar on your neck. But that had been the least of your worries, they told you.
You asked them what happened. They recounted the narrative to you - about how your mother, in trying to cut your hair off, had nearly slit your throat.
And as simple as that, the light went out from your eyes.
Nurses put food in your mouth. They dressed you. They made sure you went to the bathroom. They checked your blood pressure. You were fine, they said.
You were released. You did not go home.
You went to a nearby orphanage and told them you were an orphan.
The orphanage was so over-run that all they could do was to take you in. Good, you thought numbly, for that was all you wanted.
You sat in a blank gray room for three weeks straight.
When you didn’t show up at Hogwarts, Cyrille raced over to Dumbledore to tell him what happened and to beg him to look for you. Cyrille himself had been repeatedly rebuked by his own parents for searching for you on his own. Being underage and trapped in his house, there was little that Cyrille could do.
However, Dumbledore, upon hearing Cyrille’s story, immediately came looking for you.
* * * * * * * * * *
Cyrille waited for you in the Headmaster’s office. He needed to make sure that you were all right with his own eyes.
And when he saw you, he immediately knew that you weren’t.
He broke down and crying, he asked you what you wanted.
Numbly, you spoke the first words you had in over a month. You said simply, “Make me forget.”
Dumbledore and Cyrille took it metaphorically at first.
But as the days dragged on, and you did not move to go to class or anything and just stayed sitting in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey’s case, Madam Pomfrey finally told Dumbledore that you were physically fine now. That you had been physically fine for a while, if not a bit under-nourished.
Dumbledore came and asked you what you wanted again.
You spoke the same words, numbly, with no emotion whatsoever: “Make me forget.”
“Are you sure, child?”
“Yes.”
Dumbledore let out a long, exhausted sigh. Finally, he brought you up to the office and pulled out his Pensieve.
“This is a Memory Storing object,” he told you kindly, knowing full well that you were not hearing the words. “We’ll store your memories in here until you decide that you want them back.”
At that moment, Cyrille burst into the office. He had gone to visit you in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey had told him that Dumbledore had taken you up to his office.
“What’s going on? Is she ill? Has she become worse?” he asked anxiously.
“No,” Dumbledore said. “But she and I have agreed, for the time being, to store her most harmful memories - the one that are preventing her from living her life - in this Pensieve for the time being.”
“Her- Her memories? You’re going to store them away?” Cyrille repeated. “Wait, you’re really going to make her forget?”
“...Make me forget,” you whispered, barely moving your lips.
“But...” Cyrille said.
But finally, for the first time, you looked up at him. You repeated, “Make me forget.”
“Angel...” Cyrille said softly. He had tears in his eyes.
Dumbledore began to speak aloud. “Let me be clear. If I erase everything leading up to that memory of her mother attacking her- ” You suddenly jolted a little, and Cyrille protectively stepped closer to you. “- I believe, from what the nurses at St. Mungo’s had told me, and what I could gather from your father, Cyrille, that I will have to remove two summers’ worth of memories. That is a substantial amount of memory that must be removed and as such, I must do so in larger cuts. I cannot carve my way around the details of every scene of two summers’ worth of memories to give her selective memory loss.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Dumbledore said, looking severely at Cyrille. “She will not remember any of the time the two of you have spent tonight these past two summers. And she may lose memories of things that she associates with those summers, too. Anything that would alert her mind to the fact that she has forgotten an important association to those two summers will be erased.”
“She won’t remember anything of me from the last two summers?” Cyrille whispered.
Dumbledore replied quietly, “That is correct.”
But that’s all we have together. That’s the only time we’ve spent together, Cyrille thought to himself, desolate. Still... This isn’t about me. It’s about Angel.
“Will it - will it help her?” Cyrille asked, shooting a very concerned look at you.
Dumbledore sighed. “That we cannot say, but it seems the best - no, the only - way to go forward at this point in time...”
“If it helps her... then, of course I have to be all right with it,” Cyrille said, his voice choked with emotion. “That’s not a choice for me to make...”
Dumbledore looked at Cyrille with empathy glittering in his wise eyes.
Cyrille turned to you. He whispered, “Angel. Please heal. Please. I’ll do my best to become a Healer for you. So, until then. Please just find yourself again, as best as you can.” He pressed a warm kiss against your forehead and as he did so, a single tear streaked down his cheek.
At his kiss, you did not look up at him, but you did murmur softly, “Cyrille...” It was the only word you’d spoken outside of your repeated phrase of “Make me forget.”
“Now, lay back,” Dumbledore told you. “I will have to press my wand against your forehead. Relax. The calmer your mind, the more seamless the removal...”
You laid back, as he said, and closed your eyes.
The last thing you saw peering down at you, were the celestial spheres moving on the ceiling of Dumbledore’s office, and a pair of haunting silver eyes.
* * * * * * * * * *
Cyrille Lestrange burst into the Headmaster’s office.
“Headmaster!” he yelled.
Dumbledore, who was sitting at his desk again, with his eyes closed and in deep thought, looked up at Cyrille. In a quiet, thoughtful voice, Dumbledore said, “The password... is ‘crimson.’”
Dumbledore watched as young Cyrille Lestrange dashed out of his office, and then he watched, too, as James Potter ran in.
“Headmaster?” James said, breathing heavily. “Why was Cyrille Lestrange here?”
“To ask for permission to look after a friend of his,” Dumbledore answered quietly.
James’ brow furrowed. “And you let him go? Why? Why did you let him go?”
“Because, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said softly, “Mr. Lestrange has been the long-suffering guardian of Ms. Rosier.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“Crimson!”
Cyrille burst into Gryffindor Tower, not caring who saw him.
As with James barreling through Slytherin common room, Cyrille was likewise met with many confused and borderline insulting comments.
“What in God’s name is he doing here?”
“A Lestrange, stepping into Gryffindor Tower? Is he mad?”
Cyrille shouted out your name.
At this, Emmeline came down from your room, where she had been helplessly watching you sob in your bed non-stop. You hadn’t told her anything. In fact, you couldn’t seem to get any words out at all as you cried, heartbroken over life.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Emmeline looked up at Cyrille and said protectively, “What the hell do you want right now?”
“I need to see her,” Cyrille said urgently.
“Why should I let you do that?”
“Because I know that she’s hurt, and she’s scared. I just - Please, move! Or I will move you myself,” Cyrille said, his voice dropping into a genuinely threatening growl.
Finally, Emmeline said menacingly, “If you hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me. I’m not fucking kidding.”
Cyrille nodded once.
Emmeline sighed. “Third door on your left.”
Cyrille was gone, barreling up the steps.
Meanwhile, James had just entered the Gryffindor common room. Seeing Cyrille’s robes flash around the corner, he made to go after him. But Emmeline grabbed his shoulder and said, “Wait, James. Wait. Let’s give him a chance.”
When James gave her a disbelieving look, Emmeline sighed and acknowledged, “Yeah, I know. I wish it were you, too. But... it’s not. And she needs what’s best for her right now.”
Arriving at the third landing, Cyrille threw open your door, his heart was pounding and in his mind, there was only one thought: I need to see my angel.
#fanfic#fanfiction#cyrille lestrange#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x lily evans#harry potter smut#harry potter imagine#marauders#marauders era#light and dark
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Light and Dark | Part 13
Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Overtones and Mentions of Sadism.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦
How has it come to this? you wondered fuzzily, as you found yourself with your mouth open, the back of your head pushed hard against the line of books behind you as you were being roughly face-fucked by none other than Cyrille Lestrange - and on a mid-afternoon in the school library, no less.
At least I had the sense to compromise before he pushed his cock into my mouth like this, you thought hazily. Although, maybe I should have negotiated more...
Because, some time ago, he’d had you with your knee up on the bookshelf, running his hand deftly over your thigh and ass, before he shifted closer to you. He’d given you his orders: “Except when you feel my cock enter you, you’re going to say ‘please,’ and when I cum in you, you’re going to say ‘thank you.’ Understood?”
Just as he guided his cock to your waiting pussy, you’d reached back and put your hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait,” you whispered, your voice already breathy.
He looked up at you, with confusion and want written across his face.
“Come here,” you said. “I need to tell you something...”
“What?”
When he didn’t lean in, you grabbed the collar of his blazer and dragged him closer to you so that his face was level with yours, right over your shoulder. To keep from falling, Cyrille hastily put his other hand out, grabbing the bookshelf two rows above your head. His back pressed down into your chest.
“What?” he hissed at you.
“I can’t be the only one to put something on the line here,” you told him. “So. If I moan, I become yours. Fine. But if you curse out loud or cum in me, you’re mine, too.”
Cyrille hesitated. “That’s not how it works...”
“I don’t care how it works. I don’t care what deals you’ve made with other people or how you fucked them,” you said bluntly. “You’re with me now, Lestrange.”
Cyrille sighed. “Of course you don’t care... I can already tell you’re going to be a- Dare I say it? A brat.”
Still reaching back, you gripped his shirt harder, your little hand folding into a demanding and tight fist. “Come on,” you coaxed, trying to adopt a playful tone. To be honest, you sounded terrible, even to yourself. But you pushed anyways, “Lay something on the line with me.”
“Is this your attempt at seduction?” Cyrille asked you, highly amused. “Angel, you’re adorably out of practice.”
“Fine,” you relented. “I’ll threaten you instead.”
Cyrille waited patiently for your “threat.”
“All right,” you finally said, going back to your more familiar territory of challenging him, “you said this was your domain. If you won’t even negotiate with me, then I’ll consider that a surrender. A true master knows how to counter every attack and isn’t afraid of taking risks.”
You paused, feeling foolish. “Right?” you said hopefully.
Cyrille paused. He had to remind himself to be stern, but your hopeful face was making a mess of his brain. She doesn’t need seduction. Just look at her - all hopeful. Fuck, she’s going to make a fool of me. I can tell already. He mock-sighed and said in a quiet voice, “Fine.”
“And remember,” you reminded him, “you said you’d be gentle with me.”
“Mm, I don’t think so,” Cyrille said lightly. “Well, I suppose I’ll always hold you gently...”
Cyrille brought his hand, which had been gripping the bookshelf above your head, down to gently stroke your cheek. Then, slipping his hand onto your neck, he pushed aside your hair to reveal your neck. Gripping the back of your neck rather tightly, he leaned down and whispered into your ear, “But I fuck. hard.”
You felt yourself instinctively shiver at his words, and because the cold metal of his many rings were pressing into the back of your neck. Cyrille smirked, feeling you quiver against him.
His hand slid down your neck onto your back and laid his hand flat between your shoulder blades, pressing your breasts up against the books a little.
“But if you beg and you follow all the rules like a good girl - then, I’m not opposed to giving you some soft kisses from time to time, angel,” Cyrille compromised. “Like this.”
He replaced his hand with his soft, hot mouth as pressed an unexpectedly gentle kiss on your neck. just over your scar.
He murmured softly, “After all, your wish is my command...”
You stiffened when he murmured those words. Why does he say that? you wondered. Is that some strange phrase to lure me into a false sense of security, into pretending to give me what I want? But if that’s true, then why do I feel a strange spark in my heart when he says it? Almost as though my mind is trying to remember something...
A strange mix of emotions rose within you, some tinge of memory, a dull sadness, and an overwhelming anticipation... anticipation of Cyrille actually touching you and being with you. Because even those the two of you were pressed together like this, in some strange universe of barely muted intensity with emotions and desire bleeding out all over the place, you still felt as though you couldn’t be sure as to who Cyrille really was and what he wanted from you. Any minute, he could pull out of this “game” we’re playing, and disappear. Vanish, you thought. Even if we showed up to the same classes, he could go right back to being a complete stranger to me - and I’d have nothing to say about it.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Cyrille whispered low in your ear. “If you’re trying to think of more ways to negotiate with me - well, I’m sorry, angel, but your time is up.”
Just then, you gave a sudden start as he firmly yanked aside your panties. He tugged hard enough that you felt your hips being pulled along with the thin fabric. Cyrille had to catch you to make sure your hip wouldn’t run right into the bookshelf as you shifted sideways.
“Merlin,” Cyrille said to you, “you can’t even stand properly.”
"Come on now,” he said impatiently. “Legs apart.”
Ignoring his order, you began to retort, “It’s your fault for- “ but you were abruptly cut off when Cyrille reached down and slapped your ass - hard.
A loud smack! rang out. You gasped loudly. “Ah!”
The sound pierced through the sleepy, mid-afternoon library air, sharp as shattering glass.
Cyrille hurriedly covered your mouth with his other hand, and hissed in your ear, “Keep. Silent.”
You reached up and pried his fingers off of your lips. You growled back, “You’re the one who made such a loud noise!”
Your ass was burning. You were pretty damn sure his handprint was going to be on your skin for a while.
“Shush.” His single word, which slipped out so casually, seemed to sink into your mind. You felt yourself soften. Your voice was like velvet, even if his words were harsh as glass.
“But... But...” you said, suddenly finding yourself mumbling. I had something to say, I... Something about how he’s not playing fair. Oh, but... I just want him to take me. His cock is so close to being inside me. I want it. I want him.
Wait, what? What are you telling yourself? Remember who this is. “No,” you insisted, almost to yourself. “You can’t just take me by surprise like that and expect me to be quiet.”
“I can, and you will,” he replied simply.
“Okay,” you said shortly, your ass still smarting from his hard slap. “Listen, mister, I don’t know what you did with your other ‘lovers,’ but you- ”
Suddenly, Cyrille clamped his hand over your mouth. “You need to shut up,” he growled into your ear. “I think there’s someone around- ”
Then - a low cough rang out from somewhere. You froze. Oh Merlin, if someone were to catch us right now - I mean, it’s not as though we’ve done anything inappropriate, but still... It’s a bit obvious what we’re up to, I would think. The handprint on my ass is one indicator...
Suddenly, you were yanked away. Upon hearing the cough, Cyrille had quickly pulled down your skirt, and taking your hand, he led you away, further down the aisle. The two of you darted through the different bookshelves until you found yourself in the -
“Restricted Section?” you whispered, your eyes taking in the unfriendly-looking books now stacked on the wall. “I don’t think we’re allowed in here.”
“We’re not allowed anywhere, for what we’re about to do,” Cyrille replied shortly. Turning around to face you, he said, “Now, present for me.”
“What?” you said, not sure what he meant.
“Down on your knees. Like this.” He put his hands on your shoulders and guiding you by pressing down on your shoulders, had you sit down in front of him.
“Oh...” A soft murmur of surprise left your lips as you felt your legs slowly fold under you. You blinked, suddenly finding yourself sitting in a quiet aisle of dusty-looking books, and looking directly at -
“You know what to do,” Cyrille whispered. He remained standing. His gaze as he looked down on you was cold. Clearly, he was a man used to looking down on his lovers.
You frowned in distaste.
But just before you could pull away, Cyrille lifted his hand a little to trace a single finger down the side of your face. Then, his finger slid gracefully under your chin, and he pushed your face up, forcing you to look up at him.
“It’s your punishment,” he told you silkily, “for making such a naughty sound when I explicitly told you to be quiet.”
“And...” His eyes tightened as his lips perked up in one corner. “Dare I say that that was a moan you let out?”
You shook your head, though your chin remained balanced on the tip of his finger. “No,” you told him. It was a bit difficult to speak with your head pushed back the way it was. “It wasn’t... a moan.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No...”
“Are you lying?” he questioned you, raising an eyebrow.
“N-No...”
Suddenly, he leaned over and grabbed the back of your neck, so that your soft curls caught between his hand and your neck. Then, he yanked your head back even more, jerking the breath out of you. You felt yourself gasp a little as your head was forced back.
You felt yourself gasp a little as the breath was jerked out of you as your head was forced back.
“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed at you. “I know what I heard.”
Still, you held your ground. You glared up at him as much as you could and protested, “You must’ve heard wrong. I’ll never moan for you.”
Cyrille’s gaze became quite icy, with his silver eyes frosting over. But he merely let you go and scoffed. “Fine,” he said, straightening back up. “Have it your way. You won’t moan, angel?”
“Then.” He abruptly unzipped his pants and pushed them down, along with his briefs. “Let’s use that mouth another way.”
You stared at his cock in front of you. It was long. There was no way you were ever going to be able to take all of that in your mouth.
Seeing the look on your face, Cyrille tutted softly. “Should have been quiet, shouldn’t you have, angel?”
Then, he reached down and gripped your curls and tilted your head up to take his cock.
“Open your lips,” he commanded. “You’re going to take me now, angel. All of me. In that pretty little mouth of yours. It’s what you deserve. And whether you think that’s a gift or punishment - it’s up to you.”
You hesitated. Then, you managed to whisper, “Whimpers don’t count. I still won’t be yours... unless I moan, all right?”
Cyrille began to sigh at your insistence for carve-out rules, but he stopped short when he saw that you, with your lips trembling slightly with anticipation, finally parted your lips for him.
Mmm, Cyrille thought, admiring the perfect shape of your lips now open, just waiting for him to fill your pretty little mouth - first with cock, then with cum.
“Good girl,” Cyrille whispered.
Cyrille watched as the tip of his cock gently pushed open your lips wider, and then the length of his cock slowly began to disappear into your pretty mouth. He exhaled softly. He’d been imagining this ever since you’d sucked so fervently on his fingers last night.
When he hit up against the back of your throat quicker than you expected, you whimpered slightly.
“Sh,” he reminded you. “Do you want everyone to see you like this?”
You shook your head softly, with his cock still filling up your little mouth. His cock felt so warm and heavy on your soft tongue. Your little, hot, wet tongue flickered across his cock when you shook your head.
Cyrille groaned internally when he felt your tongue against him. Oh Merlin, I just want to wreck that little mouth of hers... Have her tongue lolling prettily all over my cock. Yes...
“Set your pace... while you have the chance,” Cyrille told you, and his silvery voice held the promise of wrecking you very, very soon.
You knew, just by the tone of his voice, that he wasn’t joking around. So, you sat up a little, getting up onto your knees and putting your hands on your thighs to balance yourself. After taking a deep breath, you dutifully began to bob your head up and down along the length of his shaft.
Cyrille’s head tilted back and he breathed out a long sigh of relief. The pleasant feeling of your lips wrapped around his cock sent ripples of satisfaction through him. And when he gazed down at you, seeing you on your knees in front of him, hands in your lap, eyes wide and uncertain, mouth open for him... Fuck, he cursed in his head, but he remembered that he’d promised to be yours if he cursed aloud, and he wasn’t going to let you have what you wanted that easily.
You did your best for him, so focused on taking him in that you didn’t even notice yourself getting a little sloppy. Your own saliva started to wet your lips, making them glisten prettily, as you went up and down his length.
Cyrille smirked and said approvingly, “Good girl. Working so hard for me, aren’t you?”
“Mmpfh,” you replied incoherently, as you pushed your head forward on his cock.
“Do I taste good, angel?” he asked you knowingly. You nodded up at him. He smiled and reached down for a moment to touch your cheek gently before he went back to pulling your hair back and encouraging you to take more of him.
If anybody were to come by the Restricted Section now, they would see you on your knees, your skirt flouncing up and down a little, your panties flashing, and the soles of your white sneakers lifting and falling a bit, as you rocked back and forth in your attempt to take as much of his cock as possible. They’d see your curls falling down your back in elegant waves. Although Cyrille was trying to hold back your hair as you sucked his cock, your hair was untamable and mostly spilling out of Cyrille’s hand.
“Angel, you might have to get a bit messier than that,” Cyrille said, his voice sleek as a panther’s as he tried to coax you to let him into your throat. He didn’t want to cause you any discomfort, but he knew his cock was going to have to find its way into your throat, and you just weren’t quite there yet.
You did your best to suck his cock obediently, to take as much of him as you could in his mouth. As it was, he did taste good, and you rather liked the feeling of the ridges of his cock sliding in and out between your lips, and the weight of the tip of his cock pressing down on your soft tongue. But as his cock began to respond, becoming thicker and longer, no matter how you tried, you gradually began to fit less and less of him in your little mouth.
You whined slightly at how hard it was to fit him in your mouth past a certain point, but a sharp glare from Cyrille, accompanied by a quick tug to your hair, silenced you.
“More,” he demanded, pushing your head down a little. You glared up at him.
“Don’t give me that look,” he warned you. “I know you want more of me, too. Don’t you, angel?”
You ignored him, mostly because he was right. You did want more of him. It was just that his cock had already stuffed your mouth full, but you weren’t going to admit either of these things, so you found it best to stay quiet and continue to suck his cock.
Finally, panting a little, you sat back on the floor again and kissed the tip of his cock.
Cyrille watched you for a moment as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. You were a little out of breath, but otherwise, not a hair on your head had been shifted. You were certainly a far cry away from “wrecked.”
“Maybe I should call you ‘princess’ instead,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve clearly been treated as such.”
You looked up at Cyrille and frowned, not knowing what he meant.
“Your lower throat is virgin, isn’t it?” Cyrille said knowingly. His voice slipped into a deeper timbre as he growled softly, “Almost like you were waiting for my cock to pierce through to it first...”
He muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, “I’m glad you left some firsts for me. After all, I was your first kiss. And I’d have been your first everything, if only things had gone a little differently... But I suppose that’s neither here nor there.”
You cocked your head up at him curiously, not following him at all.
“Listen,” he said suddenly, “and listen well. You’re going to open your mouth again, and you’re going to keep it open until I’ve fucked your little mouth hard enough and long enough to cum. Then, you’re going to swallow my cum like a good little girl. Am I clear?”
Don’t fall for it, you warned yourself. Don’t let him call all the shots.
But how do I respond? you mused, trying hard to think of something on the spot. What can I say to push back?
“What... What about me?” you heard yourself say uncertainly. You paused. Instead of sounding commanding, you just sounded left-out.
Predictably, Cyrille chuckled softly.
“You can choose between my mouth and fingers, too, angel,” Cyrille promised you. “I’ve love to pleasure that sweet pussy of yours. I want to make you cum over and over, until you beg me to stop, and then I’ll make you cum again...”
“You’ll forget all of your limits,” Cyrille murmured, and his voice was so soothing despite his treacherous words. “You’ll forget you even had any. You’d be amazed at how well your body takes sex, and how it can cum and be filled with cum again and again and again...”
The whole time that Cyrille was detailing how he was going to pleasure you until you came completely undone, you were watching him speak with mesmerized eyes. As he finally finished with his overly suggestive “again and again and again...” you suddenly shivered. Still sitting on the library floor, it took you a second to realize that you had cum. Your eyes widened as you realized that you’d just soaked your own panties to the sound of his voice promising you to ruin you... Embarrassed, you quickly looked away from him.
Cyrille hesitated, wondering if he’d said something wrong, said something to frighten you. “Of course,” he reminded you quickly, “this is all subject to your permission, your consent. Sex is meaningless unless... you want it.”
He tilted his head to the side as he looked down at you. “Do you?” he asked, his voice almost drawling. Speaking slowly to give you time to think, he asked you, “Do you want it, princess?”
You stared up at him. The sunlight came down in shafts in the dusty depths of the Restrict Section, lying in stripes across Cyrille’s face and body. His long hair seemed to have a golden hue, and his eyes flickered between gold and silver, giving him a false veneer of mercy.
No, you told yourself. He’s merciless. And he will be if you let him take your mouth...
But - his question: Do I want it? you pondered to yourself. You could feel your now-dripping pussy clench and your thighs tighten at the mere thought of swallowing his cum, tasting him, feeling his warmth inside your throat, and taking it into your tummy.
I do, you thought. I want to know what he tastes like. I want him to cum in my mouth - hard.
“Yes,” you breathed out. “Yes, please fuck my mouth. Please cum in my mouth.”
Cyrille’s eyes flashed. He stepped forward again. He let you clamber unsteadily back onto your knees (he didn’t realize you’d cum sitting there and had to sit up gingerly to keep your wet panties from touching your thighs) before he reached down with both hands to grasp your head.
You opened your mouth again, and Cyrille slid his cock back in your mouth. He let you adjust for a moment before he thrust slightly.
Surprised, you gagged slightly. You clutched at the hem of your skirt nervously as you felt your throat close up.
“You’ll have to do better than that, princess,” Cyrille told you, his grasp on your head becoming tighter as he felt you instinctively starting to slide back already.
But his voice was quite patient as he guided you and said, “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat... I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me. Relax.”
You listened to him, letting his words wash over you. Gradually, you relaxed. Cyrille thrust again, but slower and gentler this time. He rocked his hips back and forth rhythmically, feeling your lips running up and down his cock, catching slightly on the ridges.
But as the minutes ticked by, he built back up to a rougher rhythm and faster speed.
“M-mm, b-big,” you whimpered. “T-too big.” His cock was crammed into your mouth as far as you could take him without deep-throating him.
“Relax,” he reminded you, trying to sound in control.
But the next moment, Cyrille breathed out long and low and murmured, “Your mouth feels so good.” He thrust again into your mouth, rougher this time.
Your eyes widened a little as you realized that despite his ever-cold and in-control demeanor, he was losing himself a little too as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth.
He’s affected by me as well, you thought. The thought relieved you, but there was something beyond that - you felt a sudden warmth spread through you body as you realized that you were happy that you affected him because you wanted to please him.
You hesitated, surprised at yourself. Again, you wondered, while keeping your lips parted to let him fuck your mouth to his pleasure, what is Cyrille Lestrange to me?
* * * * * * * * * *
As Cyrille watched you struggling adorably to take his cock in your mouth, he felt his desires split. A part of him wanted to melt, to fall to the ground with you, hug you tightly, and just kiss you all over until you both fell asleep. What did it matter if the two of you had sex or not?
But the other half of him wanted you, and had wanted you this way for so long. After all, right after you’d promised yourself to him, you’d had your memory altered by none other than Albus Dumbledore himself. And straightaway, you’d gone and thrown yourself at James Potter, proclaiming your love for him. And maybe you did love him - that made it even worse.
Cyrille tried to forget you. He did. But, it never worked. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the number of nights Cyrille found himself panting and gasping against his bedsheets, hand running up and down his cock over and over again, imagining it was you - your mouth, your pussy, your ass - taking him in his all his demandingness and softness alike, letting him pound you like he loved you, and then - he’d shut his eyes as he pictured you just begging him for his cum, to fill you up because it was him that you were with - and he’d finally cum all over his sheets.
He’d immediately feel ridiculous after doing so. There were so many women and men that he’d slept with. So why was it always you that found your way to him, you that delved into his fantasies and dreams every single night? When Cyrille learned of “incubus” and “succubus” in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he’d thought of you and wondered if “angel” was the wrong nickname for you, after all.
With all of these thoughts crashing up against one another in his mind, Cyrille knew that he could never allow himself to hurt you, but he had to have you, to the extent that you’d let him, and he’d do everything in his power to widen that “extent” to infinity. He wanted every bit of you, and he wanted you to want him right back, to plead for him to touch you, to beg him to fuck you, to whine when he didn’t pound you hard enough, to thank him when he came in you, and to feel all of the feelings he had for you when he held you before, throughout, and after sex...
But there was no language to show you this intense mix of feelings he had for you. And even if there was, your constantly doubting eyes made him realize that you wouldn’t believe him. You’d just think it was a trap.
So, what could Cyrille do, when the only way you allowed him to touch you, to come nearer to you physically and psychologically, to let him make you come all undone in his arms - was to sex you rough and hard until you broke?
There was only sex, Cyrille realized, as he watched you suck prettily on his cock. Sex seemed to be the only acceptable answer for any relationship between a villain and his princess.
If only you knew what that mouth of yours does to me, just by being open and waiting to take me in... Cyrille thought. Who cares how good you are at taking cock in your mouth? Just the fact that you’re willing... The rest I can teach you, and I will.
Overcome by his desire for you, Cyrille was experiencing a heady rush as he felt your mouth working desperately on his cock, but to no avail. He’d teach you exactly how to take him. After all, he thought, you’d always been a fast learner.
Blood pounding in his ears, Cyrille abruptly and roughly dragged you by your upper arms over to the bookcase, your legs dragging over the rough carpet, and then he pushed you up against the bookshelf, all the while keeping his swollen cock in your mouth.
A strange, soft, and high-pitched whimper escaped you as you felt your back hit the bookshelf.
“You need to relax,” Cyrille told you, though his words were now coming out in a ragged whisper. “Unless you’d rather I pound the back of your throat... But that’ll hurt tomorrow.”
You let out a choked gasp when you felt the tip of his cock ram into the back of your throat. Your hands flew out and scrabbled at his thighs for a moment.
“Come on, angel,” Cyrille whispered down to you, “you can do it. Right where I’m pressing you up against you - that’s where you should relax.”
Knowing just how to get you to open your throat bit by bit, Cyrille reached down and tangling fistfuls of your hair in his fingers, he held your head down, forcing you to take the entire length of his cock in your mouth.
A breathless and strangled whimper left you as you choked on his cock. So much... Uh... How can I - ? Uh, I can’t think straight...
“Sh...” Cyrille murmured to you, “just relax. Then you can take me, angel. I know you can.”
Your thighs began to tremble as Cyrille held your head down. He backed off a little, to let you breathe, but you had finally learned to breathe through your nose. The wave of relief knowing that you weren’t choking anymore cause a cascade of sensations to go off in your body, to the point where your hips and thighs were quivering and moving side to side as Cyrille continued to cram his cock into your mouth.
“Uh, yes, angel, you’re so close,” Cyrille breathed out. “You’re breathing properly now. And you’re almost there... Just about to let my cock push into your pretty little throat, aren’t you? Yes, angel.”
“Mm-mm!” You replied, proud of yourself for learning but still more than a bit trepid as to what Cyrille was planning to do to your throat. You squirmed a little bit, shifting around, though not enough to actually go anywhere - Cyrille made sure of that by keeping his hands firmly on your head, fingers quite possessively tangled in your hair, and anchoring you against the bookshelf behind you.
If someone were standing behind the two of you, they would see Cyrille’s hips pushing forward as he thrust his cock into you in a demanding but measured pace and his arms reaching forward to gently push your head against his cock to deep-throat him. Meanwhile, your chest rose and fell quickly in your attempt to breathe and not pass out, and your pretty hips and thighs squirmed under your skirt, needing to move somehow to counteract this intense tension building up in your throat and - though you were hardly aware of it - in your lower tummy.
“There you go. Good girl. I feel that little throat opening up. Mmm... I think you can take me now. But angel, if it hurts at all, push against me with your hands hard,” Cyrille told you. “Don’t worry about hurting me. Just shove me away. I can’t do this unless I know you can do that for me. All right?”
He waited for you to give him one, dazed nod.
Then, before you could comprehend what was happening, he was fucking your face quite roughly, and his cock pushing up against your throat forced you to start to open your throat up to him.
"That’s it,” Cyrille panted. “Good girl. Yes, just like that. Good girl. Mmm...”
Your muffled, high-pitched whimpers filled the air. It was a good thing the two of you were in the abandoned Restricted Section, or else you’d have alerted the entire library by now with your desperate little whines escaping around Cyrille’s cock stuffed in your mouth.
But no moans, you told yourself strictly, even as all kinds of little whimpers were coming out of your mouth, being squeezed out of your mouth by his hard cock pushing in and out of your mouth and against your lips.
“Such a perfect little mouth,” Cyrille groaned, becoming rougher and rougher. “I could stay in this mouth, take you just like this all day. And even rougher, if you’d let me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess?”
Cyrille glanced down at you, waiting for a cheeky reply, but all that came out was a garbled, sloppy, almost pitiful whine.
“Oh, right, you can’t talk,” Cyrille said. He smirked, and continued, “No matter. I already know that you would love it - me taking your little mouth like this for hours. You would love it. I know it, angel.”
"See? There’s that little throat of yours all open for me now - just waiting - and uhn,” he exhaled, as he finally pushed his long, hard, waiting cock into your tight little throat.
Cyrille jerked his hips back and forth, making good use of your mouth - and now, your throat, too. His cock pressing against your throat over and over again had taught you to relax your throat enough to take him. It was an entirely new sensation for you to feel a man’s thick, hard cock sliding in and out of your throat.
Your eyes widened in shock as his cock penetrated deep into your throat - much deeper than you’d ever taken anyone - and then shut tightly as you focused on breathing through your nose and letting him use your poor little throat however he wanted.
Knowing that you were ready for him now, Cyrille was starting to slam his hips forward. You felt your head glancing off the bookshelf behind you, and your back was definitely hitting up against the shelf as Cyrille face-fucked you, slamming his cock down your throat over and over again.
Cyrille groaned blissfully. Fuck, she’s taking me so well. I knew she could do it. In his mind, he panted, good girl, good girl, good fucking girl...
“Uhn, ah, angel,” he finally breathed out. His soft, high moaning voice took you completely off guard.
Oh, you thought to yourself, as his cock rammed down your throat hard enough to rock your whole body against the shelf behind you, even as Cyrille attempted to kept your head anchored firmly between his large hands, both to keep you in place and to shield you from hurting your head. I never imagined he’d make sounds like that... you said, unexpectedly feeling little butterflies in your stomach. He must be close...
And he was. But “close” meant that his need for release was now overwhelming, and it translated into sloppy, rough thrusts into your still-open mouth. Your jaw was starting to get sore, but you obediently held your mouth open for him to use as he fucked your face to his orgasm.
“Uhn,” he gasped out softly in a tight, breathy voice. “Angel - ah, you’re taking me s-so well... Uh...”
He sounds like such a completely different person, you thought to yourself. All soft and like. Almost like... a little puppy? You wanted to giggle, but you couldn’t because your mouth was rather busy taking in every thrust of his swollen cock.
Still, that soft noise he made... It’s so cute... The butterflies took off in a windstorm, and suddenly, you felt warm inside. And you wanted that warmth to become something real, something physical - you wanted him to cum in your mouth. In that moment, you wanted it so bad.
So when Cyrille roughly pushed your head down on his cock as he rode out his rising climax, making you deep throat him as he pushed his throbbing cock inside of your mouth, you held your breath for as long as you could. Finally, he moaned long and loud and your eyes shut tightly as you felt a hot spurt of warm, salty liquid explode in the back of your throat. You took as much of it as you could - it drenched your throat before filling up your mouth. And then - as it began to spill out of your mouth, you finally pushed at him slightly, your palms hitting up gently against his thighs. He immediately released you, staggering back a bit.
You fell back against the bookshelf, sliding down entirely into a limp heap on the floor. Your face blushed a bright shade of pink all over, your cheeks warm and thoroughly flushed, and your mouth and lips were wet, warm, and quite red. Because of how much he’d cum and how it’d filled your mouth right up, a bit of his cum had spread out onto your pretty lips, so that as you breathed in and out, some of your hair caught on the cum on your lips and fluttered in and out as you tried to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you gasped for breath. The buttons on your school button-up were straining a little as you attempted to collect oxygen back into your system.
And actually, Cyrille wasn’t the only cumming. A slow, but steady stream of sweet, sticky cum was spilling out into your panties, too. Because the fact that his warm, salty cum was making its way down to your soft little tummy made you feel so happy and full, made your little pussy clench and throb hotly...
“Open... Open your mouth. Show me...” Cyrille demanded, his voice inconsistently switching between strict and soft as he was trying to find his persona again.
You slowly opened your mouth to show him that your mouth was absolutely filled with his hot, white, cum.
Groaning a little and falling forward, Cyrille put one hand out on the bookshelf to support himself and with the other, he reached over and grabbed you by the throat. Cyrille forced you back up on your feet, though you were so limp that you had to hold onto his arm with both hands as you tried to find your feet. When you did managed to get your feet upright, it was only to find that your thighs were already caving in again.
Cyrille kissed you hard, even though your lips were tightly shut as you swallowed all of his cum. With his hand against your throat, he felt you swallowing. In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “Is that you swallowing my cum?”
You nodded tiredly.
“Mmm....” Cyrille’s hand softly traced your throat down to your chest, as though imagining his cum being taken into your body.
It felt very warm as it passed down your throat, and left you feeling quite satisfied.
Cyrille caught the subtle joy in your expression. “Are you happy, angel? Are you happy that you took my cock like that and swallowed all of my cum?”
You nodded again.
He finally laughed a little, and it didn’t sound cold or distant in any way.
You smiled, thinking he was softening with you.
But just then, Cyrille suddenly reminded you, “Say ‘thank you’” like a good girl.”
What...? you found yourself thinking blurrily.
“I told you - you say ‘thank you’ when I cum in you,” Cyrille reminded you again. “It doesn’t matter if it’s in your mouth, your pussy, your ass, or even your hands. You take it, and you say ‘thank you.’ Go on.”
“T-thank you,” you choked out, barely able to get the words out. You'd only just swallowed the last of his cum, and now you needed to breathe through your mouth again.
“You’re perfect,” Cyrille whispered, wanting very much to praise you.
Before you could draw a long breath of air, he kissed you again, much softer this time. “Angel,” he murmured sweetly against your lips. “Angel, angel, angel...”
You wanted him to keep kissing you forever, but your breaths had returned to shallow gasps, and you felt like your chest was going to explode from want of air.
Cyrille knew it. He let you go.
You fell backwards, and your back hit the bookshelf again. You sank to the ground, your head ringing with a high-pitched buzzing sound and with a repeated string of Cyrille’s voice moaning out, “angel, angel, angel...”
* * * * * * * * * *
“Angel? Are you all right?”
You suddenly felt yourself being lifted up.
Your eyes opened blearily, as Cyrille led you to and draped you over one of the step ladders that students used to reach books on high shelves. The ladder was placed in front of a bookshelf, so you could reach out and steady yourself against the books as needed.
But before he allowed you to fall forward tiredly over the step ladder, Cyrille reached over and hugged you to him with one arm so that your back was against his chest and your head was against his shoulder. With his other hand, Cyrille gently wiped your mouth with his sleeve. Some of your mascara had smudged just below your eyes, too, and he used his thumb to gently wipe off the errant marks. Closer to ‘wrecked,’ though not quite, Cyrille thought. But that’s all right. It’s you, after all.
He then placed a warm kiss on your mouth, enveloping your lips in his and allowing you to pant softly into his. He loved catching all of your little, warm breaths in his own mouth, because it made him feel connected to you.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and just held you in his arms, much like the way he had last night on the Astronomy Tower. You fit right inside his arms. You always had. He hoped more than anything, that you could feel it, too.
“Now, angel, let me return the favor. Tell me what you want, and it can be anything,” Cyrille told you softly. “If you want to sleep, we can sleep. If you want me to pleasure you, I’ll do it until you tell me to stop. Just tell me.”
He reached over and drawing your hand up, he kissed all of your fingertips gently before sliding his mouth down to your wrist, where the ribbon was. He smiled a little when he saw it and gave it a brief kiss, too, before finally pulling away.
“Tell me,” he repeated.
“Touch... me...” you mumbled, as you fell forward on the step ladder. Because you couldn’t help except remember that the last time he’d taken you back to sleep, he hadn’t wanted to be seen with you. He’d passed you off to Remus to take care of you. And you didn’t want that.
You weren’t sure what you wanted more at the moment - whether you wanted to stay with Cyrille, or if you wanted Cyrille to want to stay with you. Both, you supposed, would be nice...
Still, here he was with you now, and you wanted to keep it that way - at least for now.
Am I going mad? you thought to yourself. How has this all spiraled so quickly? Only a few days ago, he was a complete stranger to me. Why, then, do I feel so familiar with him? As if... As if he was my home before I knew I had a home...
“Are you sure that’s what you want, angel?” he asked you softly, running his hand gently up and down your back.
“Yes,” you breathed out. You’d fallen forward onto your stomach, but now you shifted up a little so that your ass was higher in the air, revealing your panties and your thighs to Cyrille.
Cyrille put his hand on your thigh and slowly slid his hand up and towards the inside of your thigh. He kept his gaze on your face, though, to see whether this was what you wanted or whether you wanted to stop.
You nodded back at him and murmured, “I want to feel your fingers on me...”
Cyrille nodded. “Your wish is my command.”
He lifted your skirt a little more, but when he saw your panties, he paused.
“Did you... already cum?” he asked you.
Oh God. I did. I came twice already. You shifted uncomfortably, hurriedly moving your hips down to hide how wet you were. I’d forgotten, but... I’m soaked through. Oh, no, this is so embarrassing...
But Cyrille quickly caught you by your hips and firmly pushed your ass back up in the air, so that he could make out the soft little fabric between your pretty thighs - and sure enough - “You’re wet,” Cyrille breathed out, and a victorious smirk passed over his face. “And when did this happen? I haven’t even touched you yet...”
You squirmed in his grasp, but it was too late. He’d seen it all.
“Did you cum when I was fucking your mouth?”
You paused. Actually, you’d cum twice - once when he was just talking to you, describing the things he wanted to do to you, and then, yes, for a second time, when he’d fucked your mouth to orgasm and came in you and made you swallow... You’d cum when you’d swallowed his cum.
Your silence earned you another slap on the ass.
“Ow,” you hissed out at him.
“Answer me,” Cyrille demanded.
You sighed. “May...be...” you finally relented, breaking the word up into two shy and unwilling words.
Cyrille grinned at you. “Oh, you are an angel, aren’t you? Cumming without even being touched... Already so wet I bet I could fuck you right now and you could take it. It’d be tight, but you’re certainly wet enough. Mmm, this is a dream come true... You’re a dream come true.”
He lifted his hand and for just a moment, you felt his fingertips graze your already soaked panties.
You shivered.
“So delicate, but as I said, you’d be surprised to learn just how much your body can take,” Cyrille said, watching a quiver run up your body. “And right now, you still want to be touched, don’t you, angel? You want me to make you cum again...”
Eyes closed and breathing shallowly, you softly nodded at his words.
“You want my fingers in you, princess?” he asked you, his voice deceivingly gentle.
“Y-Yes,” you confessed, and clutched at the bookshelf in front of you. He makes me so nervous... Why? I’m usually not nervous around other people, even during sex. So what is this strange thrill inside of my tummy? I don’t... I don’t like it... It feels... too close to that feeling you get right before you cum...
My nerves are already so stretched. If he stretches out my pussy, I might cum again. I don’t want to, not for him, not like this... But I don’t think I could help it. I just - I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. This is ridiculous... I’m a grown-ass woman. I’ve had plenty of sex. And yet, with him, I’m just so -
At that second, Cyrille pressed a single finger against you, and he watched as your thighs immediately quivered and you leaned forward, almost as though away from him. But then you came right back, pushing your hips back out in the hopes that his fingers would be there again to touch you.
But they weren’t. He’d pulled his hand away already.
“You’re so sensitive,” Cyrille murmured, surprised but loving the way you were reacting to him. He’d pulled away his hand so that he could be much more deliberate as to exactly how he wanted to tease you. He’d fuck you with his fingers, sure - whenever you wanted, he’d love to - but if you were going to be so deliciously sensitive to him, he was also going to make sure to fuck up your mind... So that when you came, you would lose yourself entirely to him. Right now, some part of him wanted to stop everything and just run his fingertips down your bare back just to see how you would react.
But you were clearly not wanting him to test you this way. Because you were shouting at him, annoyed to all hell. Cyrille hid his smile as he watched you passionately whisper-yell at him.
“I am not!” you protested indignantly, taking his words as a stab to indicate your supposed weakness. In a frustrated voice, you pushed back, “It’s only with you.”
Then, you paused. Wait, did I just admit...?
“Oh, angel,” Cyrille exhaled suddenly, and his voice was far softer than you imagined it would be. Instead of taking advantage of your confession, he seemed to invite it in, to love it, because it freed his own restraints, made him able to love you right back.
“I’ll reward you well for your confession,” he breathed out lovingly. “Only good girls confess. Isn’t that right, angel?” As he spoke, promising you heaven (or maybe it was sin - you couldn’t quite tell at this point), you felt his fingertips touch against your hips on either side, and then curl inwards to grasp your panties.
“Don’t yank at them,” you told him this time, referring to your panties, and the way he’d aggressively tried to pull them to the side to fuck you last time.
“All right, all right,” Cyrille conceded. “Merlin, you really such a princess, aren’t you?” he said, sighing a little. But, true to your command, he reached up and gently slid your panties off of you, and felt his cock throb when the thin cotton caught for a moment on the soft roundness of your ass. But he slowly pulled them down to your thighs. Then, he placed his large, warm hands on the insides of your thighs and spread you open as much as he could until your panties were stretched tight against your thighs.
He gazed for a moment at your pretty pussy, your puffy lips already all wet and glistening.
“Angel,” he said quietly, and his voice was already all tight, “look at you.”
You hesitated, starting to feel a bit self-conscious. “Um, why?” you asked. Leaning your head against the books, you slowly reached behind yourself to touch yourself. Is there something wrong? Am I already creaming? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I were...
Cyrille stopped you from touching yourself, grabbing your wrist.
“No you don’t. Only I get to do that,” he whispered silkily. Then, grasping your other wrist as well, he used the ribbon you still had on to tie your hands together behind your back, restraining you so that your hands were stuck together and could only move level to your ass. You couldn’t raise them up or anything.
“Lestrange!” you whisper-shouted. “What the fuck -?”
“Still calling me Lestrange?” Cyrille laughed softly. “Even though I have you all tied up like this? Even though I claimed your throat and came in that lovely little mouth of yours not five minutes ago?”
Without waiting for your reply, Cyrille’s voice suddenly switched to a cold demand. “Spread yourself open for me.”
“Like this.” Cyrille guided your hands so that your hands were on your ass and you were spreading open your ass for him, giving him a clear view of yourself, especially your waiting pussy.
Seeing you like that, panties stretched tight between your thighs, skirt pushed up practically to your midriff, curls running down your back, head pushed up against the books, hands back, wrists adorably tied together in a silk ribbon, and legs and ass spread to show those puffy pink lips of yours to him, it was all Cyrille could do not to pin you against the floor and fuck you silly until you cried with pleasure and relief.
He tried to maintain his composure for you, even as he felt himself growing hard in his pants again. But he could feel himself slipping, and it came through his words, that were starting to slur together with want...
“I can already tell, without even having been inside you yet, that your pussy just grips at cock, doesn’t it?” Cyrille murmured. “Mmm, yes, I bet it does. Just look at you - all tight and wet, and you’re bound to be so soft and pretty inside too, aren’t you, angel?”
You didn’t even notice him starting to lose his composure, though, because you were so far past him. It was taking everything you had not to moan. You were literally holding your breath and praying as you pressed your face against the books that you weren’t going to give away how badly you wanted Cyrille Lestrange by cumming for him before he’d even touched you.
Because his voice, and - oh - the things that he said as he touched you - God, it made you so wet. You’d never, ever met anyone like him. Nobody else could make you cum with just their voice.
And you were determined that he would never find out about the power he had over you. Never.
So, you softly clenched your teeth and held your breath until you felt light-headed. You prayed in your mind for him to touch you, to give you an excuse to react or make a noise - though no moans, you repeated to yourself quite sternly. There’s no way I’m losing to Cyrille Lestrange, no matter how many times he makes me cum - which, oh God, it might be a lot of times, judging from the fact that I’ve already cum twice and could cum a third time without even having taken any of his fingers, let alone his cock - his long, hard cock... Mmm...
You bit down on your lower lip, trying desperately to still your imagination as your pussy throbbed hotly.
Fuck, I want to moan. I need to moan! God, please...
“Touch me,” you breathed out, unable to take the anticipation any longer. You pushed your hips back and spread yourself out even more for him, your hands digging into your soft, round ass. “Please...”
No, why am I already begging? I hate this, I hate this, I hate this...
But Cyrille didn’t move just yet. Because he was starting to notice.
His eyes narrowing ever so slightly, he said, “You’re dripping.” He enunciated the second word “drip-ping” to indicate that he was beginning to realize that you were already very, very close to cumming...
You shut your eyes tightly. Meanwhile, Cyrille’s gaze traveled up from the gorgeous sight directly in front of him (you, holding yourself open for him and your pussy becoming deliciously wetter and wetter without Cyrille having done anything) up to your face. Cyrille noticed that under your shirt, you seemed to be breathing rather hard already, stomach straining under your loose blouse, breasts rising up and down where the blouse was a little tighter, your Gryffindor pin barely hanging on as your breast pushed on it from the inside, nearly popping it open, and then your face- you’d let your curls fall in front of your face.
And why would that be? Cyrille wondered. He slowly began to figure it all out - how your panties had already been soaked through right when you’d first draped yourself over the step ladder and lifted your skirt for him to why now, you seemed to be begging ever so reluctantly for him to touch you.
You weren’t one to beg easily. Cyrille knew that. So, why, now, when he had you in such a vulnerable position, presenting yourself to him in the fucking Restricted Section of the library, in all places, with your hands tied behind your back, and pussy just waiting for him, did you suddenly beg for him?
Then, the inevitable realization came - “Angel, tell me the truth. Does my voice make you cum?”
The bastard was absolutely thrilled with himself. You could just hear the smirk in his voice. Grr, you growled in your head.
“Answer me, princess,” Cyrille said, his voice suddenly quite happy. “Does simply hearing me make you all wet and dripping for me? Hm?”
You gritted your teeth together and tried to duck your face under your hair even more, but Cyrille wouldn’t allow that.
He leaned over you now, and gently tucked your hair back from your face. “Tell me,” he whispered, and you felt his sweet, warm breath across your face.
“Oh, angel, you’re so flushed,” Cyrille realized, seeing your blushing face. “So, it must be true.”
He laughed lightly, right in your ear. “No wonder you kept trying to find loopholes - trying to put restrictions on me, trying to make whimpers allowed. I see it now. It’s because you are just so unable to control yourself, isn’t it, princess?”
You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You fervently substituted the need to moan and cum and cry aloud with words, blurting out to Cyrille, “I hate you. I hate you.”
“Aw,” Cyrille said, his voice mocking, with only a thin veneer of clearly false sympathy, “has my poor little princess been found out? Is she suddenly feeling all shy and defensive?”
“Y-You’re an ass,” you told him, stuttering slightly.
Cyrille snickered. “You can call me anything you want, princess. Now that I know why...”
No, no, no, you moaned. He can’t know. How did he find out so quickly? Am I really that wet already? God...
“Well, it’s all right,” Cyrille reassured you, still smirking. “I’ll save you your pride, princess. Besides, as much as I’d love to taunt and torment you all day, we can’t be in the Restricted Section of the library all day, you know.”
“Some of us,” he said airily, clearly referring to himself, “have things to do.”
You bristled at the implication - that you would just be waiting for him to touch you, to relieve you.
“I- I need to study, too,” you panted out, not realizing how childish you sounded.
“I’m sure you do,” he said, still in that annoyingly self-effacing voice. “I bet I fucked everything you know right out of your head when I had you against the bookshelf, didn’t I? I saw you... You forgot how to speak. I asked you a question, and you just sat there, nodding, with my cock stuffed in your mouth. Oh, princess, you were so pretty...”
“And now,” Cyrille whispered into your ear, “as promised, I’ll return the favor. Just sit tight, angel, and let me take it from here.”
Slowly, he reached down, letting his fingers play some nightmarish, yet sweet tune down your body until they fell over the curve of your ass, glancing off of your own fingers as you held yourself open for him.
Then, he slowly ran his fingers over your clit.
You stiffened and lifting your head from the books you’d pressed yourself against, with your shoulders straining from the position you were in, leaning over with your arms pinned back, you bowed your head forward. Cyrille watched as your entire body trembled from the merest touch. He wanted to smirk at you again, but he couldn’t find it within himself to think of anything else beyond the marvel of you shuddering so beautifully under his touch.
If she trembles so well for me, could I perhaps... make her mine someday? Cyrille wondered hesitantly, afraid even to hope.
Cyrille sighed. No, remember who you are, and who she is. You chose your path, and she chose hers. She doesn’t even remember you anymore.
He pressed his fingers against you then.
When you felt his cold metal rings brush up against you, you found yourself gripping your own ass a little harder, leaving tiny crescents on yourself.
“Getting all tense already?” Cyrille whispered.
“Please... I want your - your -” you stuttered out. But you bit down hard on your lower lip as a moan nearly escaped along with your trembling words.
Cyrille knew. “Yes,” he affirmed. “Remember, if you moan - even one little, barely there moan - you’re mine.”
“As for what you want, I’ll give it you, angel. And when I give it to you, you’re going to cum for me. You won’t be able to stop until I say so. I imagine it’ll be new for you, princess, not being able to always have your way, but I promise you, you’ll enjoy it - even if you do have to beg for it.”
With that, he plunged his long, punishing fingers into your wet, warm pussy.
For a moment, all you could perceive was a long string of exclamation marks ringing out in your mind. Your pussy flared up immediately, and clenched. He’s inside me. His fingers... They’re inside me... Oh Merlin, fuck, they feel so good. Why do they feel so good? And so long... Longer than James’, even. Oh, please don’t let me moan. Please don’t let me moan. I don’t - I don’t want to be ‘his’ before he becomes ‘mine’. I don’t - don’t want to lose to him. Pleas let me be quiet. Pleas- Uhnnn.... Your mind blanked out as you received pure pleasure from Cyrille working his fingers steadily into the warmth between your thighs.
“Mmm,” Cyrille sighed. “Oh, angel, you are so wet. I almost feel pity for you. How were you holding this in the whole time?”
“Well,” he said, almost flippantly, as he corrected himself, “I guess the whole point is that you didn’t.”
He shook his head a little and tutted at you, even as his fingers started to slowly and very deliberately pump in and out of you.
“Cumming to my mere voice? God, it’s almost... pitiful.”
“S-Shut up,” you told him, frustrated beyond belief.
But Cyrille merely smirked. “You sounded so bold, demanding this and that from me. But as I said, I understand why now. You needed me to call your pathetic little bluffs to show this side of you. I’m glad I played into it. As I see it, this is not only an easy win, but a most pleasurable- ” he thrust his fingers deep, eliciting a delicious shudder from you - “win.”
“Don’t call m-me pathetic,” you growled at him.
“Oh, angel knows how to growl, does she? So adorable,” Cyrille said, now clearly laughing. “But can she moan?”
He drew his fingers out to the very tip and then pushed them back in. You kept your lips together tightly, determined not to moan for this irritating son of a bitch.
But the desire to fight back against him was difficult to sustain. You were having to resist and overcome quite a lot of thoughts and sensations currently running inside your head. In fact, it all looked a little something like this:
Ah! Oh my God, ah... Hah... ah... Mmm, his fingers - They’re spreading me open so well. I didn’t - I didn’t even realize how tight I was until now. I must have been clenching my pussy all this time. I already feel... almost sore. And he’s pushing it all apart, forcing my walls open so that I have to take his fingers... Ah... Ah, fuck. Your internal monologue of moans and barely incoherent thoughts played out on your lovely face, eyes shut tight and lips trembling silently.
“You can moan, angel,” Cyrille whispered to you. “Let me hear your sweet little voice... Moan for me.” He could see you bucking slightly, with your tight little tummy and curvy hips shuddering against the rather unforgiving wooden surface of the crude step ladder you were lying on. He was well aware that everything about this situation - the demand to be as quiet as possible, the discomfort of being pressed up against hard wood (whether that was a bookshelf or a step ladder), and then of being under his touch and his control - was intensifying the experience for you, even if the influence was a touch subversive.
But Cyrille trusted you. You were a bold one, and he loved that. It was the only way he could start to reveal himself to you, little by little - his need for you, and his conflicting desires to both overpower you and submit to you, all at once.
But even now, you feverishly shook your head, rejecting his words. “N-No, not g-gonna moan. Not f-for you.”
“And why’s that, angel? Why not for me?”
“I told you - I...” For a moment, you had to bit down on your lower lip yet again as you felt his fingers, now slick with your cum, pull out of you a little ways only to come thrusting back, sinking deep into your soft, hot, and dripping pussy.
“I hate you,” you managed to whisper, in a tightly controlled and tiny little voice.
Cyrille only smiled, knowing it was just a matter of time before you fell into his trap.
Even now, your hands slipped off of your ass (though they were still tied together by the ribbon) because your grip became too tight and your hands had involuntarily curled up into little fists.
In doing so, you had dragged unintentionally dragged your nails across your ass, and Cyrille looked down at you with a savage pride - he had made you leave your own marks on yourself.
Fuck, if she isn’t an angel, I don’t know who is, Cyrille thought, his eyes glimmering with a possessive darkness as he watched you leave long, pink lines on your lovely, supple skin.
You arched your back and threw your head back, abs straining with the effort it took to do so - as you couldn’t reach out and hold onto anything, you were literally just lifting the upper half of your body up in the air.
Cyrille watched your beautiful breasts straining, almost thrusting against your poor blouse. That Gryffindor pin’s taking a lot of abuse today, Cyrille thought mockingly, quite pleased with himself. I hope it falls right off. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see it fall off right when she cums? Mmm, let’s try it.
He began to thrust his fingers into you faster and harder, until his three fingers were stretching you out quite well and his knuckles were hitting up against your pussyhole. The rings that he wore contributed quite a bit to the sensation - the cold metal either forcing your pussyhole to open unexpectedly and unevenly and then sinking into you a little ways, or hitting up against you cold and brutal along with his knuckles. Sometimes, right when you thought they would only hit up against you and stay there, they just managed to stretch you open the tiniest bit further, but before you could comprehend it as more than just a pleasurable addition, they were gone again... You thought of your sticky, sweet cum soaking all of his family rings, and you wanted it... To defile that disgusting Lestrange emblem with your cum... Yes, you wanted to cover his hand in your cum - and fuck, you knew you could do it, too. Because - uhn, he was fingering you so good and you were-
Your lips fell open wide in soundless gasps. You were close, you were close - Oh, you were so close - !
Abruptly, Cyrille pulled his fingers out of you.
Wha-What? You found yourself totally confused and dazed. What happened? I was so close to cumming. Why did he stop?
You squirmed a little as you shifted yourself to be able to look at him. You frowned at him, your lower lip threatening to slip into a pout.
There he was, Cyrille Lestrange, the old bastard, pausing to lick your cum off of his fingers. Fuck, she tastes... tantalizing, he thought to himself, groaning inside his head. I thought I’d be more satisfied, but I’m just hungrier. I want to bury my face between her legs...
“You’ll have to sit on my face some time, angel,” he commented lightly, as though he hadn’t just deprived you of your much-needed, heavily-chased-after orgasm. “You taste heavenly.”
“Lestrange,” you growled at him. You managed to move your hips so that it knocked against his elbow, forcing him to stop sucking off the taste of you from his fingers.
That got his attention. “What?” he asked you, his voice severe.
You fucking ass, as if you don’t bloody well know “what,” you thought angrily to himself. As it was, you hissed at him, “You must be fucking joking!”
“Keep you voice down, angel, unless you want Madam Pince running over here and catching us like this...”
“Why did you stop?” you demanded furiously.
“Oh, that.” Cyrille finally drew his fingers away from his mouth. He reached down and ran a single fingertip up and down your clit, driving you mad with want. You had been so close, and it had left you so intensely sensitive... As if you hadn’t been sensitive before, this was now a thousand times worth. You would do just about anything - anything - including dragging your hips up and down the hard wooden edge you were lying on, to get release.
“Right. Well,” Cyrille drawled, lazily running his finger up and down your needy little cunt, “have you ever heard of ‘edging’?”
You paused. “What’s that?” you asked him, lifting your head to try to read his face. Is he just playing around right now or is he serious?
“Pleasure drawn out by deprivation,” he replied succinctly. He tauntingly ran his finger around your pussyhole and even pressed his fingertip against you for just a moment, threatening to push his finger back into you. But he didn’t.
You slowly drew in a long, low breath, and let it out.
“So, I just wanted to try something,” Cyrille went on, purposefully ignoring your sopping cunt except to tease it with the lightest touches of his fingertips. “Test my theory, as it were- ”
“I have theories for you,” you interrupted, cutting across his bullshit. “Many of them. All on how to painfully murder you.”
“Goodness,” Cyrille chuckled. “You didn’t learn all your lessons in church properly, did you, angel?”
“Lestrange!” you hissed at him, fed-up.
Having had more than enough, you started to try to get up, but Cyrille was quick to put his other hand down on your back and push you right back down onto the ladder.
“We’ll have to work on your patience, angel,” he said sharply, the teasing lilt from his voice completely gone. “Haven’t I already told you that you’ll get all the pleasure you want? But if you can’t wait for it, if you’re going to be a fucking brat about it, then I’ll give it to you all at once.”
With that, he leaned down, spread you apart himself, with impatient and forceful hands, and put his mouth directly on your pussy.
Your feet shot up immediately. Knees folding, your heels dug into his back.
He ignored you entirely and holding your ass apart hard enough to pin you down against that damn step ladder that was now digging into your tummy and hips, he ate you out furiously - tongue delving in and out of your folds, teeth clenching and tugging at your clit, lips kissing your pussy wetly, then pressing down against your pussyhole hard enough to make you dizzy... Finally, his tongue thrust inside of you.
When it did, it took everything you had not to moan. Your hands were opening and closing tightly. God, I need to hold onto something - to grip something...
“Mmm,” Cyrille growled heavily, and the vibration of his lips against you sent your mind spiraling off altogether. He moved his tongue expertly, tongue-fucking you hard and fast, mixing your cum with his saliva to make you wet, wet, wet...
Your mental restraints were starting to break loose. Without even realizing it, and though you were restrained by that fucking ribbon Cyrille had tied your hands back with, you were doing your best to move your hips against Cyrille, rubbing yourself on his mouth, so that his tongue was taking your clit and letting you rub yourself all over him. He reached out and wrapped his hands around your thighs, pulling you harder against his face, encouraging you to rub yourself hard on his tongue until you were openly rolling your hips against him, running circles on his tongue, loving how hot and wet it felt against your desperate little sex...
Oh, God, please, let me cum, let me cum, let me cum, you thought hazily, your head lolling slightly back on your neck as you’d arched your back quite nicely in your attempt to push your pussy harder against Cyrille’s wonderful mouth.
So much better when he’s eating me out and now trying to spin my mind, you told yourself, though, you already knew that that wasn’t entirely true. His voice did things to you, and as it turned out, his tongue was all that you had ever wanted, ever needed to make yourself cum - including now.
Your breathing hitched. I’m - I’m gonna cum, you recognized. And what was worse - I’m gonna moan! Your body was quivering all over with the effort it took to hold in your moans. No! I c-can’t! Uhn... But I- I need - I need to - Uhn! Please!
Your wrists were straining desperately against the dark red ribbon. You still couldn’t hold onto anything - your heart was going to burst with frustration. Why, oh why, isn’t there anything to hold onto? Your fingernails dug deeply into your palms, drawing little red crescents of blood on your skin.
But you mistook that pain for the utter, overwhelming need to hold something and to cum.
“H-Hands!” you cried out, babbling. “Oh, please, please, please!”
Cyrille quickly rose to his knees and bending his body over yours, he hurriedly clapped his hand over your mouth.
But you were too far gone to care. You whimpered loudly through his suffocating grasp on your mouth.
“Fine, fine,” Cyrille breathed out. “Sh... Sh... Whose hands, princess? Yours or mine?”
“B-Both!” you managed, not even knowing what in the world you were talking about.
But Cyrille did as you asked. He quickly untied your hands, and immediately after, he pushed his fingers hard back inside your pussy, which - once again, had been deprived of release.
Internally, Cyrille was gloating. Edging works so well on her, doesn’t it? He thought, smirking as he watched you, hands messily flailing as your arms had gone numb from being restrained for too long. He smirked when he saw you mindlessly scrabbling at the books for a second before your hands found the bookshelf.
All right, all right, he told himself, sighing a little. Let’s let her cum before angel loses her mind...
He went back to fingering you hard, working his fingers deep inside your hot, pulsing pussy. He felt your walls starting to tighten, squeezing hard even though it was just his slender fingers that you were taking.
Cyrille couldn’t help but imagine how it’d feel to have his swollen cock buried inside such a tight, warm, wet pussy. Eyes closed and groaning softly as he pictured himself taking your perfect pussy all for himself, he rutted his fingers into you harder, making sure to spread his fingers apart deep inside you, nearly forcing his knuckles inside you.
Your hands shot out and you gripped the bookshelf in front of you so hard that your knuckles turned white. You shut your eyes tightly as your entire body trembled.
“You’re close, aren’t you, angel?” Cyrille whispered, his own voice labored even though he wasn’t the one who was about to burst with needing to cum. He was amazed that you could still be quiet and hold back your moans, though he thought wryly that if whimpers were allowed, you’d have lost from the first second.
You were clever, he thought, and he knew he’d have to watch out for you. However, so long as he had you like this, Cyrille was damn well going to take his time - and make you writhe.
Your hips began to buckle, and your hands slipped off of the bookshelf and onto the books.
Cyrille reached down with his other hand, so that he was pressing his left hand against your clit roughly, while, with his right hand, he was still finger-fucking you hard, pushing you towards your climax more and more until -
A strained, high-pitched whimper rose from the back of your throat somewhere. Your pussy clenched tightly around his fingers, and your thighs closed together, wrapping around Cyrille’s wrists, inadvertently keeping his fingers deep inside of you.
A moment later, you fell forward and your hands pushed the books through to the other side. They fell onto the floor with thumps, though luckily, the sound was muffled by the thick, dusty carpet of the Restricted Section.
You didn’t care because finally, you were cumming and cumming and cumming -
The feeling of release was so long-awaited that when it finally came, it was very, very intense, wracking your body with unbelievable pleasure, as though a tightly wound spring had finally let loose inside of you - and still, Cyrille was pushing his fingers in and out of you right through your orgasm, forcing another pool of cum to build deep inside your pussy.
‘S too much! you gasped in your head. Too much cum inside me, I’m gonna - I’m gonna - !
Cyrille had slipped his other hand up from your clit to slide it between your tummy and the step ladder. He pressed his large hand up into your lower tummy, right where you felt your cum pooling -
“No!” you cried out desperately, legs kicking. “Don’t!”
But it was too late.
With another loud gasp, your eyes flew wide open as you felt yourself squirt everywhere. Cum spattered everywhere, drenching your pussy, thighs, Cyrille’s hand and wrist, and even getting some on your little socks and shoes, as well as the wooden stepladder.
“Oh, angel, fuck,” Cyrille moaned softly, as your cum drenched his fingers, covering his rings with cum.
Cyrille immediately fell to his knees behind you and leaning forward, he held your quaking legs in place as he lapped between your thighs thoroughly, making sure his tongue lapped every bit of your sweet cum into his mouth. You tasted like honey to him, with the slightest bitterness in the aftertaste that told him that this was your cum.
He panted a little too as he licked you all up. He had worked hard for your cum, your pleasure - and watching you like this, falling forward with your sweet cum dripping all down your thighs... God forbid he didn’t get to taste you to his heart’s content. Your pleasure and his melded together for Cyrille. To see you like this - lost in sensation with him, responding to his touch, cumming on his fingers, it was all he wanted. And if ever there was a definition of a true dominant - this is what it was. He was the embodiment of it.
After he licked you clean, he pushed his fingers back inside of you. It was so unexpected that you gasped out loud as you felt his fingers demand more from you.
“N-No,” you protested weakly, drawing your legs together. You covered your face with your hands. “I c-can’t. Please, no more.”
Cyrille paused, and then he immediately drew his hand away from you. “Angel.” While his voice was severe, the underlying emotion was so wonderfully soft and protective as he told you, “You only need to say ‘no’ once. And you never need to give a reason. I will never touch you unless you want it - unless you ask for it.”
“Now,” he asked you, “will you let me hold you?”
Slowly, you pushed yourself up from your position, though a bit gingerly, as your ass felt a little raw, your thighs strained, and your pussy was still throbbing a bit. You revealed your face to him, and Cyrille took in, with a soft gaze, how flushed your face was, and how some of your front curls were pressed against your sweaty forehead... You were still panting a little, completing your dreamlike envisionage with sound.
How can she be this way? Cyrille wondered vaguely. Look this way, sound this way... Does she have any idea what she does to me?
You managed to turn around and put your arms around Cyrille’s shoulders. His arms came up to hold you, and the two of you sank down onto the library floor, with you naturally sitting in Cyrille’s lap.
He gently pressed his fingers against your lips, just as you done to yourself this morning in the library as you sat there remembering sucking on Cyrille’s fingers. You could never have imagined this morning that this bizarre series of events would have unfolded today, and all in the span of one afternoon.
What am I doing here, like this, with him? you thought, almost disappointed with yourself.
But then, Cyrille’s soft voice cut into your thoughts. “Here,” he said, his fingers, glistening with cum from deep inside your pussy, were pushing against your lips. “Taste yourself on my fingers.”
You hesitatingly opened your mouth, only a little - just enough for his fingers to slip in. You watched Cyrille curiously as you obediently sucked on your fingers, tasting yourself.
He watched you intensely, his eyes never leaving your pretty lips, once again wrapped around his fingers - but this time, his fingers were soaked with your cum.
Why does it feel so intimate? you wondered. Have we done this before? It’s not my mind that’s feeling shy, as much as it is my body... Why? Why am I trembling?
Finally, having sucked his fingers clean, you pulled away, more than a little embarrassed.
“Now share it with me,” Cyrille instructed you. “Kiss me.”
Your face, which was supposed to be less flushed after having cum so hard - literally, squirted everywhere - blushed even brighter at this simple request.
Cyrille reached down and gently grasped your chin in his hand. “You don’t want to kiss me?”
Still avoiding his gaze, you shook your head a little. But your little hands grasped gently at his collar, tugging at him shyly to come closer to you.
Cyrille’s eyes softened. He knew what you meant. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him. It was just that you were feeling quite vulnerable and would prefer to have him kiss you.
That’s fine. More than fine. I can do that, Cyrille thought pleasantly.
He pulled you to him, pressing your mouths together quickly enough to save you from thinking about it any longer and feeling any more embarrassed than you already were.
First kiss, a voice in the back of your head whispered to you.
What? First... kiss? your consciousness replied back to that strange, vague voice whispering to you from the back of your mind...
“Mmm,” Cyrille sighed as he kissed you. “Tastes even better in your mouth, angel.”
As he kissed you, and you returned his kiss, though a bit shyly, you slowly began to realize something else - something wonderful.
When Cyrille finally pulled back, you felt your lips curve up into a joyful smirk.
Cyrille paused, licking his lips to finish tasting you completely. Seeing your victorious smile, his eyes suddenly became defensive. “What?” he said, a bit uncertain for the first time.
“You cursed,” you told him.
Cyrille blinked. “Yes... And?”
“You said ‘fuck,’“ you told him, calling him out proudly. The triumphant way in which you announced the word made you sound like a heathen.
Cyrille barely held back his smile. Instead, he managed to lift his eyebrow and say coldly to you, “So?”
“I told you,” you reminded him, and you sounded more pleased and arrogant than you ever had in your life. “If you curse, you’re mine. We bargained for it, remember? Those were my terms, and you accepted them.”
“So,” you stressed, wrapping your arms around him, “that means you lost. You’re mine.”
Cyrille watched in astonishment as a gorgeous smile spread across your face. Your cheeks became rounder, showing the apples of your cheeks, and your eyes crinkled into half-moon crescents... Your whole face lit up in such a lovely manner. It was as though you’d suddenly sprouted wings and a halo.
You embraced him tightly, and Cyrille was grateful for the way you buried your head against his chest, because it meant that he could smile the way he wanted to. It meant that he didn’t have to hide how happy you were making him, though he found it perfectly absurd that you could ever think that him becoming “yours” was a “loss” for him in any way.
She’s played right into my arms, Cyrille thought happily. Although, he was impressed and more than a little ticked off about your ability to hold in a moan. He had rather hoped you could reciprocate the promise - that he could call you “his” right back.
But that would have to wait another day.
However, almost as though you’d read his thoughts, you suddenly popped back up into his vision.
He blinked. “Angel...?” he said, confused.
“You’re... really hard,” you realized. As you’d hugged him tightly, you had felt something hard press up against your lower stomach.
“Yes,” Cyrille said simply, shrugging a little.
“Well, aren’t you going to fuck me properly?” you asked him, matching his candor and flipping the tables on him. “I mean, with your cock... Not just your fingers. After all, I’m already all wet for you... Really wet for you...”
Cyrille swallowed hard. He did want to. Oh, Merlin knew he wanted to. But it had been a long time since the two of you had disappeared together, and you’d both made a fair amount of noise, what with the rough face-fucking, and you pushing books down while squirting all over... Somebody was bound to notice soon, if they hadn’t already, that the two of you were gone.
Finally, Cyrille managed to say, “Let’s just call it a truce for today, hm? I’ll let you get away with your little victory. For now.”
Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? You’re fine with that?”
“You know what they say,” Cyrille replied calmly. “Lose the battle, win the war. I’d say I’m right on track.” He smirked at you.
You looked at him skeptically. “I didn’t moan,” you reminded him.
Cyrille had a witty comeback, but when he saw how proud you were of yourself, he simply exhaled softly. God, she’s so happy that I became hers first, Cyrille recognized. She doesn’t even realize she’s walked right into my little trap. Because I know. I can read people - her most of all, because I’m so in tune with her, because I can’t stop thinking about her, and because, once... we were in love, though she will never remember that.
And I know, that just as my weakness is my possessiveness, hers is vulnerability and control. No doubt her insecurities were exacerbated by that total dimwit, Potter, who had the fucking audacity to have eyes for another girl, but... Cyrille hesitated. I always see the game at least two moves ahead. I know she won’t ever be vulnerable if I hold out on her. I need her vulnerable. I want her vulnerable. To heal her. Although, I do have a tendency of corrupting everything I touch...
Unable to help himself, he reached out and touched your cheek gently, almost as though he were stroking the wings of a dove.
Could I be better for you? Cyrille wondered, lost deep in thought. I certainly want to be.
You paused when you felt his fingers softly grazing your cheek. “Lestrange?”
Cyrille frowned a little. He pulled his hand away. “Now that I’m yours, stop calling me by last name.”
“Hm...” You pretended to consider for a moment before saying happily, “Okay!”
Cyrille scoffed a little. “You’re drunk again.”
“What?” you said, confused.
“You’re drunk,” he repeated. “On power.”
You blinked, surprised.
Meanwhile, Cyrille reached down and picked up the red ribbon that had fallen to the floor, all curled up.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to you.
As you took it back, Cyrille frowned when he noticed the small crimson crescents scarring your palms.
“When did this happen?”
“Oh,” you said uncertainly, “I’m not even sure...”
“Well,” Cyrille told you, “maybe I should heal you.”
“After all...” He reached down and pulled your wrist up. The small bruise from his sucking on your skin last night was still there. He pressed his mouth carefully to it, making you shiver but not hurting you at all.
“I don’t think you’re in danger of forgetting me anymore,” he murmured.
You weren’t sure what he meant by that.
“Do scars bother you?” you asked him quietly.
Cyrille sighed. “You could say that. I don’t like to leave marks... The pain should end when the pleasure does, don’t you think?” he mused.
His head fell back against the wall and he looked up for a moment at the now-dampened sunlight pouring in weakly through the high windows.
“It must be nearly dinnertime,” he spoke softly. “I spent a very long time here with you, angel.”
Something about the way he said that reminded you that this was not, by any means, a real relationship - just some strange, sudden, and unnamed rush of things - tension, mostly, with bursts of passionate release.
Your arms fell away from him, and you slowly fell back onto the floor, slipping off of his lap.
Cyrille looked down at you. He saw the darkness shadow over in your eyes.
She feels abandoned, like this is all just a game, he realized. Leaning forward, he asked you gently, “May I have one more kiss - for good luck?”
He didn’t even know what he was saying, because he knew that it wasn’t important. All that mattered to Cyrille was that he made sure that you felt loved, and wanted.
You cocked your head at him, frowning. “Good luck?” you repeated, not getting it. “For wha-?”
But his lips were already pressed softly against yours.
“Mm- ” You hurriedly cut yourself off. Merlin, I nearly moaned just then. After all that...
You felt Cyrille smirk. He’d caught that. His hand drew up your shoulder and onto your throat. You felt his fingers tighten around your neck for a moment as he whispered to you, “I heard that, you little brat.”
Then, shooting you a devious smirk, Cyrille let you go and walked away.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was strange for Cyrille to see you sitting in the Great Hall, over at the Gryffindor table, chatting away with your friends, eating food and happily drinking a milkshake, as though you hadn’t just swallowed a mouthful of his cum.
That damn Gryffindor pin stayed on, Cyrille thought distastefully. But he only mused on that for a moment, because he had you to look at.
He hadn’t meant to stare at you, but your eyes caught his. He immediately smirked, trying to hide his surprise.
To his relief and amusement, it worked better than he could have hoped for.
Your friend had just asked you something, and you’d completely missed it.
“Oh,” you mumbled, dazed. “Um, yes.”
Your friend looked at you, concerned. “Honey,” she said, “put the milkshake down and have some real food. I think the sugar rush is getting to you.”
“No, no, I feel fine. I just need to... Uh... I’m hungry!” you blurted out suddenly and far too loudly.
Cyrille had to cover his face as he snorted loudly into his hand at your poor cover-up.
Still, he thought, as he saw you desperately trying to explain yourself to your friends, you really had been quite good at holding back your moan.
Which, of course, had not gone Cyrille’s way. He didn’t not want you to moan. Certainly not. He just wanted you to be his.
You were a stubborn little shit, he thought, but he was determined to make you moan and if - no, when - you did, you’d be his. All his.
* * * * * * * * * *
After a highly energetic dinner where you’d had to stop your friends from shoving “hearty food” down your throat, you made your way back up to your dormitory room with Emmeline.
“I’m going straight to sleep,” you groaned, exhausted. You flopped over onto your bed as soon as you entered the room.
Unfortunately, that meant that your skirt flopped up, too, revealing a bright red handprint, complete in detail with an outline of all the rings that Cyrille Lestrange wore, plastered on your ass.
Emmeline saw it, and she shrieked in a piercing vibrato that made you fall off your bed.
Your legs flailed in the air for a moment as you simultaneously yanked down your skirt and got back up on your feet. When you managed to pull yourself back up, Emmeline screeched at you, “That’s a handprint! Oh my God! Is Remus rough in b-?”
“No! Shhhh!” you shouted back, contradicting your own plea of silence with your loud reply, “What are you even saying, Em?”
“I’M SAYING REMUS SLAPPED YOUR ASS, DIDN’T HE?”
“NO! FOR MERLIN’S SAKE, BE QUIET!”
Next door, Mary MacDonald rolled her eyes and muttered, “It’s a little too late for that, you dullard.”
#fanfic#fanfiction#marauders#marauders era#cyrille lestrange#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x lily evans#harry potter smut#harry potter imagine#light and dark
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Light and Dark | Part 12
Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Overtones and Mentions of Sadism.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦
When you woke up, you lifted your hand to rub your eyes awake. But you paused when you felt something soft flutter against your face. You opened your eyes to partially see the sunlight streaming into your room, as your vision was half-obscured by a dark red ribbon tied neatly on your wrist.
Oh, right, Em put this on for me while we were getting ready together yesterday, you recalled.
Then, you paused. Wait, but it definitely came loose when -
“Morning,” Emmeline chirped tiredly from her bed.
“Hi, Em,” you said softly.
Emmeline yawned as she got up from her bed. She came over and flopped over onto your bed instead.
“And where were you last night, missy?” Emmeline peeked up at you with one eye open. “You know I waited for you. And you never showed up.”
“Oh, Merlin,” you groaned. “Em, I’m so sorry. You’re right. I never made it to the Hufflepuff common room, did I?”
You tried to offer some sort-of explanation. “I just... I got caught up in the stupid Slytherin common room. I was trying to make sure Yaxley and the others had gone up ahead of me and that I wouldn’t bump into them by following after them too soon. And while I was waiting for the coast to clear, I definitely drank too much.”
“Drank too much, eh?” Emmeline said, somewhat mischievously.
“Yes,” you sighed. “I should never have gone down there.”
“Although,” you continued, “surprisingly, I don’t have a hangover.”
You looked down at Emmeline with a smile, proud of yourself.
Emmeline smirked at you. “Well, missy, that would be because Remus tipped a Hangover Prevention Potion into your mouth before you fell back asleep.”
“What?” you said, surprised. Wait, I don’t remember that... In fact, I don’t even remember seeing Remus at all last night.
“What do you mean ‘Remus’?” you asked Emmeline.
“Didn’t you spend the night with him?” Emmeline replied airily. “I have to say it’s a bold move, going after your ex-boyfriend’s best mate, but then, you’re a bold girl.”
“No, I would never,” you replied quickly. “Don’t be daft.”
“Then, what were you doing with him?”
“I wasn’t with him,” you repeated.
“All right,” Emmeline grumbled. “Anyways, I might forgive you for bailing on me last night... if you bring me breakfast from the Great Hall to my bed...”
You sighed. “Fine.”
You pushed yourself out of bed. Emmeline yelped a little when you purposefully threw your covers back in a way that hit her in the face.
As you pulled on your jumper, you noticed your ribbon getting caught at the cuff of your jumper. You gently pulled your wrist out and was about to pull it off, when you realized once again how neatly it was tied.
“Em?” you called.
“What?”
“Did you re-tie this ribbon for me thinking it might mean I’d end up with Remus?” you said, highly amused.
“Wait, what?” Emmeline’s head popped up out of your covers.
“The ribbon.” You held up your arm. “Your good luck ribbon.”
“I didn’t re-tie anything for you,” Emmeline said impatiently. “But did you just admit that you might end up with Remus?”
Before you could say anything, Emmeline said wittily, “Okay, I’ll amend my original conditions. I will forgive you for skipping out on me last night if you bring up breakfast for me... and if you tell me about your hot, steamy night with Remus.”
You groaned, “Em, I didn’t have a hot, steamy night with Remus.”
Emmeline sighed in disappointment and flopped back onto your bed. “Fine,” she grumbled, playing up the theatrics, as you were both apt to do around each other. “Then, just bring me up breakfast. Pronto.”
“You’re so lazy,” you told her, grabbing her pillow off of her bed and chucking it lightly at her.
“Hey!” Emmeline shouted at you indignantly when the pillow made contact with her face.
With a happy shout of laughter, you left, barely avoiding your pillow, which Emmeline had just thrown straight at you.
“Bring me lots of toast!” she yelled as you left. “And bacon!”
* * * * * * * * * *
You trotted down to the Great Hall to fetch food. Picking up a napkin, you piled as much toast in it as you could manage.
“Erm, planning on breakfast in bed?” a lightly amused, but hesitant voice said.
You turned to see Remus standing next to you. He was looking down at the pile of toast in your hands with an expression that was equal parts confused and impressed.
“Hi, Remus.”
“Hello.”
“Remus, I’m sorry about what happened last night,” you said sincerely. “Truth be told, I - er- can’t remember all of what happened at the end, but Emmeline told me you brought me back up to Gryffindor Tower. I’m sor- ”
“No, no, no,” Remus said quickly, shaking his head so that his light brown-blonde hair fell in front of his face. He awkwardly pushed it back as he said, “I didn’t bring you back to Gryffindor Tower. I only took you from, well, the common room door to your bed.”
“Oh.” You frowned. “Then who- ?”
“That’s actually what I was going to ask you about,” Remus said. He hesitated, and then, his face going a bit pink, he said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I was wondering... Why did Cyrille Lestrange bring you back to Gryffindor Tower last night?”
You paused. “What?”
“Lestrange. He carried you up to Gryffindor Tower. You were sleeping in his arms. He asked for the Head Boy or the prefect to come down. James was up in our dormitory room and when he heard it was you, he - well,” Remus broke off awkwardly. “Anyways, Cyrille said he didn’t want to be seen carrying you across the Gryffindor common room, so he passed you off to James - er, to me. So, I took you to bed.”
“So... So...” Remus said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Why Cyrille Lestrange?”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Remus asked, and there was suddenly a slight edge to his voice.
“No, he didn’t,” you reassured him quickly. “Um, I think I must have just had one too many drinks and fallen asleep in the Slytherin common room. Lestrange probably got annoyed at my being there too late and just brought me up himself..."
“Oh.” As astute as ever, Remus clearly didn’t believe me. But he was too polite to pry, and yet, he also kept standing there in front of me, as though hoping I’d voluntarily say more on my own.
“Anyways, thanks,” you said. You wrapped the napkin around the toast, though with some difficulty, because the pile was so high. Then, reaching over awkwardly, you started to grab some little jars of jam.
“Let me help.” Remus picked up a handful and dropped them all at once into your jumper pocket. The side of your wool-knit jumper immediately sagged down.
“Merlin!” Remus cursed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t expect it to - to give way like that. No, it’s gone all lopsided now. Um, I can fix it! I- I know how to knit.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you told him, laughing. “I was never going to wear this to a black-tie event.”
Remus offered you a weak smile. “Right. But, um, you know you never answered my question. Why Cyrille Lestrange?”
You gazed at Remus curiously for a split second before you got it. “Remus...”
Remus swallowed and quickly averted his eyes. “Yes?”
“Did James send you over here to ask questions?”
“He wouldn’t... He would never...” Remus murmured half-heartedly.
You sighed and forcing yourself to laugh slightly, you said, “Go back and tell him you’re not his errand boy, all right?”
“S-Sure.”
“Bye, Remus. See you around.”
As you left the Great Hall, Remus returned to the other Marauders with a defeated look on his face.
“Merlin, Moony,” Peter quipped. “That was downright painful to watch.”
“Moons, you said you’d ask subtle questions, not outright ruin her favorite sweater,” James sighed.
“Aw,” Sirius pitched in, mock-sympathetically. “Cut Moons some slack. He did his best. He even offered to knit for her and everything, didn’t you, Moony?”
“Pads,” Remus said tiredly, “shut it. I’m hungry. And hearing you talk is making me lose my appetite.”
“What? I was the only one to stand up for you, and this is how you repay me?” Sirius spluttered at the sudden savagery of Remus’ comment.
James and Peter both laughed appreciatively. But despite the moment of levity, James couldn’t help but wonder again why Cyrille Lestrange had been the one to bring you up to Gryffindor Tower last night.
* * * * * * * * * *
You made your way back up to the Gryffindor common room. It always impressed you how quiet the common room was on a weekend morning. You loved the silence. It felt warm, somehow.
Of course, that silence was immediately broken by Emmeline’s piercing screech as soon as she saw you come through the door. “You forgot the bacon, you dimwit! How simple must I keep my instructions for you to be able to follow them?”
One of your next-door neighbors, Mary MacDonald, screeched through the wall, “Stop with the McGonagall impression in there! It’s Saturday morning, you filthy animals!”
You and Emmeline looked at each other, shocked. Then, you both burst into hysterical laughter, eliciting angry mama-bear growls from poor Mary.
* * * * * * * * * *
After your sad-but-comfortable breakfast, you and Emmeline made your way down to the library. It was N.E.W.T. year, and the pressure to do well was stifling - and with that pressure came tons of homework.
Amelia was already there. She was determined to join the Wizengamot. Appropriately, she was studying the most out of everyone in your friend group. You really admired her grit and ambition.
Spotting you and Emmeline, Amelia waved at the two of you. Emmeline sat across from Amelia, and you took the third seat towards the end of the table.
“Hestia’s still recovering,” Amelia said, grinning a bit devilishly.
Emmeline shook her head. “If the dares you gave her last night are any indication of how imposing of a judge you’ll be, I’m a bit scared.”
“You should be intimidated by the law,” Amelia said seriously. Then, she burst out into quiet laughter. “I’m only joking.”
The three of you settled into your respective work. The hours whiled away as you studied for your classes. The sun deepened into a strong mid-afternoon sun, slanting into the library in such a way that it spilled brilliantly onto the row of tables where you were sitting.
Just when you reached over to uncap your ink bottle, a flash of bright light distracted you. Frowning a little, you instinctively looked up - only to see Cyrille Lestrange reading at a table just two tables down from yours. Since you were both sitting at the end seats of your respective tables, you could see him quite clearly.
The events of last night suddenly came flooding back into your mind.
* * * * * * * * * *
Cyrille led the way up to the Astronomy Tower, but once he was there, he opened the door for you, and you led the way.
He followed you to the balcony area. A brisk night breeze was blowing. You stared up at the stars for a moment before you turned around to see Cyrille standing a little ways behind you.
Under the pure moonlight and starlight, Cyrille looked almost ethereal. He wasn’t beautiful, exactly, but there was something illuminating in his very nature. Some might find it off-putting - frightening, even, but you found it mesmerizing.
“Did you bring me up here just to look at me?” Cyrille asked you just then, with a soft but nonetheless devious smirk on his face.
"What?” you said, suddenly realizing that you were staring.
Cyrille chuckled lightly. “Well, judging from that reaction, it seems that just looking at me does something to you.”
You scoffed at his arrogance. “Trust me, Lestrange. I’ve seen better.”
“Have you?” He stepped closer to you.
“Get - hic - away,” you scowled.
You both paused.
Cyrille’s eyes lit up, sparkling with subdued humor. “You know, my grandmother always used to tell me that people hiccupped when they felt guilty about something.”
“Were you thinking of something that made you feel guilty, by any chance?” he asked you. His voice matched his eyes, lilting with a subversive playfulness. “What would make you feel guilty, I wonder?”
You remained silent.
Cyrille walked past you towards the golden railing on the balcony.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said softly. “You’re trying to wage a war against me.”
He gently tilted his head back and looked up at the night sky as he murmured, “If you think manipulation is a skill you can learn once and pull out of your pocket whenever you want, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Then, turning around, his gaze suddenly snapped down back to you. “But don’t worry, angel,” he told you. “I can play that game for both of us.”
“Which game? Manipulation comes in many forms,” you replied quietly.
Gazing straight into your untrusting eyes, Cyrille unexpectedly confessed, “Yes, I suppose so... You and me - we’re already living out a façade everyday, aren’t we? After all, I already know who you are...”
“Don’t you find it exhausting?” he asked you gently.
He quietly stepped close to you. You had to tilt your head back to look at him.
Cyrille murmured, “Tell me, angel. Don’t you want to know... what it tastes like to be free?”
“And you can give me that?” you asked him, with utter skepticism written across your face.
You meant to break his spell over you with your caustic tone of voice, but Cyrille merely smirked and said, in a voice of pure confidence, “I’ll turn you into a believer yet.”
Your eyes tightened defensively as you stared up at him. A part of you wanted to push him away, but you felt that to make such an obvious move was to fall right into his trap. And you had learned that for you to lose control would allow him to gain control - and you couldn’t have that.
“You do feel guilty about me. I see it in your eyes. You would insist that it’s because you hate me. But, perhaps it all comes down to the fact that... you can’t admit that you want me,” Cyrille whispered.
You paused, stunned. You heard yourself say in a disbelieving voice, “You’re... utterly mad.”
“Am I?” he asked you, not missing a beat.
He suddenly held up his hand. You blinked. He was holding Emmeline’s red ribbon between his fingers.
When did he...? You made a snatch for it, but missed.
“Give it back,” you demanded. “That’s my friend’s.”
“If you want it back... turn around,” Cyrille replied. Though his voice was rather playful, his gaze was like ice.
You hesitated. “What are you going to do to me?”
“And if I told you every time you asked so nicely, where would the fun be?” Cyrille asked, wrapping the ribbon around his finger before letting it fall loose again. The flutter of scarlet against his skin was mesmerizing.
Oh, please, you scoffed at yourself. Mesmerized by what? By him? Don’t be ridiculous.
“Lestrange, stop wasting my time,” you said, crossing your arms. “What do you really want with me?”
“That depends entirely on you,” he responded silkily. “On what you want.”
He looked down at you and smiled softly. “I’ve already played my hand...”
But you didn’t trust that smile. You gazed into his eyes - only to find them unreadable.
Resolutely, Cyrille whispered, “I’ve revealed my cards to you. Now, it’s all up to you, angel.”
The two of you locked eyes for a moment longer. Revealed his cards? He must mean that he’s told me he knows I am. But I don’t understand. How does that reveal anything about him or his motivations? You wanted to demand further answers, but you knew that the only way to do so was to acquiesce to his request...
Without saying anything, you slowly and reluctantly turned around.
“Look.” Cyrille’s voice slithered into your ear. “Look in front of you.”
You found yourself staring into the large glass window that took up most of the wall demarcating the room from the balcony.
You could see your reflection, as well as of Cyrille standing behind you. You quickly looked away.
"Did Yaxley’s comment bother you?” Cyrille asked softly, watching you reject your own reflection. “That you look like your mother...”
Looking at your reflection, with your head turned like that, Cyrille saw your side profile. His eye traced a long, graceful line down the side of your face, your throat, and bare shoulders. You were his opposite - if his beauty was ethereal, yours was quite dark, almost as though growing from the earth. It was a difficult beauty, one that no heaven could tame - with those curls and bright eyes. And then there was that glimmering amethyst earring laying lightly against your cheek...
He stepped closer to you and raised his hands to hover just above your shoulders.
“You do have it, you know,” Cyrille murmured to you. “You try to hide it, but it’s clearly there if one knows where to look. The infamous Rosier beauty... Like a rose.”
Hearing his words about your mother while standing cold and alone under a star-filled sky, you suddenly found yourself wanting to be touched - if only for a moment.
Cyrille’s eyes were on you, and he saw your moment of vulnerability, of softness. There’s my angel, he thought.
“Put your hands on the window,” Cyrille whispered in your ear.
You slowly lifted your hands and pressed your trembling palms against the glass in front of you. You shivered slightly. The glass is so cold...
Again, without touching you, Cyrille slowly wrapped the red ribbon from Emmeline around your neck, tying it gently.
Then, sliding his hand under your hair, he tugged gently at the ribbon holding up the front of your halter top dress. Bit by bit, he pulled on the ribbon at the back of your neck until it fell apart.
When the front of your dress fell down, you quickly and instinctively covered yourself up by wrapping your arms in front of you.
Cyrille’s voice rang out thinly, “I said to put your hands on the window. I didn’t say to take them off.”
Trembling noticeably now from both the cold and the anticipation of what was about to happen, you put your hands back on the freezing cold window.
Slowly, Cyrille started to push your hair to the side.
“Don’t,” you said suddenly.
He stopped. Then, he said knowingly, “Why? Because of your scar?”
Your eyes flashed up to the window, and met Cyrille’s through the reflection.
“How... did you know?”
“Your beauty is not the only thing your mother gave you, is it?” Cyrille murmured. “She gave you a scar as well. For your disobedience.”
“Stop telling me things about myself,” you insisted weakly.
“It’s not to hurt you,” Cyrille replied.
You shook his head slightly. “I don’t trust you...”
“You should. Don’t you see?” Cyrille said quietly. “You don’t need to hide from me. I know the darkness inside of you. In fact, it’s we’re old acquaintances - your darkness and mine.
“I said I’m different from you,” you reiterated, but you sounded unconvinced, even to yourself.
“Do you really believe that we’re so different?” Cyrille pushed back.
You were silent. Are we...? We must be, right?
“You know that we’re not,” Cyrille told you, holding your gaze through the window. “Aren’t you avoiding me because you know how alike we are? I would threaten your perfect façade if I came too close to you...”
“There are - There are parts of me that you don’t know,” you whispered back, still trying to defend your heart. But you could feel your old wounds starting to bleed again - ones that had never properly healed in the first place.
“Show me,” Cyrille said softly. “I’d love to meet you in all your many forms... if you’d let me.”
You were silent. Your eyes - wide and uncertain, almost pained - were still staring at Cyrille through the glass. What should I do? Why do I feel as though the way to go forward is with him?
Finally, he asked, “May I... touch you?”
You swallowed, trying to be discrete about it. But Cyrille caught it, anyways. How could he not, when you were both hyperaware of each other’s every movement, and hypersensitive to each other’s mere presence? When Cyrille saw you swallow, and that lovely little throat of yours move slightly, his hand flexed for a moment as he imagined what it would be like to have his hand on your throat. But for now, he waited for your response. He tried to appear patient, but he was holding his breath. As it was, he appeared almost like his own reflection - a man of glass, filled with promise, but ultimately, hollow.
He’s not real, you realized. He’s not himself. He’s just as lost as I am.
You slowly nodded.
As soon as you granted him permission, Cyrille leaned forward and embraced you tightly from behind. His arms wrapped over your torso and draped down the front of your body, until his fingers rested right at your curves, where your waist met your hips.
You shivered as you felt his fingertips graze your skin, in one of the places where you were naturally most sensitive.
Cyrille’s long, fine hair fell forward, falling over his face and down your shoulder.
You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of brilliant silver-white hair, but you heard and felt him breathe out slowly and say, “I’ve missed you, angel.”
His head was just above your shoulder as he had leaned forward to embrace you tightly.
You turned your head to try to see his face, exposing your throat and the side of your face once more.
Cyrille’s hand slowly traced up your chest to your throat.
He felt the tension all over your body. Your shoulders and throat were perfectly still.
“Breathe,” he reminded you again.
Why do I keep holding my breath every time he’s with me? Oh, but, him holding me like this... I’m almost light-headed. Why? Why does he have this effect on me? Why do I feel as though I... I know this feeling? Has he truly held me before? It’s not a lie?
Suddenly, between the curtain of white-silver hair fluttering lightly in the window, you saw a pair of beautiful, but patently cold silver eyes staring back at you. You suddenly realized that he had long eyelashes, longer than yours, and that they fluttered beautifully every time he blinked.
“Your eyes... So curious,” Cyrille murmured to you. “I know that gaze. It hasn’t changed one bit.”
Your heart thumped. Who... is he to me?
His eyes fell to your lips.
When you realized where he was looking, what his gaze was asking for, you stiffened slightly.
“You’re not breathing again,” Cyrille told you. He sighed slightly. “ You must have horrible survival skills if your body is always telling you not to breathe...”
“You’re the same way,” you retorted, but your voice was unbearably soft. “You can’t breathe around me, either, can you?”
Cyrille’s eyes widened for a moment, but then his embrace on you tightened, squeezing you slightly, and in a warm voice, he replied, “Yes, I find it hard to breathe around you.”
“I breathe best when my lips are on yours,” he told you. Before you could comprehend what he meant, he asked you, “Will you... have me?”
You hesitated.
He waited patiently for you, though internally, he was praying that you couldn’t fell his heartbeat fluttering in his chest.
But you did feel it - and it was the first thing that made you trust him.
“Yes,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”
You brushed his hair back. He moved forward at the same time, so that your hand slipped onto his cheek just as his lips found yours.
And suddenly, you found yourself holding Cyrille Lestrange’s face as he kissed you slowly, but fervently, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his hand on your throat.
You felt his fingers flex every so slightly around your throat as you kissed. It startled you, but you didn’t necessarily mind the feeling...
The two of you stayed together for a long time, unwilling to break the kiss first. Dimly, your mind recognized that this, too, was a power struggle. But deep down, you knew that you just wanted this. He tasted unexpectedly sweet and airy, and he felt so warm against your lips. He kissed you the way he did everything around you - in waves that oscillated from a pure and sweet lightness to a very seductive and disarming aggression.
Finally, your lips slowly left each other, though not before he bit down softly on your lower lip, pulling on it gently before letting you fall back - but only a little. He still kept you wrapped in his arms, his embrace keeping your bare torso warm against the night wind.
You blinked softly as your mind registered the kiss. You looked up at him, this time, able to see his face.
“Sadist,” you murmured.
“You recognized that from one kiss?” Cyrille said. Then, he quipped, with a soft chuckle, “Is this an appropriate time to say ‘good girl’?”
“Don’t deny it, and don’t try to distract me,” you said, both accusingly and teasingly. “Not when I’ve finally figured something about your true nature.”
Cyrille lifted an eyebrow at you. Then, he relented, “Yes, it’s true. I have... something of a tendency to... mix pleasure with pain. It’s why permission is very important to me. Because I know that I tend to get very possessive in the way I love.”
You watched him laugh lightly. When his demeanor was lighter, you thought you could make out glimpses of who he really was as his sharp face softened and his focused silver eyes suddenly glimmered in a much livelier way.
He reached up and his fingers passed softly over your cheek and lips.
“You’re as lovely as ever,” he said, and sighed, as though the thought made him sad.
As his fingers pressed against your lips, you held your breath for a brief moment. You caught yourself this time, and quickly forced yourself to part your lips slightly and take a deep breath.
Cyrille felt your lips open slightly under his fingers. He hesitated, as his entire body suddenly felt stiff with desire. What he wouldn’t give to ravage you in this very spot... If he bent you over the balcony, the whole castle could hear you moan...
No. Focus. Cyrille warned himself.
“Having trouble breathing again, angel?” Cyrille teased you, trying to distract you from noticing flashes of his own vulnerability.
You closed your eyes and shook your head lightly, being careful not to shake your head hard enough let Cyrille’s fingers slip away because the truth was... the truth was...
“I don’t want to breathe...” you heard yourself mumble softly. “I... want to taste your fingers...”
Cyrille’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Careful,” he told you. “If you step too close to the edge, I’ll drag you right down with me.”
Drag you right down with me? Oh, Cyrille, don’t you know? you thought hazily. I’m already there.
You slowly opened your mouth, obviously pleading for his fingers.
Cyrille watched you for a moment, and you could tell that he, too, was mesmerized by you.
Your heart gave a little jolt. It was just another reminder, another iteration of the fact that whatever strange energy linked the two of you together in this obscure, yet intense way - you both felt it. You both found each other utterly irresistible. How long has this gone on? you wondered. Was it only after I broke up with James? Or have there been flickers of it this whole time, only I never thought about it because I had given my heart to another...? You already knew your answer, and the answer was too painful, so you forced yourself to stop thinking about it.
Cyrille sighed. “If this is part of your ‘game,’ I warn you, you’re pushing in the wrong direction. This is my domain. There’s no winning strategy for you.”
Your tongue flicked out softly. You looked at him in his eyes and breathed out, “Try me.”
At this, Cyrille pushed two of his fingers into your mouth.
You gasped softly. His fingers were long and cold, and he pushed them into your mouth so aggressively.
“Suck on them,” he ordered you, not caring that his fingers were cold to you. He knew, of course. He could feel your hot little mouth and soft tongue against his fingers, and your warm lips starting to wrap around him.
“Mmm, good girl,” he told you. “Keep going.”
He pushed his fingers into you harder, causing your head to fall back against his shoulder. Your pretty curls were pushed up a little against him, and he loved that.
He loved your hair. The rest of your family had always insisted that you tame it - and you never did.
“Is this part of your plan to get me to cave to you? To tell you everything I know?” Cyrille asked you, as he watched you suck and kiss his fingers fervently.
Your mouth still taking in his fingers, you looked up at him, a bit dazed, when you heard his words.
He smirked, amused. “I don’t even think you have a plan anymore. You became lost in your own little game, didn’t you, angel?”
Cyrille’s other hand drifted lower, so that his fingers grazed across the front of your upper thighs. “I bet if we lifted this little dress of yours, we’d find you all wet, wouldn’t we?”
“This dress... It’s a little short, you know,” he whispered to you.
You suddenly snapped, pulling your mouth away from his fingers. Before Cyrille could respond, you’d grabbed the front of his shirt and pressed your lips into his fiercely again.
It was a brief, but fiery kiss, where the two of you fought for dominance, with lips grasping at lips, and tongue pushing against tongue.
Then, you abruptly pushed him back, your hands hitting hard against his chest, as you said crudely, “Shut up.”
Cyrille staggered back slightly. For a moment, he looked at you with wide eyes, flustered. Then, as he brought up his sleeve and wiped his mouth, his eyes hardened.
“You taste like Firewhiskey. Are you still drunk?”
You stood your ground, glaring at him, despite the fact that you were feeling very... foggy at the moment. Though you’d taken shot after shot, Cyrille’s suddenly dragging you away had caused adrenaline to immediately pump through your veins. But that adrenaline could only last so long - and now, you were crashing, and you were not taking it so well.
Cyrille studied you with an incredibly unimpressed look. “You’re not going to remember any of this tomorrow morning, are you?”
“I’m really good at holding my alcohol,” you blurted out, trying to sound firm.
Cyrille rolled his eyes and said dryly, “Sure you are.”
“I just need to - to sit for a moment,” you told him, your eyes fluttering here and there to try to find a reasonable place to sit.
There was none, of course. You were out in the balcony. You made your way back inside in what you thought was a straight line.
Cyrille watched you, hands in his pockets, both annoyed and amused, as you staggered around. You tripped over something with a loud yelp, and he let out a long sigh. But a moment later, you were quiet.
Cyrille came back into the Astronomy room, too. He walked among the cabinets and lunarscopes to find that you had found a little makeshift sitting area, using a bean bag on top of a stack of books and you had positioned yourself to lean sideways to make use of the wardrobe besides you. You’d tiredly reached up and pulled off the ribbon around your neck, as you found it scratchy and irritating in your sleepy state. Your dress had slipped further up your thighs, and Cyrille could see a bruise already forming from whatever you’d tripped into, or over.
Cyrille sighed exasperatedly. “What are you doing?” he asked you softly, too quietly to wake you up. Although, at this point, he wagered it would take a fair amount of noise to wake you up.
He knelt in front of you and drawing out his wand, performed expert Healing magic on the bruises on your thigh and shoulder.
After putting his wand back, he gently pulled the ribbon out of your hands. I don’t want to leave a visible mark on her... Cyrille thought. I’m not like that brainless oaf, James Potter.
But if she wakes up tomorrow, and she thinks this was all a dream... I don’t want her to forget me. Again.
Cyrille gently pulled up your hand. He kissed your wrist - softly at first, and then sucked on your skin hard enough to leave a mark. You moaned in discomfort in your sleep. Cyrille paused, and pulled away. He looked down to see that underneath your skin, a lovely purple-red (almost amethyst) bruise was forming. Smiling softly, Cyrille neatly tied your ribbon back around your wrist - tying it loosely enough to be comfortable, but tightly enough not to slip easily.
Then, he gently pulled you to him. You fell forward onto his shoulder. Mumbling incoherently, you turned your head to face him and buried your face softly against his neck. Cyrille froze for a moment. His heart stuttered.
Oh, angel... he thought, internally letting out a soft moan.
But he kept himself together and carefully picked you up. He tucked you away against his chest as he carried you up to Gryffindor Tower.
* * * * * * * * * *
“And what are you thinking so hard about?” Emmeline asked you, noticing that you’d pressed two of your fingers softly against your lips.
“Hm? Oh, nothing” you said, quickly putting your fingers down.
You breathed out softly. What am I doing? you asked yourself. Come on. Focus on your studying.
Don’t you want to be an Auror? you reminded yourself. You’ve made it so far already. You can’t lose focus now.
You forced yourself to finish writing a portion of your essay, but when you had to refer to the library book again for notes, you found your mind drifting off again as you half-consciously pored through the Table of Contents.
Suddenly, silver eyes flashed up to meet yours. You started as Cyrille finally noticed and reciprocated your gaze.
Damn it, was I staring at him this whole time? I didn’t realize... Merlin, that’s embarrassing.
Strategically lifting your hand to hide your face with your quill, you dutifully bent your head over your notes and pretended as though you weren’t distracted by flashes of silver shooting through your mind like dangerous and tragic, but beautiful falling stars.
* * * * * * * * * *
An hour later, you were fidgeting uncomfortably in your seat. I can’t... stop thinking about last night.
You abruptly slammed your book closed.
Both Emmeline and Amelia, as well as a few nearby students, looked up at you.
“Sorry,” you whispered meekly. You paused. “Um, I just need to - to return a book.”
You picked up the library book in front of you and made your way to the very back of the library. So much for looking at the Table of Contents... I guess I’ll have to suffice without the citation. Ugh.
Sighing, you rested your forehead against the bookshelves as you muttered to yourself, “Pull it together, now.”
“That’s an interesting way to put back a book. By forehead, I mean.”
You jolted up to see Cyrille standing only a few feet away, turning into the row you were in.
Cyrille’s gaze dropped down to the book that you were clutching against your chest.
The corner of his mouth pulled up as he said lightly, “You missed.”
You glared up at him. “You have until three to get out of here. One, two- ”
“Still wearing the ribbon, I see,” Cyrille said, nodding at the ribbon wrapped around your wrist. In a perfectly casual voice, he suddenly said, “Does wearing the ribbon help you fantasize about getting fucked senseless by me?”
You blinked. “What in hell - ?”
“Wait,” you said, very nearly panicking, “but we didn’t...? I mean, I don’t remember us...”
Cyrille smirked, satisfied by your put-off and dazed reaction.
Seeing him smirk, you immediately knew that you were right.
“We didn’t fuck,” you growled at him. You glared at him as you said dismissively, “As if I would let you.”
“Mm, perhaps not,” he said, totally unfazed. “But I’d say we were close last night.”
“We were not.”
“Yes, we were. And you wanted more,” Cyrille said, in that unbreakably light tone of voice. “I could tell. I can always tell.”
Seeing Cyrille standing in front of you, you were reminded of what Remus had told you this morning. He didn’t want to be seen with me. That’s what Remus said. He wanted to be saved from the embarrassment of being seen with me.
Right. Because even though he knows I’m a Rosier, to everyone else, I’m a Muggle-born.
“You’re a prick,” you told him straightforwardly. “You’re a classic example of a narcissist.”
Cyrille raised his eyebrow at you. “You should know from last night - I only use mirrors and the like so that my lovers can watch themselves get ruined by me.”
“You’re despicable,” you replied shortly.
“Oh, am I?” he said, highly amused.
“Yes, I despise you.”
“Oh, really? And why’s that?”
“You’re just... foul. A complete gargoyle.”
“Gargoyle...” he repeated. A pleased smile appeared on his face. “That’s a good one.”
Fed up with him, you made to walk past him, when he stepped in front of you and gently but inescapably cornered you against the bookcase.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
You turned your head, resolutely looking away from him.
Cyrille sighed, finally showing a little of his disappointment. But his voice was still light and pleasantly curious as he asked you, “What grudge do you have against me, angel? When I have ever hurt you?”
You remained silent, unable to come up with an immediate answer.
“I haven’t,” Cyrille told you, when you remained silent. In a knowing voice, he confessed, “I’ve made sure I haven’t.”
You clutched your book tighter to your chest. What does he mean by that...?
“But you still think I’m foul?” Cyrille asked you.
“Yes,” you answered at once.
“A gargoyle?”
“Yes.”
“An old hag?”
“... Yes.”
Cyrille lifted an eyebrow at you. “You paused. I’ll take that as progress.”
You snorted. “Take it however you want, Lestrange. I won’t be there to see how you receive it.”
You tried to push your way past him, but he blocked you again. This time, he put his hand on your upper chest and gently pushed you back.
Leaning down, he murmured, “Leaving me just like that? You’re so cruel.”
“You’re the last person I want to hear it from,” you said, shoving him back with your shoulder.
He fell back willingly, and laughed a little. “All right,” he said. “But don’t deny it - you’re playing this game just as hard as I am. Sure, you may not be using your mother’s methods, but you’re still trying to defeat me.”
He sounded so amused. You didn’t understand what the hell was going on in his head. Why did he seem so amused when he should be angry, and why, at other times, did he seem so sad even though he was ‘winning’ in whatever twisted game the two of you were playing at?
You stared up at him, wondering, What could he be thinking about?”
The truth was that you could never guess, in a million years, what Cyrille was actually thinking about.
Because as Cyrille returned your displeased gaze with soft eyes, he was actually remembering that moment last night when he’d brought you back to Gryffindor Tower.
He had asked the Fat Lady to go find the a Head or prefect. The portraits passed on the message until - the door opened, only for a somewhat disheveled James Potter to stand there in front of Cyrille, with his mouth open.
“Did you hurt -?” he began furiously.
“Keep your voice down,” Cyrille warned him, cutting him off. “Here, take her from me.”
“Oh...” James’s anger suddenly evaporated as two incredibly conflicting feelings arose within him: He wanted and needed to make sure you were safe and all right, but he didn’t want to be seen carrying you across the common room when there were still people around, including Lily...
Remus had come down behind James. The two of them began speaking, James in a pleading voice.
However, at that moment, Cyrille didn’t focus on what they were saying, because you squirmed a little in his arms. Perhaps you had recognized James’ voice in your sleep, because you turned slightly towards Cyrille and pushing your face against his chest, you murmured so that only he could hear, “No, I don’t... don’t wanna... go back... to him.” Your fingers clutched weakly and unfocusedly at the front of his silk shirt.
Believe me, Cyrille thought, as he gazed down at you. I don’t want to give you back, either.
But, he reminded himself sternly, people can’t know about us.
“All right. Remus will carry her to bed,” James said to Cyrille.
Cyrille nodded. “Fine. Take her.”
Cyrille paused. Would they spread the news and say that he had brought her up to the Gryffindor common room?
But one look at James’ face told Cyrille everything he needed to know. No, James won’t allow anyone to know about this. It would hurt his pride. Besides, he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her, either... And nothing good would come out of people knowing about the two of you.
Cyrille should have been satisfied with the night’s work as he turned away. He had, after all, beaten you at your own game. But he couldn’t help except feel a sinking feeling in his heart as he turned away and left you to return to the Slytherin common room.
* * * * * * * * * *
“What?”
Your voice jolted Cyrille back to the present.
Here she is, in front of me again... he thought. And we don’t have long before this fragile world of Hogwarts ends, and we’ll be fighting against each other in a real war, not just one of our own making...
“What?” you repeated again. Seriously, what the hell is he thinking?”
“Turn around,” Cyrille whispered, and his voice was unexpectedly serious.
“And why would I do that?” you asked him, arching your eyebrow at him skeptically.
Almost hurriedly, Cyrille asked you, “Do I have permission to carry on from where we left last night?”
You paused. Your memory was a little blurry at the very end, after all. But you thought you remembered. After all, you’d correctly recalled that the two of you did not have sex.
“Fine,” you said bluntly.
“Good,” Cyrille replied. “Then, I don’t want to hear a word from you.”
He suddenly stepped forward, his chest pressing into you so that you abruptly fell backwards a couple steps until your back hit the bookcase behind you.
Cyrille reached down and grasping your face in his hands, he leaned down and whispered sharply in your ear, “Except when you feel my cock enter you, you’re going to say ‘please,’ and when I cum in you, you’re going to say ‘thank you.’ Understood?”
Your eyes shot open in shock. Your jaw would have fallen open, too, except he was holding your face in his large, broad hands, and the way his palms were pressing into your cheeks didn’t allow for that.
“Now, lift your leg onto the bookshelf,” he ordered.
Dazed, you turned around and did as he said. He was there to help you, of course, sliding his hand under your thigh and folding your leg a little as you placed the side of your knee delicately on the bookshelf. “There’s my angel....” Cyrille murmured, his eyes taking in your perfect little form as you revealed yourself to him. Your long legs, tight thighs, and perky little ass were so very pretty - and all wrapped up in a skirt and lace pair of panties. It was an ideal present. The only thing missing was a ribbon to tie it all together. Oh, but she’s got one on her wrist, Cyrille remembered. She’s truly... “All ready to be fucked,” he praised you aloud in a low, breathy whisper. “Such a good girl.”
“Oh,” Cyrille suddenly tacked on, as an afterthought, “I should warn you now to keep silent. There’s the library policy, sure. But more importantly, I have a rule: Once you moan, you’re mine.”
His hand moved up the underside of your thigh, past your ass, and yanked up your skirt rather roughly. He gripped your waist so that the hem of your skirt was pinned between his hand and your waist. As Cyrille leaned forward so that his body was curving above yours, putting him in the perfect position to pull down his pants and start to fuck you, he whispered to you, “And once you’re mine, I won’t be giving you back, angel.”
#fanfic#fanfiction#cyrille lestrange#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x lily evans#harry potter smut#harry potter imagine#marauders#marauders era#light and dark
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Light and Dark | Part 20
Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Rough Sex: Spanking.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Dynamic.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain from that person, or anyone else. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦
Cyrille’s eyes were shut tightly. Slowly, he let out a long, low breath. Then, he gathered up the courage to look down at his arm. The black tattoo of a skull, with a serpent slithering out of its mouth, looked up at him – an ugly and terrifying marker reminding him that from this moment on, Cyrille’s fate was forever sealed.
Besides him, Bellatrix hissed in his ear, “We’re so proud of you, Cyrille. I must admit, your brothers and I were worried for you for a moment there. When we heard the reports of how you raced up to Gryffindor Tower to comfort that traitor, Rosier, but…”
She reached up and slapped his cheek lightly, causing Cyrille to flinch ever so slightly, as she said, “I’m convinced that you’ve found your way back to your senses.
Cyrille could feel Bellatrix using her Occlumency on him as she whispered to him, “Haven’t you?”
“… Yes.”
“Good. That’s a dear…”
Her voice slithered away as she stepped away from him.
Cyrille lifted his eyes to see Yaxley, sitting across from him, smirking.
Cyrille’s eyes dropped back down to the cold, marble floor of Malfoy Manor. Will I truly save people like this, or am I just slowly killing myself?
* * * * * * * * * *
“Welcome.” Dumbledore’s voice rang out across his office. Though his tone was as pleasant as ever, nonetheless, there was a solemnity to his demeanor tonight that you had never seen before.
You were standing in his office, alongside with a fair number of others: Emmeline, Hestia, Amelia, Alice, Frank, Marlene, Dorcas, Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter.
You had to admit, you were completely lost as to why Dumbledore would have gathered such a large number of students into his office in the dead of night. You couldn’t possibly all be in trouble, could you?
“In only two months’ time, you will all graduate,” Dumbledore said, beginning by stating the obvious. “Once you have graduated, I wonder… to what extent, in the calculations of your future, you have considered the upcoming war.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Uncertainly, Alice murmured, “War, sir?”
Dumbledore closed his eyes as he responded, “Yes. War.”
In a grave voice, he relayed, “Voldemort is on the move.”
Several students flinched when Dumbledore spoke aloud Voldemort’s name.
“The attacks we have seen on Muggle populations, the recent stripping away of rights and protections for Muggle-borns, as well as the rise in discrimination against non-human magical populations – they are all connected, you see,” Dumbledore said, nodding softly to himself. “And such attacks will only become worse if we do not stop them.”
“We?” Peter mumbled nervously.
Dumbledore’s eyes flashed open. “I have begun an organization called ‘the Order of the Phoenix.’ Members of this organization are those who have pledged their efforts to bringing down Voldemort and to protecting Muggles and Muggle-borns. I realize that this is an unfair burden to put upon all of you, young and talented as you all are, now, before me – with your lives not yet even fully in bloom. But the circumstances are too dire, and I find myself with no other option but to ask for your services, should you choose to join the Order.”
“I am sorry,” Dumbledore said quietly, looking upon each and every one of us. His gaze lingered on my face and Sirius’ face for just a touch longer than the others’. “You are too young for me to be asking you to make this choice between what is right and what is easy – and yet, here I am, asking you.” He spread open his hands humbly before us and said, “What will it be?”
Lily was the first to say, firmly and with conviction, “Yes.”
Behind her, James nodded and repeated her acceptance, “Yes, Headmaster. Of course.”
Reaching back, Lily subtly grasped James’ hand in her own. James squeezed her hand back, and they both derived comfort and strength from one another, knowing that they would be going into this together.
“All I’ve ever wanted,” Sirius chirped happily.
Dumbledore did not respond to his grin, but nonetheless, Dumbledore nodded, accepting Sirius as a member of the Order.
“Yes, Headmaster. How could I not? Especially after everything you’ve done for me,” Remus said quietly.
Peter nodded. Wrapping his arm around Remus’ shoulder (with some difficulty, as Remus was a bit taller than him), Peter added, “I’m in.”
“Thank you,” Dumbledore replied. His eyes were warm as his gaze lingered on Remus.
“Professor…” Amelia spoke slowly and thoughtfully.
“Yes, Miss Bones?”
“I agree with the values of the Order,” Amelia said, “but I’m afraid I can’t join at this moment. I think it would compromise my integrity as a member of the Wizengamot, should I be accepted, and I can’t do that in good faith…”
Dumbledore inclined his head at her, respectful of her decision.
The others, too, one by one, made their decision.
Finally, besides you, Emmeline’s voice rang out, strong and proud, as she said, “Yes, of course. I’m in.”
Her voice jolted you out of your thoughts. You realized that everyone was watching you curiously, as you were the last one to decide. You cleared your throat softly before you replied, “Yes. Count me in, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore looked upon you all once more as he said, “Thank you, all. I do not take your commitments lightly. I will be in touch upon your graduation. Look for my owl. And please, enjoy your remaining time at Hogwarts. It has been my privilege to watch you all grow up within these castle walls, and sometimes –” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled towards the different of the Marauders as he quipped “– outside of them, too.”
“Speaking of,” James said abruptly, “how come you made me Head Boy, Headmaster?”
“James,” Lily hissed at him. “You cannot ask him that.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “It was merely in the hopes of reigning you in, my boy,” he said fondly, looking down at James with twinkling eyes. “You are single-handedly the source of a large percentage of misbehavior in your year. I hoped that by assigning you to such a position, Ms. Evans would have a night off, for once, in her relentless chasing of wrongdoers such as yourself.”
Dumbledore’s eyes fell to James and Lily’s intertwined hands as he said brightly, “I rather believe I was successful on that score.”
Lily flushed a brilliant crimson, while James beamed at Dumbledore. The two of them then ensued in a silent, but furious fight, whereby Lily was trying to yank her hand out of James’ and James was refusing to let her hand go. Behind them, Alice and Marlene snickered and laughed affectionately.
“Good night. If you happen to run into Professor McGonagall or Mr. Filch, please let them know that you have my permission to return to Gryffindor Tower,” Dumbledore said to us all.
With that, we all left together. As you did, Sirius muttered, “Wouldn’t it be brilliant if we used Dumbledore’s permission to be out of bed to pull another prank, though?”
* * * * * * * * * *
You gradually fell back, allowing Emmeline to walk in front of you and speak with Amelia. By the time Emmeline realized that you were missing from the group, you had already successfully made your way out of the castle, with your dark cloak wrapped around you and pulled down low enough to hide your face.
You exited the castle out of the side door. Then, you quickly made your way down the stairs to the glass boathouse attached to the side of the castle.
Opening the door, you slipped in. You closed and magically locked the door behind you.
Then, turning, you saw him waiting for you, his silhouette turned slightly away from you and catching the thin moonlight – “Cyrille!” You raced forward and threw your arms around him.
Turning to face you, Cyrille caught you in his arms, and embraced you back. But you could immediately feel it – the sharp tension running all across his shoulders, chests, arms. You quickly pulled your face away from his chest and looked up at him. He was purposefully looking away from you, though his arms around you were quite tight in holding you against him. You’d seen him like this before – that day after his brother had tried to infiltrate his mind and Bellatrix had cursed him over and over again.
In a far more subdued voice, you murmured worryingly, “Cyrille…”
With some difficulty, you managed to extract your arm out from his arms, and you reached up to brush his long hair back. “What happened?” you asked him.
Cyrille didn’t reply, but he finally looked down at you. Only the inevitable, he thought to himself, but he didn’t dare say that out loud.
Instead, to you, his eyes seemed to shiver with some strange, undefinable energy. But by now, you realized what that energy was – he was trapped in his own self-hatred. Not needing any more words from him, you pushed yourself up onto your tip-toes and you pressed your lips to his. You whispered, in between soft kisses, “Come back.”
Cyrille held you tighter to him, helping press you against him so that you didn’t have to struggle to stay on tip-toe. However, it took a moment for Cyrille to actually respond to your kiss.
But you didn’t mind him taking his time. You could wait for him as long as he needed. Although you were outwardly quite impatient, you’d always been good at waiting for people when it really mattered, whether it was Emmeline’s temper or James’ high-energy clumsiness. And your patience had grown so much more since you’d met Cyrille. His patience for you had taught you, little by little, the possible joys of quietly waiting for someone you loved, even in the little moments. You now trusted yourself to be steady enough person to be there for Cyrille as he needed, and you were determined to bring him back towards the light by working away on the icy casing around his heart bit by by bit, soft kiss by soft kiss.
So, when he didn’t respond very much to your kiss, you shifted over to kiss his chest and then, falling back on your feet, you hugged him again, wrapping your arms snugly around his chest and you buried your face against him, breathing out softly against his chest. “I love you,” you reminded him.
At your soft-hearted tactics, Cyrille finally felt himself melt a little. Quietly, he replied, “Thank you.” He was suddenly so grateful to be able to hold you like this, even if one of his arms was now forever branded with the mark that he so deeply hated and resented. And the incessant and tight hold you had on him made him feel safe, too.
Right, Cyrille thought, I’ve got to get myself back together. I should appreciate my time with Angel, and deal with my own issues later. He tried to remember how to be his usual teasing self again.
“I was thinking,” you began to tell him, but Cyrille teased you suddenly, asking you in a falsely impressed voice, “Were you now?”
You paused, offended. But then, you saw the barest hint of a smirk creeping onto Cyrille’s lips, and you found your almost-pout turn into a beaming smile.
Cyrille saw your eyes crinkle up and your cheeks lift as your beautiful lips spread into a happy smile. Cyrille couldn’t help but finally smile back and leaning down, he kissed you first this time.
“Mm,” you breathed out as you kissed him back lovingly.
“I didn’t mean to genuinely interrupt you,” Cyrille said sincerely. “I’m sorry. What were you thinking about?”
“I retract my statement. You’ll never know,” you said, not hesitating one bit in giving him a taste of his own medicine. “That’ll teach you, Cyrille Lestrange.”
“Ah, but it’s too late to change my ways now.” It was clearly intended as a joke, and yet, there was a genuine note of sadness in Cyrille’s reply.
You paused. “Cyrille?”
“Never mind, angel. Seriously, what were you going to tell me?”
“Well…” you hesitated, and then you said, “I was thinking of what to get you as your graduation present.”
Cyrille raised his eyebrow at you. “A graduation present?”
“Yes. We’re graduating soon,” you murmured. And then we’ll be on different sides, won’t we? After all, I joined Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix today.
You bit your lower lip, wondering if somehow you had betrayed Cyrille by joining the Order. Cyrille, too, was having a parallel set of regrets and worries, only over joining the Death Eaters. The two of you stood there, unwilling to admit to each other what had happened today, that each of you have joined your own memberships, cementing your separation into directly opposite allegiances after graduation.
Well, you thought grimly, as it really is now or never, I should really give him his ‘graduation present’ now. There’s no putting it off. Because you knew that your time together was drastically limited, and that afterwards, there might come a time where you had to fight against each other, you had made up your mind that before any of that happened, you wanted to give yourself fully to Cyrille. If this had been normal circumstances, where the two of you could be together after graduation, you would have been much more reluctant to go all out so quickly, but you knew in this moment that it could very well be now or never. So your “graduation present” to Cyrille, which was both your love letter and farewell letter all rolled up in one, was – “Me.” You slowly pulled out a long string of ribbon from your pocket and lifting it in both of your hands, you offered it to Cyrille.
Cyrille’s brow furrowed. “Angel?” he said uncertainly.
“Take me. I want to feel you inside me, Cy. I want you to make love to me, and also to – to use me,” you whispered. “You asked me if… if I’d ever let you punish me.” Unclasping your cloak so that it slipped off of your shoulders, you willingly sank down onto your knees in front of him and looking up at him with determined eyes, you presented yourself for him as you murmured, “Punish me, Cyrille.”
Cyrille’s eyes abruptly widened at the sight of you so beautifully on your knees for him – willingly, that was the key, that was what made this image so infinitely perfect to him.
Cyrille was dead still for a moment, as a familiar war broke out in his head:
Take her. You want her that way. You dream of making her your submissive in sex. You always have.
No, she doesn’t know what it means yet.
She’s said what she wants. She said she trusts you. So, live up to that trust. You can dominate her without hurting her, while still respecting her. You would never hurt her.
Well, that’s true. I would never allow myself to actually hurt her…
But still - “Angel, are you sure?” he asked you, barely moving his lips. He wanted this so badly, had dreamed of it so often, but he was scared of hurting you, of making you feel uncomfortable in any way.
But you were not to be deterred. You nodded and said, “Yes.”
Cyrille still hesitated. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he murmured. “Do you know what you’re consenting to?”
“I want to give myself to you,” you replied. “Fully.” You reached up and put your hands on his thighs. Running your palms softly up and down his thighs, you whispered, “Please…”
Cyrille could feel himself hardening already, just from your absurdly simple tactic of touching him like this. He blew out a short breath, a bit bemused by how easily you turned him on, made him want you.
And in fact, though he hadn’t said anything about it, you did have a submissive aspect to you when the two of you were intimate. It had been coming out more and more each time you made love. Your cries had become achingly soft for him. You presented yourself well now, wearing lingerie or spreading your sweet thighs for him on the bed while putting your hands on your thighs and cocking up to look up at him with the prettiest expression on your face. You clung to him a bit more now, and last time, you’d hung onto him so tightly for support as he’d made you cum.
As with any relationship, Cyrille guessed that just as you brought out the gentleness in him, so he brought out the submissiveness in you, simply because he’d presented himself as dominant. He often thought you could have also been a dominant, had he been different, or if you’d met someone else. But with him, you were slowly but surely softening, responding to him, as he responded to you. Cyrille intended to make full use of that, but also to do it rightly – that is, with you and never for you.
Cyrille’s hands clenched into tight fists. Then, he growled in a low, rumbling voice that you had never heard before, “You have to tell me if I’m hurting you or if it doesn’t feel good anymore. You have to tell me. I’m trusting you. Can you promise me that, angel?”
“I promise,” you said sincerely.
“All right,” he finally agreed. “We’ll set some ground rules. You’ll have to tell me what you want.”
“Rules?” you said blankly.
“Yes, angel, rules,” he said dryly. “What? Did you think you could just act submissive and be immediately fucked by me?”
You blinked.
“You did,” Cyrille realized, amused. “But it’s not so simple.”
“First of all, we’ll agree to keep it to spanking, choking, and fucking, yes?” he asked you.
“What is this – an exam?” you asked indignantly.
“Answer me,” Cyrille said warningly.
You sighed. But you mumbled, “Yes.”
“And you won’t cum until I say you can,” Cyrille told you commandingly.
“No,” you protested at once. “You’re mean with that kind of stuff. You always deprive me. I’ll cum as I please.”
Cyrille’s eyes narrowed for a moment. But he was willing to negotiate with you. “Then, I’ll have to give you a little punishment if you cum without my command.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” you wondered.
“No,” he replied quickly and confidently. “Maybe with an inexperienced dominant, it might be. But not with me. If we agreed on outright deprivation, I really wouldn’t let you cum, angel. I’m not a very forgiving dominant. But with punishment, you can cum. It’ll just be followed by something… intense afterwards.”
“Fine,” you replied impatiently. “Just don’t make me count while I’m cumming.”
Cyrille sighed. “But it’s so much fun to see you struggle to remember your numbers, princess, when you’re so beautifully fucked out…”
You crossed your arms and glared up at him.
Cyrille laughed lightly. “Fine, I won’t make you count, angel.”
“Oh, how kind of you,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.
Cyrille paused, as his ingrained dominant tendencies were ringing out in his psyche. Oh, angel, if you were truly my submissive, you wouldn’t get away with being such a brat, he thought.
But he knew that you weren’t really completely a submissive, and he had no desire to treat you so unless you truly wanted it. Cyrille was simply very grateful that you were trying for him. Still, it tested him sometimes, for he felt himself slipping into his dominant mindset, but you weren’t following him by slipping into a submissive mindset. So, Cyrille compromised (with himself) and reminding himself that it would likely make you very offended and grumpy if he gave into his knee-jerk instinct of reprimanding you heavily for your sarcasm, Cyrille instead gave you a gentler version, murmuring, “You know, princess, you have a smart little mouth. And it’s going to get you in trouble.”
Sure enough, you were still instantly cross with him, even at his toned-down reprimand. “Why?” you said defiantly, lifting your brow at him. “Because I’m a woman?”
“No,” Cyrille said silkily. “Woman or man, I’d fuck you silly. And that smart mouth of yours makes it much more likely that it’s going to happen.”
You faltered a little at this.
Cyrille reached down and cupped your chin in his hand. He pulled your face up gently until you were staring up at him, though you had to strain your neck slightly and your beautiful, unruly hair tumbled down your back.
“Final point. The most important point. Listen well, angel. I’ll give you your safe word, though you can change it to whatever feels most natural to you, of course.”
“Safe word?”
“Yes. It’s the word you use to signal to me that you want me to stop immediately. And I will. I won’t touch you or if I do, it will only be to soothe you and calm you, should you use your safe word.”
“Oh…”
“Your safe word is ‘raven,’” he told you. “Say it now.”
“Raven,” you breathed out.
“Again.”
“Raven.”
“Engrave the word into your mind. I’m not kidding. I know you, princess. Your thoughts fly out of your mind as soon as I’m entering you. I’ve seen your eyes go blank, and you just moan and moan once I’m inside of you. But, with your safeword, you have to remember it under any circumstances, no matter how badly you’re crying from being spanked, or how intensely you’re cumming on my fingers, or how roughly I’m taking you, fucking you, ruining you, princess. You have to remember it throughout. Because this is all about finding and testing your limits. So, even if you forget your own name, you have to remember your safeword. Do I make myself clear?” Cyrille warned you.
You stared up at him, a bit dazed. It always took you aback how easily he talked about sex. And the way his velvety voice made the words sound like some vision of heaven, even though he was promising to ruin you, was something else altogether. His beautiful voice, coupled with the cold and self-possessed manner in which he announced how he planned to take you, did things to your mind and your body that you weren’t quite sure of… It did, however, make you want to find out exactly how he’d make you feel if you were to find out, to go to those dark, yet heavenly, places with him.
“Tell me your word again, angel.”
You swallowed. Then you said again, in a slightly hoarse voice, “Raven…”
“Good. Good girl.” Letting go of your face, he took the ribbon still in your hands.
“Now. Put your hands together,” he told you in a quiet, dominant voice. His voice was so soft, yet it held every expectation of being unconditionally obeyed.
You watched in fascination as Cyrille expertly wrapped your wrists tight together with ribbon. His long fingers were so very graceful as they knotted the rope together, binding your hands together. There was a little bit of extra rope that he held onto.
Then, Cyrille walked over and sat down on a stack of wooden boxes against the wall of the boathouse. As he had the end of the rope in your hands, you followed him. It reminded you of that first night where he’d encountered you in the Slytherin common room, and he’d led you away into that moonlit hallway.
“Are you ready, angel?” Cyrille asked you, sternly, almost grimly.
Your mouth was so dry that you had to lick your lips before you answered, “…Yes.”
Cyrille snapped. He jerked his end of the rope hard. You were yanked forward, towards Cyrille. You stumbled slightly, until your lower stomach hit the side of his knees, knocking the breath out of you. Already waiting for you, Cyrille placed his hand on your back and pressed down firmly, folding you over his lap.
You instinctively tried to hold onto something, but as your hands were tied together, it made it very difficult to grab onto anything. You did manage to get your fingers on the edge of Cyrille’s pants and you clutched the fabric thinly between your fingers as best as you could, even though there was hardly anything to hold onto.
Cyrille paused. He ordinarily would not allow his submissive to try to hold onto him like that, but feeling your fingers sliding over his thigh before finally managing to win that sliver of fabric as a victory, he let you hold onto him.
Cyrille kept one hand pressed down on your back. However, he slowly ran his other hand over the back of your thighs. Though Cyrille was going very slow and only touching the back of your thighs, your anticipation was so keyed up that you were completely tense. With your hands bound and bent over his lap like this, there was little you could see coming. Cyrille could feel your highly strung energy coming off of you, almost in physical waves. He played off of it, very slowly grazing the back of your thighs, with his fingertips just brushing over the tops of your knee-high socks, before letting his fingers trail up your legs - and then, just when you thought he might finally touch you a bit higher up, his hand would suddenly disappear entirely.
Eventually, you felt his hand slowly push up your skirt. You held your breath as his fingertips grazed over your panties - only to disappear again. You squirmed a little on his lap, conveying your impatience.
“If you move, you won’t get anything,” Cyrille whispered harshly to you.
You paused. “Fine, but you’ve got to touch me now,” you told him, stilling but clearly waiting expectantly.
Cyrille almost rolled his eyes at you. “Angel, I know now why you’re a Gryffindor,” he said tartly, his voice breaking out of its whisper into an irritated tone. As he spoke, his hand quite firmly yanked up the back of your skirt to reveal your beautiful ass and hips to Cyrille. “You’re headstrong as all hell,” Cyrille told you, almost accusingly. “You don’t know how delicious anticipation can be. You don’t appreciate how the waiting, the strategy, the cunningness behind getting there, is part of what makes it worth it…”
“Well,” you said, annoyed as well, “I guess that’s why you’re Slytherin, Mr. Lestrange. All you know is anticipation. But where’s the gratificati -?”
Slap!
“Ow!” you cried out, as Cyrille’s hand came down hard on your ass. The stinging feeling that rose up immediately made you grit your teeth. You unintentionally bucked your hips as you felt the force of his smack run through you. “Merlin, Cyrille!” you cursed at him. “That was hard.”
“Did you enjoy it?” Cyrille asked you, now running his hand gently over where he had just spanked you to soothe you.
“No!” you told him immediately. “It hurt.”
Cyrille sighed quietly. You missed his reaction, however, as you muttered indignantly under your breath, “I mean, for fuck’s sake, if you’re going to spank me like that…”
“Angel, you had all of one spank and you’re whining already,” Cyrille said wryly, even as he did keep soothing you by pressing his cool palm gently against your ass. “Have you forgotten you asked for punishment?”
Sitting there on Cyrille’s lap, with your plush ass feeling quite tender, you felt yourself getting a bit sullen. “I hate this position,” you grumbled. “I can’t see your face at all. I mean, where’s the pleasure in it for me?”
“Your commentary is derailing this entirely,” Cyrille said, now allowing himself to roll his eyes and break the spell entirely. Shaking his head at you, he remarked, “You don’t know how to be submissive at all, do you? You don’t even know what it means.”
Well, you thought, humbling yourself, that’s true.
At this, you finally decided you needed to look at Cyrille. You lifted yourself up slightly by pushing both of your hands on his thigh. Then, you arched your back and left your head fall backwards, so that you could see Cyrille’s face, if only by looking straight up at him. Blinking softly, you murmured, “You’re right. I’ve no idea. I just want to be yours, that’s all. Teach me.”
Cyrille felt himself stiffen at seeing your vulnerable, soft expression, and hearing your voice say such beautiful words. In a voice softer than he intended, he murmured back to you, “I’m trying, angel, but you’re pushing back at me at every turn…”
“Well,” you remarked, sighing a little as you sank back down on his lap. You shifted your weight to your right side and curled up your torso just a little, so that more of you fit onto Cyrille’s lap, and your cheek was pressed against Cyrille’s hip. “I never said I’d make it easy,” you murmured to him, smiling a little. “I’ve got to have my fun, too, you know.”
“You’re so pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” Cyrille murmured dryly. “Merlin. I knew since I had you up against that bookstore in the library that you were going to be a brat.”
You scoffed at him loudly. “You came onto me so strong with that ridiculous line of yours, Cyrille.”
“Oh, really?” Cyrille asked you, deeply amused. “I rather thought you liked it. You were shivering all over and so willing by the time I propped your knee up on the bookshelf.”
“Back then, did you want to spank me?” you wondered.
“Oh, princess,” Cyrille whispering, running his fingertip along your panty line, “you have no idea.”
Slap!
“Nngh…” Pressing your face against his hip and thigh, you whimpered as you felt the stinging sensation rise again, worse this time – for he had smacked you in the same spot.
Slap! He smacked your lovely little ass again, this time hard enough to jolt you forward.
“Ah!” Your mouth fell open and you suddenly trembled all over his lap. “Cy- Cyrille… It tingles already…”
Cyrille glanced down at you, and he saw you burrowing your face against his hip and quivering on his lap. Then, he looked down to see your ass, one cheek flushing bright pink, or at least – the part of your ass he could see past your panty line. He also noticed that there was a small wet spot growing on your panties, right on the thin strip of fabric covering your little slit.
She’s getting wet. Her sweet little pussy is getting wet already. Does she like this, after all? But she doesn’t seem to like pain at all. And yet, she has told me that she’s dreamed of this, and on some level, she’s physically responding…
Cyrille knew it was important to take it slow and ask for your consent at every step of the way, but if you really were turned on by this, it was a complete dream come true for Cyrille. To be physically in control of testing your limits… The possibility that you might enjoy this made Cyrille’s cock stiffen in his pants.
I should take it slow, Cyrille thought, tease out what she likes and what she doesn’t like. If we can find out together what she can take, what she does like, then I can take her harder, knowing where her limits are. Then, I’d be able to push her right up to her limit, every time, make her lose her mind with cumming, my angel…
Just then, you twitched in his lap and you murmured, “Why’d you stop? Did I do something wrong again?”
“No,” Cyrille reassured you, breathing out slowly, and running his hand greedily over your perky little ass. “You did everything right with the last spank, angel. You take it so well, you know, when you’re not testing my patience by being a brat.”
“Does that mean we can negotiate a little?” you asked him, turning your face so that your cheek was pressed against his thigh and you could sort-of look up at him, as your torso curled up on his lap.
He looked down at you. His long upper lashes grazed the bottom line of his lashes, casting little moon crescent shadows just below his eyes. Meanwhile, his silver eyes flashed down at you in a strange mixture of affection and authority. “Well, we can always negotiate,” he replied. “You know that. It’s just disobedience that I can’t condone, especially when this entire set-up is supposed to be about punishment, per your demand, angel.”
He gave you a light, playful spank, and you smiled, blushing a little. You had had dreams about this, though, actually, in yours dreams, he was a bit more… full-on, a bit more dominant. But dreams were dreams, and you knew you wouldn’t enjoy it in real life unless you both trusted each other and worked up to it.
However, trying out your dreams wasn’t the only reason you were doing this tonight. There was something a bit more personal, even, than your dreams, and that was that you had a streak of competitiveness in you. That part of you wanted, so badly, for Cyrille to take you harder than he’d taken any of his lovers. You never voiced this part of you because you thought that it was wrong to be competitive about something like this. What did it matter what he had once done with his other lovers, as long as the two of you were happy? And yet, you weren’t a Gryffindor for nothing, you wanted to be his best, whatever that meant, and when the two of you separated, and perhaps Cyrille had to return to that world of manipulation – sexual and otherwise, you wanted him to remember you and find that none of his other lovers would ever be able to give themselves up to him as much as you could. You wanted to show him that just because the two of you cared about each other, didn’t mean you couldn’t surpass your limits together physically, too. That was why you got offended when he called you ‘brat’ or ‘princess.’ You didn’t dislike the nickname, but you were afraid he might be right.
So, you wanted him to take you rough and hard for once. You thought you could take it, too (after all, hadn’t you been a good girl for him when you’d had that quick, intense session in the woods behind Hogsmeade?), as long as it was interspersed by little sessions of what was familiar to you – affection, care, and gentle touches. If there was a bit of sweetness from time to time, you weren’t opposed to some rough spanking or rough fucking, not if it was Cyrille… But how could you tell him that?
“You’ve gone again,” Cyrille murmured knowingly. “What are you thinking, angel?”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, and his hand, which had just been sliding under your panty lines to grope your bare ass cheek, paused with his only his fingertips underneath your pantyline.
“No,” you murmured. “I just…”
“You just what?”
You paused, trying to figure out how to ask for what you wanted.
Cyrille reached down with his other hand and slid his hand under your cheek, which was pressed against his thigh. “Tell me,” he said calmly. “You already know I’ll give it to you.”
“You will?”
“Yes,” Cyrille replied steadily.
You looked up at his beautiful silver eyes. There was still quite a bit of moodiness and darkness in them today, but you recognized his love, too.
I wonder what happened to him, you thought sadly, before you reminded yourself to focus.
“How about, then… How about after every round of spanking you – you, you know, touch me a little – nicely?” you suggested. “Or you give me a little kiss from time to time? Something… Something like that.”
You blushed slightly as you tried to explain, “I don’t want you gentle on the spanks, necessarily… I just want some gentleness in-between the roughness, if that makes sense.”
“Oh, angel, however much you want,” Cyrille promised you, and true to his word, he reached down and grasping your waist in his hands, he lifted you slightly. You immediately knew what he intended to do, and you propped yourself up as best as you could on your elbows and looked up. Simultaneously, he leaned down, and he kissed you softly on your mouth before kissing you all over your face.
“Thank you,” you murmured happily, as you received his kisses.
“Good girl,” he told you lovingly. “Now, lay down again.”
You did lay back now, this time properly, with your stomach on his lap, your elbows pressed against the outside of his lap, and your hands clasped together. Cyrille gently pushed you up a little on his lap, lifting your ass higher and giving him a better angle to spank you at.
Then, he pushed your skirt back up, so that the back of it was turned inside-out and the hem was flipped up onto your waist. Cyrille lifted his hand. Though you couldn’t see him, you could sense his movement, and you squeezed your eyes shut. He gave you five sharp slaps in succession, trading off on what side of your ass he was hitting you.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
You were biting down on your lower lip quite hard, but you couldn’t help except cry out, “Ow!” at the last smack.
Before you could fully register the pain, however, Cyrille, leaning down, pushed your hair to side and covered the back of your neck with kisses. Also, his hand slipped between your legs to rub your pussy through your panties, quickly creating a wave of pleasure to negate and chase away any lingering pain from the slap.
You paused, blinking hard as the crashing together of so many conflicting sensations of having been touched harshly, then gently washed over you all at once. A dull, yet clearly present sensation of stinging merged somehow with soft, slick pleasure.
However, because Cyrille kept rubbing your pussy, intent on making you feel sweet pleasure, you naturally focused on that sensation. And before you knew it, you heard yourself murmur to him as a question, “Fingers?”
Cyrille stopped kissing your neck and instead straightened up to look down at you. “What?” he said, slowing down in his touching you.
No, you thought, don’t slow down. You made to reach down to press his hand against you harder, but your wrists were still bound together, preventing you from doing that. You whined softly.
“Touch me,” you breathed out, and it came out as a demand. “Your fingers, fuck me, please.” You shifted your weight forward as you brought your ass up for him and you shifted your hips from side to side in the air, hoping he’d give you his fingers in your warm and wanting pussyhole. You needed to be filled. You just needed it. And if your bloody hands weren’t tied together, you’d be reaching down to touch yourself…
“Fuck me,” you told him again. “I want it. Want your fingers inside me.”
Cyrille gave you a gentle pat on your rump, but otherwise did not touch you at all. That’ll teach her to give me orders, he thought. But far from annoyed, he loved you like this. You were so adorable, begging and moaning and waving your pretty little ass in the air, trying to get him to touch you.
“Cy, come on,” you moaned, starting to get quite frustrated with him. “I’m – I’m – I’m so wet,” you stuttered out. “I need to be filled. My pussy – it needs your fingers now.”
Cyrille smiled at the sweet neediness just flowing out of you. He knew he was being a bit mean by denying you, but it was damn near impossible not to want to draw out this side of you more. So, Cyrille couldn’t help but tease you, whispering to you, “You’re being greedy, you know. You don’t need my fingers in you. I’d say you’re already quite satisfied.”
“But I’m wet,�� you pushed back, implying, of course, that you were ready to be filled.
But Cyrille shook his head at you slowly, even as he agreed, “Well, yes, you are already all wet and dripping on your own, angel. I mean, fuck, look at you. But that’s what I mean. You don’t need more. This is more than enough to make you wet and dripping. Why should I give you more?””
“No,” you moaned. “It’s not enough. I want your fingers in me, Cyrille, please.”
He’s so mean, you complained in your head. He knows exactly what I want, and how bad I want it, and he won’t give it to me.
“You promised,” you reminded him. “You said you wouldn’t do this – that you would let me cum.”
“No,” Cyrille reminded you. “If you remember, angel, I said I wouldn’t make you count.”
You growled a little.
Cyrille laughed. “What a cute sound, princess.” He gave you another pat on your rump.
You tried to touch yourself, hanging your head down and reaching under yourself to slips your hands down, but Cyrille was quick to yank at the ribbon still wrapped in his other hand, and your hands were jerked back up roughly.
You moaned outright, frustrated.
“You’re quite needy today, princess. Are you playing a little game with yourself, trying to see how fast I’ll give into your whims today?” Cyrille asked you. “You know, I rather think this whole ‘submissive’ act is your cover-up, and you’re secretly the dominant in our relationship. Don’t you think? I wouldn’t put it past you to lull me into being your submissive. As dominant as I am, you could turn me into whatever you wanted, and I reckon you know that. After all, if you’ve noticed at all, you are the one calling all the shots, angel – how to spank you, when to touch you, when to make you cum. So tell me, are you trying to trick me, princess?” As he spoke, Cyrille teasingly ran his fingertips over your panties, just above the thin strip of fabric covering your sex. When his fingertips pressed lightly against your puffy pussy lips, you inhaled suddenly.
“No, I’m not trying to trick you. I just – I – I’m aching,” you confessed, trying to convey the deep want inside of you, how you wanted to feel your lover’s long, elegant fingers deep inside of your wet pussy, reminding you that you were his girl. Just the thought of it made you throb wetly, and your pussy clenched around thin air before releasing a delicate stream of sweet cum to soak your panties. “Uhn…”
“Fuck,” Cyrille cursed again, feeling the wetness soaking through, little by little, in your panties. “Look how messy you are, angel. You might even like this little foreplay of ours more than actually taking cock. Like I said, I don’t think you really want my fingers inside you.”
“No,” you protested. “No, no, no, want you. Want you inside me. Cy, please…” you moaned, whining a little. You immediately clasped your lips when you heard your voice slip into whining. You didn’t want to be a “brat,” as he put it.
But Cyrille had heard you fall into your whines already, and his eyes flashed at knowing that you were slowly starting to lose control of yourself. But she’s not there yet, he told himself. Cruelly, he told you, “Well, angel, it’s not enough. You need to ache more.”
“No -” you began again, earning you a sharp slap from Cyrille. Smack!
“Ah!” you gasped at his sudden smack.
“Listen to me,” he told you sternly. “You need to ache even more for me. To deserve it physically, you have to crave it mentally first. You have to want it more than anything. Want me. Want my fingers. Want to cum for me, and only me,” Cyrille said, his voice dropping into a low, but quite intense, murmur towards the end. “Do you understand, princess? When you get to that point, then I’ll give you what you want. You’ll cum and cum and cum for me, until you can never cum for another man again. So, tell me, angel, do you want it? Do you want me?”
You shivered when you heard his voice drop, and when he promised to make you cum endlessly – but only for him, you suddenly breathed out, “Oh…” as you felt a rush of wetness suddenly leave you, pooling between your thighs to soak your panties through.
Cyrille laughed lightly. “Oh, angel, you came. Just from my words.”
“Well,” he said appreciatively, gently rubbing you through your wet panties, making you feel your own drenched panties pushing up against your cunt to create a soft, if not slick, friction against your clit and pussyhole, “you’re the only lover of mine who ever does that, so I’ll forgive you for all your other slip-ups.”
“I - I haven’t slipped up,” you said indignantly. “I just – nngh, ah,” you cut off and bowed your head as you felt Cyrille’s fingers become slightly more aggressive, pushing your panties back into you just a little, and feeling his fingers rub up at your opening now.
“Does that feel good?” he asked you softly.
“Y-Yes…”
“Good. Keep getting wet, angel. Be a good girl for me, now.”
You melted at his soft touch and at his words.
You felt yourself nod. Yes, I do want to be a good girl for you – your best.
As he softly pleasured you with one hand, with the other, Cyrille pushed up the back of your sweater and shirt. He also undid the clasp of your bra, though he didn’t take your bra off of you. It merely slipped forward, the straps staying on your shoulders and the cups hanging loosely in front of your breasts. Your lovely bare back revealed to him, Cyrille saw your shoulder blades straining as you shivered slightly on his lap, and he knew they were only straining like that because you couldn’t quite use of your hands to stabilize yourself. He smirked a little when he realized that.
Cyrille could also just see the undersides of your breasts, so very soft and lovely, though your nipples and the top of your breasts were still covered up by your hanging bra. He sighed a little impatiently, wishing you were completely bare for him. He wanted to see you bare for him, yes, your soft little body all laid out for him to pleasure and possess for the night.
Cyrille paused, thinking to himself. Hm, I wonder if I spank her, will I get a glimpse of those soft, puffy, pink nipples of hers?
Cyrille abruptly spanked you. Slap!
You gasped at the unexpected smack, and sure enough, you jolted forward. The sudden movement of your shifting forward made your sweater and shirt slip further forward, so that your chin and cheeks were suddenly surrounded by soft cashmere, and your bra, too, swayed forward with you, so that Cyrille glimpsed a flash of your lovely breasts. Pleased, Cyrille smirked, for you’d reacted exactly as he expected. He reached down and slipping his hand under you and sliding between your bra and breasts, he groped your breasts greedily, pushing his palm against them lovingly before fingering your nipples, squeezing the puffiness hard between his fingers, while his other hand was still playing with your wet pussy, rubbing you through your panties.
“M-Mm,” you stuttered out softly, feeling his hands all over you. This kind of touch from Cyrille made you want to be a good girl for him – a very good girl for him.
Cyrille felt you getting steadily wetter, pooling slowly but surely between your legs, meaning that your pussy was closer and closer to being ready to be roughly fucked. He smirked again, very much pleased at the situation.
But, he thought, I’m spoiling her, aren’t I? Letting her have my hands like this, all over her already?
Tsk, he berated himself, Angel makes you so soft. You speak to her and hold yourself out to be this stern dominant, and then you’re like putty in her hands.
“Angel,” he said, “would you consent to another spanking?”
“Yes. Another round, and then a kiss?” you mumbled. You could still feel the soft sting of his last spanking on your ass. However, you had noticed that although the second spank hurt considerably more than the first since your skin was already stinging, the last few spanks didn’t hurt much and just felt like… a sensation – first, the slap, then the soft tingling all over your bum. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
“Deal,” Cyrille replied. For a moment, Cyrille plunged his hand into your panties and pressed his palm against you. You started to moan again, thinking he meant to keep touching your pussy even as he spanked you – but no, sadly, his hand was already gone. Having wet his hand with your cum, without hesitating, Cyrille spanked you hard again. Smack! Smack! Smack!
Nope, spoke too soon! You told yourself as his smacks landed on you again, and the heat flared up all over your ass now.
Smack! Smack! Then, there was a particularly sharp, hard slap!
“Ah!” Your knees folded as your feet shot up from the ground. Cyrille carelessly threw them back down, not let you interfere with his taking your ass and marking it as his with hard smacks.
You squirmed on his lap. Cyrille was quick to pin you down and give you the remaining spanks. Loud, sharp sounds of you being spanked rang out loudly as your cum on his palm made his hand stick to your skin with each slap.
Slap! “Ah!”
Slap! “C-Cy!”
Slap! “Ah!”
Crying out, you were shivering all over. Cyrille’s cock was rock hard now, because it was so delicious to see you shivering like that, and he could feel your little body in his lap, squirming against him but also pressing down on his lap to find comfort.
Oh, angel, Cyrille moaned in his head. You’re so perfect.
Per your promise, but also simply because he wanted to, Cyrille made you turn over in his lap so that you were facing him and your back was resting on his lap now. He brought your legs up so that your feet were on the edge of the boxes he was sitting on. Sliding his hand under your head to give you support, he leaned down and kissed you passionately, sucking on your lips gently and lovingly, giving you your kiss just as he’d promised you.
“Mm… Hah… Ah…” You breathed out against his mouth, panting a little as your ass was still tingling quite a lot from having received your spanking. Your hands, still bound together, rested on your tummy, with your elbows tucked into your sides.
You felt Cyrille start to press his hand gently into your tummy to reassure you that he was here with you, and to make you feel safe, but you managed to catch his fingers between yours and you held onto his fingertips between your hands, keeping his hand just above your tummy as he kissed you.
“Are you all right?” Cyrille asked you, finally pulling away just a little.
“Yes,” you replied honestly. “I can see why people get into this.”
“You can?”
“Yeah,” you said, nodding your head seriously.
Cyrille found it endearing how proud of yourself you seemed to be. Of course, he wasn’t aware of your secret mission to be his best lover.
“So, you don’t mind the spanking, you just want to be spoiled throughout,” Cyrille realized, smiling a little at how happy you seemed.
“Well… something like that,” you admitted, blushing a little.
“Princess,” Cyrille whispered accusingly. “You’re so spoiled…”
He tried to kiss you again, but you feigned offence and turned your head away, making him miss.
Cyrille sighed, but he kissed your cheek anyways. You giggled, not really angry with him, and turning your head back to face him, you lifted your head slightly to kiss him first. Then, falling back after sharing a sweet kiss, you murmured, “Cyrille?”
“Yes, angel?”
“Is my ass pink?” you wondered.
“Does it feel like it is?” Cyrille asked you, already knowing how you would answer.
“Yes. It’s all tingly.”
Cyrille laughed lightly. “Lift your legs for me, princess.”
You gently lifted your legs up. Cyrille reached down and pulled your panties down to your thighs and helped lift you a little further up, so that even though you were lying in your lap, your legs were now in the air and Cyrille could just make out the roundness of your ass as you held up your legs – and sure enough, you were flushing pink.
Cyrille could now also see your bare pussy, glistening wetly. Mm, he thought, such a pretty little pussy, waiting to be filled.
“Cy?” you called softly.
“Yes, you are,” he finally replied. “Pink and puffy all over… Like your pussy, princess.”
Then, Cyrille, without any warning, his hand drop from your thighs, where your panties were, and went immediately to your pussy. He wetly pushed his fingers through your folds, feeling how wet you were for him already.
You breathed out at the sudden pleasure between your thighs as he touched you.
“Fuck,” Cyrille moaned a little for you. “Princess, you really are so soft and lovely.” His hand was large enough and his fingers long enough that he could cover your pussy with his hand, pressing his palm up against your pussyhole to give you pressure there, while using his fingers to rub against your pussy lips before slipping in to play with your clit.
“Oh, Cy…” you moaned softly, loving his fingers pressing against your clit and massaging your wet cunt. “I love your hands…” you sighed.
I want to hold his hands again, you thought. You struggled a little, but managed to fit your hands between your thighs. You gently held onto the back of his fingers with yours as he continued to touch you. You could feel your cum starting to slick his fingers and start to make your fingers wet too.
“Mm,” you murmured happily, “Cy…”
“Look at you, all happy,” Cyrille chuckled. “You love being touched like this, don’t you?”
“Yes…” Your eyes were all alight, bright and happy. Your cheeks were flushed a slight pink, too.
“Maybe we should stick to just pleasure, angel,” Cyrille murmured.
“No, no,” you protested quickly. “I like being touched like this even better after being spanked. It makes me feel like I’m a really good girl for you.” You paused, embarrassed at the sudden confession that had slipped out of you.
“What about you?” you asked him quickly, to distract him. “Don’t you like spanking me?”
“I do, princess. You know that.”
Something about how muted his voice made you think that perhaps… “You’re being gentle with me, aren’t you?” you asked, wrinkling your nose a little.
“Very,” Cyrille admitted. “But that’s all right.”
“But I want to be your best -” You paused, cutting yourself off from revealing too much. “I mean, I have a safeword… You can push me more if, you know, you want. I can take it.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Cyrille whispered, and his eyes flashed bright silver for a moment.
“I just want to try,” you told him, and your voice was just as muted as his as you matched his mood. You were trying your best to draw him out.
But Cyrille, who had momentarily forgotten about his recruitment to the Death Eaters when he saw you so happy in his arms, was slipping back into regret and resentment again. His gaze fell to his arm, covered by his sleeve, which concealed the Dark Mark. “Angel, I do want to make love to you as my submissive. But today may not be the best day for me to completely fall into my dominant persona.”
As he spoke, you felt his entire body stiffen with tension, and with a deep anger at himself.
You swallowed hard. “Cyrille…?”
“Am I scaring you?” Cyrille asked you, his eyes softening when he saw you swallow.
You shook your head. “I trust you, Cyrille.”
“Don’t.” The word fell harshly from Cyrille’s lips, like a steel gate crashing down onto the ground, locking you out. It pained Cyrille to hear you say that you trusted him, when only hours ago, he’d committed himself to joining the wrong side of this upcoming war…
You hesitated, seeing his mood shift into something violent. “Cyrille,” you whispered to him, and you reached over with both of your hands, still tied together, to tug gently at the bottom of his shirt. “I do trust you. And I want you to show me your darkness. Don’t lock me out. Take me with you…”
“Angel.” Cyrille’s voice was so quiet you barely heard him.
You looked up at him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you whispered. You managed to tug his shirt loose from his belt and trousers and you slipped your hands under his hem to touch him, pressing your fingers against his abs as you told him, “I want you to use me tonight.”
“I’m afraid you’re just saying it because you think it’s what I want to hear,” Cyrille told you quietly. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”
“Yes,” you reassured him. “Cyrille, you gave me what I wanted last time, when I needed you most. You were so gentle with me because you knew I was vulnerable. And I know you’re vulnerable now. Let me make you feel better.”
“Angel, you’re not responsible for my emotions,” Cyrille replied. “If I’m upset, that’s on me. I ought to deal with it myself.”
“I know that, but I want to help,” you responded. “Just like you did for me. You weren’t responsible for my tears last time, but you still kissed them all away. I know I would have been strong enough to cope with getting my memories back without you. But having you there with me made the difficult things feel less difficult, and the good things feel more important, if you know what I mean. I was so grateful to have your love and your patience.”
“Besides,” you continued, “I want to feel what it’s like to truly be yours.”
“You already are, I hope,” Cyrille said, lifting his eyebrow at you.
“You know what I mean,” you pushed back, not letting him escape the conversation. You hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much or speak aloud the truth of your future – that you couldn’t be together, that in fact, one of you might even kill the other in the near future… No, you thought, I can’t say that out loud. But you tried to hint at what you meant by saying, “Perhaps if we had more time, we could take it slower, but with the time we have, I want you to show me your deepest desires. I want to feel them with you. I want to feel like I understand you, Cyrille. That would mean a lot to me. Imagine if I didn’t let you stay with me after I got my memories back, if I kept pushing you away… Wouldn’t you feel frustrated? Don’t you want to be there for me?”
Cyrille nodded mutely.
“Well,” you told him honestly, “it’s the same for me. So, please… Use me to your heart’s desire. I want to take it all. I want to be your good girl. I know I can, if you’ll let me…”
Cyrille was still for a long moment. Then, he commanded, a bit hoarsely, “Tell me your safeword.”
Your voice was quite small, too, as you murmured, “Raven…”
Cyrille nodded. “Yes. Keep that word in your head, angel, all right?”
“Okay.”
Cyrille suddenly slapped your wet cunt. You gasped at the unexpected sensation. You blinked in surprise as a soft, but not unpleasant, tingling ran through your pussy. You felt yourself throb wetly.
“Oh…” you breathed out. Your legs were still up in the air, and your thighs shivered as you forced yourself to inhale and breathe again.
“Hold your thighs apart, now, angel,” Cyrille told you. “Don’t let those panties slip down.”
Then, Cyrille finally gave you what you wanted – his fingers, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.
“Ah!”
Cyrille gave you all of two seconds for your pretty little cunt to adjust to his fingers. Then, he finger fucked you roughly, tugging you into the air and then pushing you back down against his lap with every thrust of his fingers.
“Uhnn – ah, ah, ah!” You meant to moan low and loud, but the quick rhythm of his fingers interrupted your moan, accentuating your moan with unintentional breathless and high-pitched whimpers.
“Good girl,” Cyrille growled at you, feeling the way your tight hole gripped and clutched at his fingers. He imagined your beautiful pussy gripping at his cock like this, and he groaned a little. Desire for you suddenly blossomed up deep inside of Cyrille, making his cock erect and making him push you to be ready for you. He fingered you quite roughly, trying to get your cunt to relax and open up for him.
“Ah, Cy!” you cried out. You responded beautifully to his demanding fingers, as you were already getting so wet for him. And in fact, you loved to be taken like this, loved feeling how much he wanted you, that he would plunge his fingers inside of you like that – all deep and rough with you…
“Uhn!” you moaned out.
“Oh, princess,” Cyrille groaned, feeling your pussy walls clenching tightly on his fingers all of a sudden, “you can’t cum already. It’s only been seconds. You’ve barely had my fingers inside you.”
“I know, but f-feels so g-good,” you stuttered out. “Uhn…” You held your breath and tried your best to hold back from cumming. I know I said I’d cum whenever I wanted to, but this is way too fast. It’s embarrassing, you thought blurrily, as you felt his fingers thrusting quickly, in and out of your tight sex. I should – I should try to – to hold it in for at least a few m-minutes, right? But uhn, fuck, I’ve forgotten how good he fucks me with his fingers. His fingers are so long, and he knows just how to make me take them. Mm, it feels so good. I could cum. I really could cum right now. Ah, please, I want to cum - !
You started to look down at yourself, wanting to see Cyrille’s fingers inside of you, pumping in and out of your tight hole.
But, at that very moment, as Cyrille gave you his fingers hard and fast, he saw his sleeve fluttering up and down his wrist, and he caught a glimpse of his newly minted mark.
Afraid that you would see it, Cyrille growled slightly, and with this other hand, he suddenly reached down and grasping your face hard in his hands, hard enough that his fingers dug softly into your soft cheeks, he held your held your face up, forcing you to look up at the ceiling, away from his arm, where that shameful mark was imprinted.
“Cy…?”
“Don’t look,” he said harshly. “Don’t look down. Just feel me. Feel me inside of you.”
Intent on distracting you and making you cum on his fingers, Cyrille curled his fingers slightly inside of you. You moaned breathlessly, staring hazily at the tall, glassy roof of the boathouse without really seeing anything. His long and slender fingers felt so good inside of you, pushing you ever closer to cumming. Your tummy tightened and squirmed, and your thighs were beginning to tremble. You could feel your panties, which were stretched tight higher up your legs, just below your knees, as you held yourself open for Cyrille, now inching back down your thighs, towards Cyrille’s hand and your pussy, as your legs shivered in the air.
“Hold your thighs open,” Cyrille told you sharply. “Don’t let your panties fall on my hand, or I won’t let you cum.” You could tell from his depth and coldness of Cyrille’s voice that he was serious.
“Hah, ah- o-okay, nngh…” You shut your eyes tightly. Focusing, you forced your quivering legs to stay open in the air, enough to keep your panties stretched tight, to keep them around your thighs and not to slip down to your pussy. But it was difficult to focus on holding your legs open when you felt like your thighs were going to cave in any second now. After all, Cyrille’s fingers were still giving you so much pleasure.
Yes, so much p-pleasure! You gasped out in your head. Oh, God! Mmm, yes! Yes, yes, yes!
“Princess,” Cyrille warned you thinly, as your legs began to come together again. He started to withdraw his fingers. You moaned and tried to keep your legs open again, but they were shaking because you were close, so close to cumming. But his fingers were gone, taken away.
“S-So mean,” you accused Cyrille bitterly. “Not letting me c-cum…” As his other hand was still gripping your face to prevent you from looking down, you suddenly found yourself with a bright idea, or so you thought. You jerked your head slightly to the slide. His fingers fell from your cheek to your lips. You opened your mouth and bit his finger, lightly enough not to hurt him, but certainly hard enough to make your grievance known.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Cyrille asked you, entirely unimpressed at the little gnawing sensation on his knuckles.
You bucked your hips impatiently, thrusting as much as you could to find his fingers again, but Cyrille had pulled his hand away and your close climax was fast receding. You groaned impatiently, and then you bit down on his fingers again, harder this time - not just saying ‘hello,’ but also saying ‘you bastard.’
“Ow, angel,” Cyrille muttered. It would all have been very cute if you weren’t so pissed off with him.
“I was close, you ass!” you told him. “Why won’t you let me cum? Please! You know I need to… to cum. Cy, please…” Your protest had started off angry, but your voice faded into a whimper towards the end.
You put your legs down and moved your hips from side to side on his lap, trying to feel some friction somehow, even though you had no chance of pushing your pussy up against anything unless Cyrille decided to touch you again.
Why won’t I let you cum? Because you’re so adorable when you’re all needy, princess, don’t you know? Cyrille thought. But he didn’t say that out loud.
Instead, he acquiesced quickly, “All right, all right, I’m sorry.”
Your anger faded at once, sparking back into excited hope. Lifting your legs again, you asked brightly, “Touch me again?”
Cyrille smiled. “Yes, angel, I will.”
“And I can cum this time?” you made him promise.
“You can cum this time,” he promised you.
Cyrille meant to draw his left hand away from your mouth, but when he felt your soft and warm lips find his fingers again, only to suck them gently this time, he left his hand there, loving your mouth on him. With his right hand, he reached down once more and pushed his fingers inside you again – this time with three fingers, instead of two.
“Mmm,” you moaned immediately, and Cyrille felt the warm hum of your moan run through his fingers into your mouth.
Cyrille’s fingers were fast coated with your wetness as they sank deep inside of your warmth. As he worked back up to his previous rhythm of pleasuring you, your little muffled moans spilled out from between his fingers in your mouth. As he fucked your wet pussy repeatedly with his fingers, Cyrille saw glimpses of your flushed ass flashing in the air. He groaned in his mind and he felt himself slipping towards chasing pure pleasure with you.
Of course, pleasure for Cyrille was never an easy thing. It meant possession and protectiveness, which, by definition, causes pain. We can never truly possess another human being, even if (perhaps even more so) if our intentions are to protect them. Cyrille knew this, but knowledge did not change the fact that he had been taught by those around him that possession was the closest one could ever come to love. And so, if he loved you, Cyrille ached to feel that you were truly and entirely his. He wanted all of your little whimpers and shudders and quivers to himself, and he wanted them over and over again.
And your adorable, continuously escalating moans was coaxing and feeding Cyrille’s desire to claim you just this one night, before the two of you had to part…
“C-Cy, ‘M c-close!” you breathed out, with his fingers still in your mouth. Your lips were becoming wet, too, as your speaking around his fingers spread your saliva onto your lips. At your words, Cyrille began to move his fingers in your mouth back and forth too, pumping his fingers in both your mouth and your pussy simultaneously.
“Cum for me, my love,” Cyrille told you, in a deceptively soothing voice. “Cum for me.”
“Uhn… Cy, I want to- I want to cum for you,” you breathed out sweetly, responding to his lovely voice. You could feel your pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you felt yourself nearing your climax, and you shivered with pleasure. Yes, you told yourself, cum for Cy. Cum for your boyfriend. Cum all over his hand.
But Cyrille continued speaking, and as he did, his soothing voice grew into something far more animalistic and brutal. “Yes, angel, cum. Cum now. Cum, knowing you’re going to be fucked all night, in all ways. Cum knowing you need this tight little pussy of yours to be wet enough to take cock all night long. Cum so I can use you.”
“C-Cy…” you stuttered out, surprised, but too close to your orgasm to stop yourself from cumming now.
“You promise you’d be a good girl, my good girl,” Cyrille reminded you. “And you’ll live up to your word, won’t you? You’ll make yourself all slick and sloppy for me, won’t you? Mm, yes, you will. You’ll be as wet as possible, preferably dripping cum everywhere, so you won’t have to use your safeword tonight.”
His voice was purring, but you were hearing his words, and how they were promising such sweet but dark ruin. And, all the meanwhile, his fingers were pistoning in and out of you, fucking you in such a sweet, sweet, way. That thin line in your tummy was going to – going to – snap!
“Ah!” You cried out sharply as you came. You spasmed slightly, and your legs crossed in the air as you squeezed your thighs together. Thankfully, your panties didn’t fall down your legs, as you’d crossed your legs quickly enough that the thin fabric was effectively caught higher up between your thighs. Your head fell back, disappearing just over the edge of the pile of boxes, with your hair streaming down and nearly touching the ground. Your shirt, sweater, and bra were all gathered up and resting in a soft heap on your torso, and your breasts under them heaved as you gasped out your orgasm. You could hear your own breath rushing through your head as cum streamed out from your cunt. But you’d barely finished cumming when Cyrille demanded that you cum again.
“Legs apart,” Cyrille ordered you, with a sharp slap against your inner thigh. You flinched instinctively, though the slap didn’t hurt at all.
“Cy?”
“You’ll cum again,” Cyrille told you, and his authoritative voice left no room for question. “And you’ll do it now. Open your fucking legs.”
“Hah… Ah…” Breathing hard and trembling, it took everything you had to push your thighs open again, and only narrowly at that.
Cyrille thrust his fingers back inside of you, curling them again to reach your sweet spot. You trembled all over from that simple movement. Yes, you moaned in your head, right there. The only thing that could satisfy me more is your cock, Cyrille. You were wetter, and therefore, more easily able to take his fingers, but at the same time, having just cummed, you were more sensitive than before. “O-Oh…” you breathed out, as you felt his fingertips grazing that spot in your cunt that was always begging to be touched. Such a wonderful pressure, right where it needs to be, you thought, exhaling in relief. Oh, Cy, you know me so well.
Your pussy throbbed, and your thighs twitched, as Cyrille began to jerk his arm back and forth again, giving you his fingers, which were already wet with your cum. Cyrille used your slickness to push his fingers into you faster, until your cum was steadily dripping down his wrist.
“F-Fuck,” you moaned out, feeling Cyrille’s knuckles hitting up against your pussy hole hard with every thrust. It was such a delicious feeling, to feel his fingers thrusting into you, his fingertips repeatedly pleasuring your most intimate spot, and to simultaneously have that pressing up right at your pussy hole. You could give yourself to him this way forever, you thought blissfully.
Oh God, I think I’m gonna cum again, you moaned in your head. Yes, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – Ah!
“Uhn!” you cried out, and your back arched unsteadily off of his lap. However, feeling your tender and sore ass start to slip off of Cyrille’s lap, you quickly fell back against him. Cyrille, feeling you coil back, took advantage of that moment, shoving his fingers into you as far as he could and pushing his fingertips up into your sweet spot as you came.
“A-Ah, Cy! Ah!” you gasped. You shut your eyes tightly as you felt a second wave of pleasure come crashing down inside of you, pushing up the end of your first wave of pleasure higher than heaven – and then, before you could even think about it, let alone think about holding back - you squirted your cum everywhere. Your cum went splashing all over the floor beneath you, and left your thighs and ass completely wet.
“Oh…” you gasped out, in disbelief at what you’d just done. “Oh, Cy… I- I came too much…” you stuttered out.
Cyrille moaned lowly. “Fuck, angel,” he cursed.
Cyrille suddenly pulled out his fingers and he slapped your soaking wet pussy hard enough to make you flinch. A sharp, rather lewd, and yet satisfying, sound rang out.
You jolted a little, and your cunt thumped in surprise at the sudden sensation. “Fuck,” you cursed through gritted teeth. “Uhn…!”
Cyrille, who was intent on not giving you a moment of respite, had thrust his fingers inside of you yet again, just in time to feel your pussy throbbing. You cried out in surprise when you felt his fingers shoved inside of your sex a third time. “Cy,” you breathed out, as your abs tensed yet again. “I-I’ve already cum – cum twice…”
“I know you have, my love. I can feel it. Mmm, all throbbing and wet, this tight little pussy,” Cyrille murmured. “Such a sweet little cunt, asking to be fucking pounded into, aren’t you, angel?”
“And you’ve made a right mess,” Cyrille whispered to you. Though he had fully intended for you to squirt, he teased you now, saying in a low voice, “I know I told you to cum, but you came everywhere, angel. You are so, so wet.” He gave you another light slap on your pussy, to accentuate his point, as the sharp side of his palm on your wet pussy lips sounded out yet again.
You whimpered softly.
“Good girls don’t cum like this,” Cyrille told you. With his other hand, which had been shoved into your mouth for most of the finger-fucking, he now reached up and gently smoothed back the stray curls that had fallen onto your forehead. He leaned forward and kissed you on the forehead as he whispered, “Good girls are controlled, tidy, and clean. But you, princess, are so very sloppy.”
Taking out his fingers, Cyrille rubbed his palm against your pussy hard, massaging your pussy all over and spreading your wetness all over your pussy lips.
Your breathing hitched when you felt his palm pressing up against your pussy, spreading the base of your lips open and then glancing slightly off of your pussy hole.
“But… you told me – told me to be messy,” you breathed out, pushing back at his words, and trying to make sense of what he was telling you. “I thought you wanted me to…” You blushed a little. “You didn’t…?”
Cyrille smirked, seeing your confusion. Of course I wanted you to cum hard, princess. You’re so silly.
Unable to help himself, Cyrille leaned down yet against and he kissed both of your cheeks affectionately, admiring the pink flush creeping up in them.
Unfortunately for you, you’d forgotten to keep your legs up and as your thighs slowly caved in, your panties gradually slid all the way down, back towards your pussy and ass. Cyrille felt them slide onto the back of his hand, as his hand was still covering your pussy.
Cyrille suddenly sighed.
Your eyes shot open when you heard his disappointed sound. “W-What?” you said nervously.
“You forget orders so easily,” Cyrille murmured.
“Cy?”
“Well, these are fucking useless, anyways. You certainly won’t be wearing them again tonight,” Cyrille muttered, grasping your panties in his grip. He immediately yanked them off of you in one quick tug. They caught against your thighs – then snapped and fell to the floor. “Ah!” A soft sound of surprise left your lips.
What was more, the force of his tug yanked your legs down, and the sudden shift in weight made you slide off of Cyrille’s lap and fall onto the floor. You found yourself suddenly sitting all dazed, quite confused as to where your panties had gone and why you were suddenly on the floor.
Before you could so much as blink, Cyrille stepped in front of you and yanked down his pants to his thighs.
“Cy, wha – Mmphf!” Your mouth was suddenly stuffed full of cock.
“Take me, princess,” he growled unforgivingly. “Open that perfect mouth of yours and let me fuck your throat.” Surprised by how aggressively he was thrusting his cock into your mouth already, you nearly fell backwards, but Cyrille reached down and gripping your head in his hands, he roughly shoved his entire length down your throat.
“Mm!” You whimpered loudly. Tears sprang to your eyes. “Mm, mm, mm!”
“Relax,” Cyrille reminded you in a low, cold voice. “Loosen that throat, princess. I’ve taught you this before. Show me what you’ve learned. You did so well for me last time, you know.”
You shut your eyes and focused on taking his cock in your mouth and deep into your throat, too. You felt yourself shifting unsteadily on your feet, guided mostly by Cyrille’s hands on your head as he held you in place to fuck your mouth for his pleasure. The way he was pushing into you hard enough to make you body rock back and forth made your own cum shiver and then drip sweetly and steadily down your thighs.
“Come on. Deeper,” Cyrille ordered you. “You need to sit up.” He reached down with one hand and found the ribbon around your hands again. Grasping it, he yanked the end of the ribbon to quickly pull you up on your feet.
As you struggled to get a balance on your feet (for you were still bending your knees and sitting, just sitting up now), your sneakers slid a little on the cum that you’d squirted out just minutes ago. Trying not to fall, your still-bound hands naturally fell forward onto Cyrille’s thigh. You clutched onto his leg to try to steady yourself, but it was difficult to situate yourself while Cyrille was relentlessly thrusting into your mouth.
But your stream of whimpers alerted Cyrille and he opened his eyes and looked down to see you hanging onto his leg, lips parted just enough to be wrapped around his cock in a perfect little “O” and your eyes starting up at him, wide with surprise, as he was much rougher than usual.
Seeing you like that, Cyrille showered you with little praises, murmuring, “Good fucking girl” and “Taking me so well,” but he didn’t lessen his demanding pace one bit. He wouldn’t, either, not until he was fully hard and his cock would no longer in your mouth, no matter how roughly he tried to stuff your mouth with it. But, happily for him, he’ d have to fuck your adorable little mouth a few more times before he reached that point.
“Fuck,” Cyrille spoke through harshly gritted teeth. “Yes, good girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this… Uhn…” His hands had slipped into your hair. Then, he shut his eyes and leaned back slightly as he thrust harder into your mouth.
He groaned as he felt his cock throb in your mouth. You felt his fingers tightening in your curls and your lips became sloppy, glistening brightly with his pre-cum as his cock pushed in and out greedily from between your lips. You felt the weight of his cock sliding over your tongue, and you could start to taste his pre-cum. You tried to swallow, but he was too relentless, and you simply had to keep your throat open. A small thread of saliva, mixed with pre-cum, escaped the corner of your mouth and dribbled down to your jaw.
You were panting now, and your knees were starting to become sore for sitting in this position for so long, and you felt very, very bare in this position, as you didn’t have any panties on anymore (or any panties to wear, for that matter) and your skirt was hitched up by your knees.
“Mmm!” You cried out. Your muffled cries were heavenly to Cyrille. You were the only woman he ever wanted to hear like that for the rest of his life – you, moaning in pleasure and then choking on his too-thick cock. Cyrille moaned and still gripping onto a fistful of your hair, he yanked you back just in time to stop him from cumming in your mouth.
No, he reminded himself, even though he could barely hear himself over his own groaning, you can’t cum yet. You haven’t fucked Angel yet. Not yet. Fuck, I could have, though. I could have filled that pretty mouth of hers with cum. That would be one way to teach a mouthy brat to listen better. I wouldn’t lecture her, not princess, but I could teach her physically. I think she’d rather like that, as it were. And I know I certainly would.
And the very thought of Angel, sitting on the floor, looking all blissed-out with a mouthful of my cum. Fuck, he growled in his mind. When she swallowed all of my cum in the library, I was so mesmerized. Her, my beautiful woman, swallowing all of my cum willingly… God, it was such a gorgeous sight. And I remember seeing her sitting in the Great Hall with all of her Gryffindor friends. She wasn’t hungry that night, and only I knew why – because her little tummy was full of my cum. My cum.
You fell back against the boxes behind you, gasping for breath. Your tied-together hands were clutching at your chest as you attempted to find your breath again.
However, before you could find your breath again, Cyrille had pulling you on top of him, for he’d stripped off his pants and was now lying on the floor.
“You’re going to ride me, angel,” he told you, running his hands up and down your thighs. “You’re going to sit on my cock, and I want you to pleasure yourself on my cock until you cum. And then, when you’re all wet, you’re going to fuck me until I cum inside of you.”
Your knees were already sore, and you struggled a little to get yourself up without being able to use your hands. However, you managed to lean forward, put your palms down on the middle of Cyrille’s chest, and then get up again, with your feet placed on either side of Cyrille’s hips. It took you a lot more effort than you thought.
I’m already tired, you thought. After sitting there and having Cyrille fuck my mouth so roughly, I don’t know if I’ve got the strength in my legs right now to do this…
Cyrille reached down and placed his hands underneath your ass, supporting you and helping you to guide your wet pussy to his hard, stiff cock. Cyrille began to sit you down on his cock, but you breathed out, “Wait…”
He paused. “Angel?”
His hands began to slide out from under you, to reach for your face, but when you felt his hands disappear, you were suddenly left on your own to support your own weight while sitting and you slid down a little – and the tip of his cock pressed against your pussyhole.
Cyrille exhaled in anticipation. Forgetting about his intention to lovingly touch your face just a second ago, Cyrille abruptly grasped your hips, and before either of you were completely sure of what was happening, he had pushed you down. You felt the tip of his cock penetrate you, pushing into and then past your tight hole to slide inside of you.
“A-Ah!” Your nails dug into Cyrille’s chest as you had had no warning about being penetrated. Your already exhausted body quivered as you were trying to hold yourself up and take him at the same time – and you were failing at both.
“Princess…” Cyrille whispered your beloved title.
“C-Cy, I c-can’t – Uhn… You’re stretching me o-out!” You choked on the last word, as your breath hitched when you were trying to speak.
A second later, you both moaned fervently as you felt yourself being stretched out so deliciously by his cock, and he felt your pussy gripping down on his cock in the most pleasurable way. No longer just your fingers, your hands scrabbled a little at the front of Cyrille’s shirt, but finding it too hard to pick up the thin fabric from his sculpted chest, you ended up gripping onto his Slytherin tie.
Feeling his hard cock already stretching you out, you tried to lean forward and hold yourself up from having to take his cock too deep too fast, but it was a lost cause. With your thighs trembling from holding yourself up, and with Cyrille steadily pushing you down on his cock, you only managed to struggle for a few seconds to stay up before inevitably sliding down a little further. You winced and shut your eyes tightly as Cyrille’s cock violated your pussy deeper. Cyrille, seeing you wince, immediately took his hands off of your waist, not wanting to pressure you into taking his cock any further. Instead, he reached up and sliding his large hands under your shirt and blouse again, he grasped your breasts in both of his hands, groping the soft mounds roughly, alternating between palming them and squeezing them.
Though you usually loved all of the attention Cyrille gave your breasts, in this moment, you hardly noticed, as you were struggling very much to both not take in and take in his cock - that is, you couldn’t help but sit further and further down, taking him in more and more. Your thighs were going to give out any second now, but he was already inside you, half-coaxing and half-forcing your tightness apart, and your squirming all around his cock was making it much, much worse.
Cyrille, who had not recognized how tired you were already, had been focused on pleasuring your beautiful breasts and decided to leave it up to you to set the pace for how you would take his cock. But slowly, with your exhausted exhales and your unending trembling, Cyrille began to realize how much you were struggling on top of him. Then, there was the light nudges of motion around his neck. Your hands, gripping his house tie, were yanking on it softly, and Cyrille felt the upper part of the tie looped around his neck twisting a little as you pulled at it.
“Hah… Ah… Ah…” Your labored breathing was sounding out loudly now, filling the space between the two of you.
Cyrille’s eyes traced up to your face. Your mouth had fallen open, but your eyes were shut, and the softest, most delicate whimpers fell from your lips as you felt yourself sinking down onto his aching cock. It was taking everything you had to hold yourself upright, but also, every time you sank down just a little bit further on his cock, you jolted, and you would clench around him so tightly. The tie around Cyrille’s neck was actually quite tight now, choking him. But Cyrille didn’t let himself show any indication of it. Besides, he rather enjoyed it, particularly since you were holding onto the other end of the tie for dear life, and only doing so because the ribbon bound tightly around your own precious hands made it impossible for you to grab onto anything else. Cyrille smirked a little, even as a slow burn began to rise in his chest.
However, before he could feel too pleased with himself, you, losing strength in your legs very quickly, sank down even further on his cock.
“Ah!” you gasped, and your pussy clenched hard, struggling with the sudden intrusion of Cyrille’s thick, long cock pushing into you.
Oh God, I feel Angel clenching all over my cock. She’s throbbing already, Cyrille thought, as he gazed up at him, absolutely mesmerized in watching you shivering all over his cock.
But then, a more sensible voice clunked into Cyrille’s brain, telling him, She’s struggling. Angel’s struggling! Quick, help her. Cyrille suddenly grasped your waist and held you up himself, giving your weary legs and thighs and your throbbing pussy a respite.
You were quite clever, though, and instead of just having him hold you up for a little break, you immediately thought ahead and flopped over on top of him, so that you wouldn’t have to hold yourself up at all anymore. Your hands let go of Cyrille’s tie, and suddenly, Cyrille could breathe again, with cool air rushing down his windpipes.
Cyrille paused. Then, he chuckled as he realized your tactic. He was about to tease you for flopping on top of him like a fish, but then he noticed how your legs, folded and curled up on either side of him, were quivering quite badly. He could feel your hot breaths against his chest as you panted heavily against him.
“Angel,” he whispered, breaking his persona for you, “if you need to use your safeword, you can.”
You shook your head. “No, I don’t – Hah… I don’t need to use my safeword. But… I could use - use some kisses.”
You managed to drag a deep breath in your lungs as you recovered. Then, you leaned forward hopefully so that you could press your lips to his. As you leaned forward, your tummy pressed into his stomach and your thighs spread open a little further on top of his hips.
Cyrille gave a false sigh and now, knowing that you were all right, he teased you, “Whenever I think I’ve taught you something about how to be submissive, you pop right back up and win the battle. Asking for kisses and all that. Giving up on riding my cock before you’ve even started. You haven’t learned your place at all, have you?”
“But then,” Cyrille murmured, “I wouldn’t have you any other way. You are very much a princess, to be quite honest. But you’re my princess, and there’s nothing else that matters.”
With that, Cyrille lifted his head to capture your lips in a soft and quite tender kiss. As you received his kiss with a contented sigh, you began to shift back and forth on top of him, as the tip of his cock was still inside of you. Taking him in, just the tip, of rocking back and forth like that, with your mouths still pressed together, you both moaned softly.
Cyrille reached down and slid his hands under your skirt. The skirt caught on his wrists and was pushed up some ways as Cyrille grasped your ass, holding you. He loved how he could feel your entire body shifting back and forth on top of him to take him in, and he also appreciated how he could feel your lips pull back just a little as you shifted back but then quickly press against his mouth once more as you when you leaned forward again.
You began to roll your hips a little, and your kisses became even more fervent, as both of you were starting to feel the heat rising between your thighs. Cyrille’s nails dug slightly into your ass, encouraging you to take more and more of him in.
“Mm,” you breathed out, working yourself against him, and feeling such a blissful feeling between your legs, right at your pussyhole. You were only taking in the first inch or so of your cock, but you were certainly making the most of it.
“Oh, princess, you’re fucking teasing me,” Cyrille growled against your lips, as you stayed resolutely at the tip of his cock, milking it for all it was worth, but never slipping down any further.
“I’m n-not teasing,” you replied honestly. “It just feels so – so good like this. Uhn…”
Your eyes were becoming glassy with pleasure, and you tilted your head back, stretching out like a little cat on top of Cyrille, with your paws pressed together up against his chest. As you rocked back and forth on the tip of his cock, feeling the tip stretch out your pussyhole a little bit with each rock, and losing yourself to that delicious feeling of the tip going in and out, in and out, rubbing at your entrance in the most pleasant way, it made you feel all fuzzy and you were all but purring with happiness.
Cyrille was very amused, watching you use his cock as you wanted to please yourself. You seemed totally lost in your own pleasure, not realizing that he was fucking aching with his need to be inside you…
Angel, you’re selfish, he teased you in his head. Not realizing how my cock is throbbing to be all the way inside you. Though he would rather die than ever admit it to you, Cyrille took his own advice and counted to ten in his head. One, two, three… When he hit ten, Cyrille suddenly thrust up into you, pushing his cock hard and fast up into you.
“Uhn!” You gasped, and your eyes shot open wide as you suddenly felt yourself incredibly stuffed and stretched by Cyrille’s hard cock. He wasn’t even inside you all the way, and you were already turning into a whimpering, struggling mess, shifting on your knees back and forth as much as you could, subconsciously trying to create friction to make yourself wetter and more relaxed to take him, but it was too late – he was so deep inside you, and pushing deeper, making you take him, filling you up so, so good –
“Ah!” You had been holding your breath and whimpering, but finally, a high-pitched cry burst from your lips. You gasped for air, and then let out a long, low moan. “Uhnnn…”
You started to lean forward to lift your hips up, to create some distance between you and Cyrille, but Cyrille’s arms locked around your waist and held you pressed against him, keeping your ass and pussy low for the taking.
“Remember,” Cyrille whispered, “you have a safe word. But if you don’t utter it, you’re mine.” At the word “mine,” he thrust into your pussy as hard and fast as he wanted, taking your tightness as his own, and forcing quite a bit more of his cock inside of you than you were taking seconds before, when you were happily and naively milking only the tip. You squirmed in his embrace; his strong arms kept you securely pinned down on top of him.
“C-Cy!” you gasped weakly, as his hips jerked up into the air, thrusting his cock into you. His cock couldn’t fit inside you all the way yet, but as a result, towards the base of the cock, his cock seemed to widen out and slam up against your pussy hole, stretching you out quite intensely.
“Uhn!” Your cry ripped through the air. You knew you needed to take a deep breath, but before you could draw breath, his cock was pressing punishingly at your tight little hole again, and another moan was pushed out of you.
“Fuck,” Cyrille groaned, as a pleasure so strong it was almost relief coursed through his body. You were wrapped so beautifully around his aching cock.
He tried to give you a moment, to see if you would use your safe word. When you didn’t, a low growl escaped the back of his throat, and Cyrille began to push into you harder and harder, forcing your hips up higher and higher into the air every time he took you.
“Uh! Uh! Uhn!” You felt yourself being pushed up into the air with each thrust, bucking forward slightly only to come back down onto Cyrille’s cock again, and then be taken yet again.
Cyrille had his hands gripping your waist under your sweater and shirt, and he was unintentionally guiding you to sit down more heavily on him, so he could fuck you deeper. He wasn’t conscious of it, but you certainly were, as you found yourself being pushed up more and more vertically, and the little distance between his thighs and yours slowly vanished, until his thighs were smacking up against yours as he fucked you deeply.
Your hands bounced uselessly in the air, as they were still tied together. Your curls, too, were creating quite a pretty show behind you, swishing in the air as Cyrille pounded up into your little pussy and with a heavy hand, made you ride his cock back.
You were still just a bit too tight. He was slamming into your tight walls deep inside of you that were protecting your cervix, and Cyrille couldn’t quite make you take all of his cock. Your cunt was literally dripping wet, as your body worked hard to make you slick to ease how deeply and roughly you were being taken. But it was too much for you – you couldn’t take it – “Nngh, C-Cy, ah…”
With a heavy exhale, you collapsed on top of Cyrille, your head coming to rest on his shoulder just below his head.
Cyrille hugged you tight in his arms and kissed your face all over with fervent kisses, but he didn’t stop fucking you, and his cock was drumming a hard rhythm of rising pleasure and intense tension between your thighs.
“A-Ah! Ah!” You couldn’t even get a proper moan out, he was fucking you far too hard for that. He wasn’t all the way inside of you, knowing that that might still hurt you, for he could feel how tight you still were, but he was certainly making up for it with his fast, hard rhythm.
“Fuck, I’m close already,” Cyrille choked out. “Angel, your pussy takes cock so well – just gripping me so tightly – uhn…”
At this, a sensation of affection burst through all of the tension that overtaking both your body and mind. You found yourself thinking, You may be a dominant, but you’re soft for me, Cyrille. I know it now, and I love you for it. You sound so cute when you’re about to cum.
When you heard him moan softly, you tried to look up at him, wanting very much to see his expression. Only, he was holding you so tightly that you couldn’t tilt your head back very much to look at him. Blinking hard, you found yourself looking up at Cyrille through your lashes.
“C-Cy?” you managed to whisper, wanting him to meet your gaze. Even as you spoke, though, he was pounding into you, and your breath hitched, interrupting your calling for him.
Cyrille heard you though, and he looked down at you. Seeing the way you were trying your best to gaze up at him, he murmured, “You’re so soft and adorable, angel.” He thrust up into you again, pushing yet another moan out of you.
You felt his arms tighten around you, pressing you down quite tightly against his chest and making sure your body was flush to his, so he could fuck your little pussy hard and fast. But honestly, you felt so safe in his arms. You loved that he was holding you like this, all tight and loving, even as he ruined your pussy with his cock.
“Are you – Are you going to c-cum?” you asked him, panting hard.
“You’ve no idea how much I want to… but I won’t cum just yet, princess,” Cyrille said, though he groaned slightly as he restrained himself.
Cyrille slowed down a little with his thrusts to tell you, “Up against the boxes. Now.”
“Hm?”
Cyrille pulled you both up so that you were standing together. Then, stepping up behind you, he kissed you lightly on your shoulder before he grasped your waist, turned you around, and pushed you forward against the boxes. You fell forward on top of them, bending at the waist and folding over them very naturally, as though you were a falling ballerina.
Cyrille admired you for a moment, seeing the back of your beautiful long legs, streaked lightly with cum. Then, he pushed up the back of your skirt to reveal your ass all flushed pink and your pussy still glistening wetly.
Seeing you like that, Cyrille realized how much you trusted him, how willingly you spread yourself open for him, to take you in the most intimate way and to touch you in your most intimate places. And unlike his other lovers, who would perform the same actions for anyone remotely resembling his status or his physicality, you did so only because it was him. You only allowed yourself to be so vulnerable because you genuinely trusted him, and he was so very thankful for that.
Letting go of his fears and insecurities, Cyrille finally refused to second-guess himself as he brought his hand down against your ass. Smack! This time, his slap left a fresh, boldly outlined handprint on your plush skin.
Your eyes flew open, as a sharp sensation flashed on your skin, followed by a strong stinging on your rear. Fuck, that was hard, you thought to yourself, biting down on your lower lip. Yet, something about it made you feel… free. Besides, you liked having Cyrille’s handprint on you, to tell the truth. You’d been a bit sad when the last one faded away on you from your session at the library. But there was a bit more, too, because the initial slap made your pussy throb and then the stinging sensation ran up your spine in a surprisingly delicious manner… These sensations made you, well, truthfully, it made you want to get fucked. It made you want to feel your little cunt get stuffed full of cock over and over, until you came… Mmm, you thought to yourself, moaning in your head. Yeah, I want to be fucked, and I want to cum. I want to cum so bad. You subconsciously wiggled your ass back and forth a little, wanting very much to be fucked again.
Cyrille paused. You were so cute like that, shifting your bum in front of him. But as Cyrille’s eyes went from admiring you generally to falling onto your pussy, he recognized that your tight little hole was asking to be absolutely stuffed with cock and wrecked with a good pounding.
I can give her that, Cyrille knew. His cock throbbing with need, Cyrille abruptly ripped your skirt off of you. It fell onto your feet, catching around your ankles.
Cyrille slapped your ass hard again – “Ah!” you cried out – and he ordered, “Legs apart. Now.”
Leaning your weight forward onto your elbow, you obediently stepped out of your skirt and pulled your feet apart, opening yourself up for Cyrille.
Cyrille stepped close behind you, and after rubbing your wet cunt a few times with his hand, he then forced the tip of his cock back inside of your warmth.
You breathed out, shutting your eyes tightly. His cock is throbbing, and he feels so swollen... Fuck, I’m never going to get used to the tight sensation of when he first enters me, am I?
Cyrille waited for you to adjust, though he moved his hips back and forth a little to coax you to open up quicker. When you felt him pressing against you, quickly opening you up and spreading your walls apart deeper and deeper, your tummy tightened a little. He’s impatient, you realized. Well, he always is. What I mean is that he’s not trying to hide anymore.
Sure enough, as soon as your slick walls showed just a little less resistance, Cyrille pushed his hips forward quickly, sinking his cock deep inside of you. When, at the end, he felt that your walls were still tight, he thrust a little, and pushing through, he hit up against your cervix.
You felt the curve of his cock moving through you, and then, you gasped a little when you felt his cock push into your deepest part, into that softest and warmest part of you that was desperate for attention…
“Are you feeling me, angel?” Cyrille asked you, whispering sweetly, with his voice thin and curving curiously, like the slender and mesmerizing shape of a crescent moon. “Can you feel how deep inside of you I am?”
“Yes…”
“Tell me you can feel me, princess,” Cyrille whispered. His nails dragged down your hips onto your ass and he gripped your ass hard, making you feel how sore you were already all over your ass from your spanking before.
“Feels so – so deep,” you admitted, murmuring.
Cyrille kept himself buried inside of you, not pulling out even a little, as he began to roll his hips into you.
At first, you winced slightly and tightened as you felt the tip of his cock repeatedly pressing hard against your cervix, with no respite whatsoever. You bit down on your lower lip, and your hands squeezed together, with your nails digging into the back of your hands.
“Do you need to use your safeword?” Cyrille murmured.
“N-No,” you stuttered out softly. You fidgeted slightly as the feeling of his cock pressing so deep inside of your softness was admittedly uncomfortable, sending little ripples of overstimulation through you. However, your thoughtless moving only created friction between the two of you, and you both groaned together.
That slight friction of your pussy rubbing back on his cock made Cyrille grit his teeth. “Fuck,” he growled. “I could fucking cum in you right now.”
“I want you to,” you mumbled back. “Cum in me, Cy. Cum in my pussy.”
“I haven’t even fucked you yet,” Cyrille muttered. “Not properly, the way this pussy deserves to be.”
“By you,” you told him.
Cyrille paused, as the warmth of your words washed over him. “Yes,” he said softly, “by me.”
“Good girl,” he murmured to you tenderly.
You nodded your head a little, affirming what you’d just said and wanting Cyrille to remember that you thought of yourself as his.
Deserves to be… The words stayed with you, for some reason. Because, you realized, they demand reciprocity. You hesitated, and then you found the courage to say, “You know, it’s the… the same for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t forget that you’re mine,” you told him softly. “You can’t let anyone else be with you this way. No one else gets to make you cum like I do. Only me. Only I get you this way. You can only cum in me. Please. Promise me.”
“Angel, of course,” Cyrille whispered adoringly.
“I mean it, Cy,” you told him, a bit embarrassed to be so demanding, but meaning it all the same. “Only I get to be fucked and spanked by you.”
“I promise you, princess,” Cyrille said sincerely. “I’m yours. I thought that was obvious. And yes, I’ll only cum in you.”
“Oh, Cy,” you moaned tenderly. “That’s all I want.”
Cyrille felt your pussy pulse on his cock, and he groaned again.
“And I promise,” you told him sincerely, “I promise I’ll be a good girl for you. I will. I’ll do my absolute best for you.”
With his cock still buried inside of you between your legs, Cyrille squeezed your ass hard in his hands and then gave you a stinging smack again.
“Uhn!” you gasped, jolting a little. It was your reaction – that little jolt, and that desperate and shocked gasp, that spurred Cyrille forward. Grabbing your hips again, Cyrille thrust into you hard, snapping his hips forward violently and without warning.
“Ah!” You cried out and you felt your elbows dragging forward on top of the boxes as you were shoved forward by the force of his thrust. Heat flared up between your legs, and there was an intense pressure repeatedly pounding into your pussy, stretching you out so much at your entrance and hitting up against you deep inside of you. You gritted your teeth. Being taken like this, so passionately, was almost too much to bear. But there was also a deep sense of pleasure flowering inside of you, both physically, as you were steadily getting very, very wet between your legs, and also emotionally, because this deep pressure claiming you so fiercely was none other than Cyrille’s physical manifestation of his promise to love you and only you…
Cy, Cy, Cy, you murmured your lover name’s in your head to yourself with such love and affection, and then to think that he was actually inside you now, not just in your dreams, but merging himself with you in reality –
“‘S too much,” you mumbled pitifully, as you were fucked hard against the boxes, with the wooden edges of the crates digging into your plush thighs as Cyrille slammed you against the side of the boxes repeatedly with how hard he was taking you. “‘S too much.” The words kept slipping out of your mouth without you really being conscious of them. “It hurts,” you whispered to yourself, but you were talking about your heart, not your body. All of the emotions were dredging up inside of you, and squeezing your heart so tightly it felt like a physical reality. It was too much love and too much sorrow to bear. You moaned softly, “I just wanna – wanna be fucked…”
Hearing your soft little whispers, Cyrille began to slow down his pace, but you shook your head frantically and moaned, “No, please, k-keep going… Uhh…”
As you vaguely finished speaking, a moan left you as a new rush of cum left you, streaming down your thighs and down your lover’s cock. You put your head down on the boxes and moaned, but you were too dazed to realize to what extent you’d cummed, for despite the release of cum, the slow, steady burn in your tummy, deep in your pussy, and all over your ass was continuing to smolder on. You were intent on satisfying the burning ache inside of you, so much so that you didn’t even realize that you were cumming. I need to be fucked properly, filled over and over again, you told yourself feverishly, and you nodded blurrily.
“Angel?” Cyrille whispered, reaching up for a moment to push back his long hair, slightly dampened now with sweat at his temples.
“I didn’t use my safeword,” you reminded him. Your voice was slightly faint, but your words curved into whines, betrayed your desire. “P-Please, you were fucking me so well…”
“I’m not hurting you?” Cyrille asked you.
“No,” you moaned, “no hurt… Just, please, keep g-going…”
Cyrille’s brow furrowed. He’d never quite heard you like before. You’d always moaned so sweetly for him, but you’d clearly gone beyond that, and were now begging, almost pitifully, to be fucked.
“I was c-close, Cy,” you told him. “I’m about to… I’m going to… c-cum.”
Lost in your own world, you shivered all over. Yes, I want to cum on him, on Cy, my love. I don’t just want his cum, I want him to feel me cumming for him, too. Cum and cum and cum, endlessly, for him… My love… I love him so much. I’m going to miss him so much.
You swallowed hard. “Please… Let me cum,” you whispered. “Don’t stop, Cy. I was feeling your cock inside of me, and I need you… I need you to keep going.”
At this, Cyrille lifted an eyebrow at you. You weren’t just “close,” angel, he thought wryly. You were already cumming all over my cock, nearly squirting – and you just think you were merely “close” or “about to”? How fucked out are you already that you don’t even know what a mess you are?
“Fine,” he told you. He smacked your ass again, not hard, but letting his palm stick to your pretty ass for a moment, pressing against you. Then, he said, “Up on the boxes and spread your thighs, angel. I’ll fuck you deeper. I’ll make you cum. I promise.”
You whimpered, but in pleasurable anticipation. You slowly managed to push yourself further up on the pile of boxes, until you were hanging over the far edge of the boxes, with your ass propped up right on the near edge of the boxes, presenting yourself beautifully before Cyrille. Cum on your clit messily, but softly, dripped down onto your thighs. Cyrille reached down and rubbed your cunt wetly for a few seconds, loving the way your slick cum let his fingers slide all over your puffy pink pussy lips.
Cyrille admired how perky and plush your ass was, just waiting for him, and how smooth your thighs were, leading up to your sweet little cunt, waiting so patiently and politely to be fucked raw by him.
Cyrille placed both his hands on your thighs ands gently pressed down, pulling your pussy hole apart.
“Ah…” You breathed out lightly.
Bending down, Cyrille kissed your pussy wetly.
“Cy…!” You cried out.
He sucked on your pussy lovingly.
“O-Oh, God, fuck,” you moaned.
“I couldn’t resist myself tasting you, angel,” Cyrille murmured, and his lips glistened with your cum as he straightened up again.
“Do I taste good?” you mumbled to him.
“Heavenly,” he assured you. “You know, someday, I’m going to tie you up and make you sit on my mouth and cum on my face for hours, angel. I’m not joking.”
You gulped a little, both loving the idea and feeling slightly apprehensive at the idea of idea of having to cum for hours and hours. Well, I suppose this is close to that, you thought to yourself. We do fuck for quite a long time. We draw out every session because we know how precious they are. I’m always sore and exhausted afterwards, but it’s so worth it, to be with him like this.
As you were chewing on your thoughts, Cyrille had slid his hands up your back, pushing up your sweater and blouse again. He then grasped your shoulders tightly. Penetrating your cunt again with his cock, Cyrille simultaneously pushed you down on his swollen shaft, anchoring you to him.
You clenched your teeth. “Cy, it feels so- so tender…”
“I know, princess, you’re all soft and warm inside,” Cyrille murmured sympathetically, as he pushed his cock impatiently inside of you. “It’s because you’ve cumming so much.”
You blinked. Did I cum that much? Maybe I did. I do feel exhausted, but to be honest, I… I want to cum again.
“Ah!” Your thoughts cut off as Cyrille gripped your shoulders and holding you down firmly, he thrust into you again. At long last, he was all the way inside of you, with his balls pressed up against your pussyhole. He let out a harsh sigh of relief. Finally, I’m inside my angel, Cyrille groaned in his head. And fuck, she gets so tight right at the end, squeezing my cock like that, she’s just asking to be cummed in at this point. How have I resisted cumming in her before?
Not today, though, he thought to himself fervently. Today, I’ll cum in her over and over again. I want her dripping with my cum.
A small voice whispered in the back of his head, What if she gets pregnant?
She won’t because she’ll cast the spells and I don’t believe she wants children, so the spells will work, Cyrille knew.
What if she gets pregnant anyways?
To this question, Cyrille’s answer was steady, strong, and immediate: Then I drop everything and live with her and protect her with my life.
With that, Cyrille shut off his mind. Finally, and for the first time ever with you, he gave himself over completely to his sexual energy, not holding back, and lost totally in the alluring and dizzying sense of control and heightened pleasure. Your skin was soft precisely because you were meant to be spanked, tugged, groped, and pounded into. The musky, yet sweet scent of your sweat and cum were meant to be drawn out and shared with and tasted by him. The whimpers and cries that came from your mouth were all to be coaxed out by him. Your body was for his pleasure, but so was his for yours. You would submit to him, and he would, in turn, show you pleasure as you’d never known before, pleasure that would leave you a whimpering mess, cumming helplessly all over your cock, perhaps even crying.
“Angel, my beautiful girl,” he promised you, “you’re going to be fucked.”
With that, Cyrille rammed into you, taking full advantage of how wonderfully spread out for him you were atop the boxes.
“F-Fuck!” The word was wrenched from your lips and spat out into the air.
Draped over rough wooden crates, with your spanked ass high in the air, legs splayed out rather helplessly, and hands bound together by ribbon, you clenched your teeth hard as your boyfriend fucked you more roughly than he ever had before. He growled as he took you, unforgivingly pushing himself deep into your sex so as to marry pleasure and pain.
You moaned lowly. Though Cyrille was gripping your shoulders too tightly for you to fall forward completely, you were hanging your head in preparation to receive your “proper” fucking. And he gave it to you.
You whimpered as you felt your entire body shifting quite vigorously on top of the boxes as Cyrille drove his cock deep inside of you. Your head lolled a little with every deep, hard thrust, that you had to receive. You felt a soft, but incessant yank at your shoulder, as Cyrille’s hands on your shoulders were forcing you to fuck him back.
Your lower tummy was starting to burn already, as his cock was so deep inside of you. Your cervix was fast becoming sore, but the feeling of being pounded into so deeply sent butterflies flying of inside the rest of you, making you feel all tingly right to your very toes and fingertips.
Your curls tumbled forward and swayed back and forth, almost bouncing, as Cyrille rutted into you hard and fast, using your tight little cunt as though he owned you.
He was working your body so hard, sexing you so roughly, that you felt like your entire body was made purely for sex - that your pussy was only so tight because it was supposed to be stretched out, that your thighs and ass were so soft and plush and creamy, but only because they were made to be spanked until they were raw and bright red.
The sheer intensity of sensation – of being so roughly fucked and spanked and held down – was overwhelming you, and while there was a familiar wave of deep pleasure rising in your tummy, your heart was also pounding so hard that you could hear it in your ears, and it suddenly occurred to you that you were holding your breath.
Breathe, you reminded yourself, breathe… Uhn! Oh, God, it’s just so deep. I might cry… Broken moans spilled from your mouth as you were doing your best to keep from outright crying.
Cyrille, growling deeply, and in an aggressive way that you’d never heard from him before, suddenly lifted one hand to spank your ass. Wondrously, a spurt of genuine pleasure blossomed in your tummy at the sharp sting on your ass.
Cyrille continued to spank your pink ass a bright, crimson red, leaving you with several overlapping handprints, as he continued to take you hard and fast.
Cyrille, seeing the way your head was tucked down, reached down with one hand. Gripping your curls, he yanked your head back up, forcing you to arch your back. His pulling you up like that unlocked something in you. Though you’d been somewhat quiet so far, with your head down and only a low series of moans and whimpers escaping you, having your head lifted sent fresh air into your deprived lungs, and you suddenly burst out, “C-Cy – F-Fuck – Uhn! Uh, uh, uhn!” Your whole body was rocking back and forth on the crates, and there was such a beautiful feeling bursting forth within your throat, making you cry out, and yet your cry was only an echo of the much more intense and gorgeous feeling between your thighs…
Angel’s so close, Cyrille recognized, breathing quite hard himself. She’s so beautiful like this, all out of her mind with want and sensation. I can tell she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s feeling too much, and she’s losing herself – exactly as a submissive should. All she’s aware of feeling is where I touch her – my hands on her, my thighs against hers, and my cock inside of her. All she can see or smell or hear is me, too. She’d try anything for me now, willingly. I know it. I can tell by the way her moans are so needy and lovely, and how her body is responding to mine. Her tummy’s tight with both trying to and trying not to cum at the same time, and her face is so prettily flushed and she’s moaning, fucking moaning like she’s about to cry, when she’s about to cum… Mmm, fuck!
Cyrille felt your cunt clenching on his cock then, begging him to cum, too.
Fuck, I can’t resist her, Cyrille thought in his head.
“Yes,” Cyrille almost snarled at you, fucking you hard enough that his thighs were slapping hard against the back of yours, even though your legs were spread wide open for him. “Take me, take me just like that. Good fucking girl. Mmm, pussy’s so tight, so fucking tight – fuck -!”
“Hah – ah – ah!” Stuttered moans were filling the air, bleeding from your lips in perfect response to Cyrille’s thrusts and growls. “Ah, ah, ah!” Your voice ripped through the air so wantingly. You felt your core tighten intensely, and just then, Cyrille’s cock slammed into right where your core was all wrapped-up – and that was it. That was all you could take.
“Ah -!” Crying out wantonly, your elbows slipped out from you and you fell flat onto the boxes, slipping out of Cyrille’s grasp. You shivered uncontrollably as thick, white creamy cum slowly but steadily dripped from your pussy.
Hands falling onto your thighs, Cyrille gripped your thighs in his hands as fucked you a few times more at his intense pace, but when he saw your cum covering the length of his cock – he couldn’t help himself. He thrust into you again, then stopped, and his high, soft moan broke through his growls. Cyrille’s cum spurt from his cock, hitting up against your cervix and flooding your pussy with his hot liquid.
You moaned weakly, feeling his cum coat your walls and mix with your cum. Panting loudly and still quivering atop the boxes, with your thighs twitching, you felt so loved to have Cyrille’s cum filling up your pussy deep inside you.
“Angel,” Cyrille breathed out, his voice tight with both exhaustion and desire as he emptied the last of his cum inside of you.
“Cy,” you moaned, your voice breaking.
You tried to push yourself up onto your palms to get up to kiss him, but Cyrille kept you pinned down, pressing his hands down on your back.
“Stay down,” he told you. Cyrille slid his cock between your ass cheeks, and pushing your ass cheeks together a little with his hands, he rubbed his cock against your ass, slowly making himself hard enough to take you again.
“Breathe while you can, angel,” Cyrille warned you through his own pants. “You’re going to take me again, so rest while you can.”
You lay there, eyes wide open, as you realized that Cyrille was serious, that he wasn’t done with you, and that he’d be taking you again in a matter of minutes.
You breathed shallowly, feeling Cyrille’s cock beginning to rise again. Yes, you could feel the veins and ridges of his handsome cock sliding in-between your ass cheeks.
“Mm,” Cyrille murmured lowly. “I really should have spanked you before today. Seeing your ass with my handprints all over it – fuck, princess, you are so pretty.”
Listening to his words, you flushed, both with embarrassment and with pleasure. “Cy,” you mumbled. “I told you – I love your hands on me.”
Damn, she says the sweetest things. How does she know exactly how to say? Cyrille wondered. His eyes traced your body, starting from your wet pussy and creamy thighs, then traveling up the roundness of your pretty ass before dipping down across the small of your back to your tight little waist. From there, your soft curves flowed upwards, and with you pressed down against the boxes like this, your breasts were part of your lovely silhouette. And of course, who could fail to mention your unruly curls, and that scar on the back of your neck. Cyrille reached forward and pressed his hand warmly on the back of your neck for a moment. And for that moment, everything was familiar between the two of you again.
“Now,” Cyrille said, once he’d coaxed his cock to be ready for you yet again, which honestly, didn’t take much today, what with the gorgeous view you were giving him. “Show me what a good girl you are for me, angel.” He whispered to you, and somehow, his voice was warm and cold at the same time, “On the floor. And on your knees.”
He stepped back from you, to let you get up. A bit unsteadily, you managed to push yourself up with your still tied-together hands.
Cyrille put his cloak down on the floor for you. You started to sink onto the floor on top of his cloak, but before you did, Cyrille reached over and grasped you by your waist.
“Wait,” he said. “Angel, are you all right?” His eyes softened as he took in your flushed, breathless face, and the slightly dazed expression you had on even now, even after your little break.
“Was that too rough?” Cyrille asked you. “Tell me the truth. You know I can be gentle, princess, if that’s what you want.”
“No, Cy, I’m all right.” Leaning into him, you weakly pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, and your fingertips fumbled a little at his chest. You wanted to kiss him, and you wished you could put your arms around his neck to pull him down so he’d kiss you.
Cyrille hugged you to him and acquiesced to your want, kissing you fervently and lovingly for a long moment. You breathed out, and a soft smile graced your face.
Cyrille gently touched your chin with his hand. Then, he murmured, “All right. If you’re really all right, then, on your knees, my love, and put your head to the floor.”
“I’m a little messy, though - um, from cum,” you told him. “Do you really want me to present like that for you when I’m already all covered in cum?”
“Yes, angel, that’s exactly why I want you in this position,” Cyrille replied straightforwardly. “I want to see your pussy filled with my cum, and your thighs dripping and painted all over with my cum…”
You blushed, but you nodded. Then, you slowly knelt down onto his cloak before turning around and bending over. You gently lifted your ass into the air for Cyrille to witness your cum-covered cum, and to fuck it again. You supposed that you would be on your hands and knees otherwise, but with your hands tied together, you had no choice except to put your face down against the floor. You tried to put your hands against the floor, but they ended up pressing against your breasts uncomfortably, so instead, you opted to reach down and push your hands between your legs, just below your pussy, and you held onto your thighs, sweetly holding yourself open for Cyrille to take you as his.
Cyrille’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw you sink down onto the floor and give him such a gorgeous view. You slid your head over just a bit so you could look down at him curiously, wondering if he was going to take you. Your eyes were so lovely, and then, there you were, waiting for him, all propped up and spread open so willingly for him.
Fuck, she’s stunning, Cyrille thought, and it could not be plainer that she wants to be fucked hard tonight. Just look at her, wanting it so badly, setting herself up so all I need to do is enter her and fill up that tight pussy. He swallowed hard. Needless to say, his cock twitched with intense anticipation when he saw your puffy little pussy waiting for him, already drenched in white cream and glistening cum, and waiting to be taken, pounded, and cummed in yet again. The sight was even more beautiful because of how red your ass, plastered in handprints thanks to Cyrille.
You were his woman, his angel, and Cyrille was going to make sure you never forgot him, never forgot tonight. No, he thought, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk tomorrow. And you’ll have to think of me every time you sit down for the following week.
And when you dream at night, I’ll be the only man you ever dream of, giving you pleasure in your mind as you work your little fingers against yourself. Because you’ll know that no one else can do what I do to your body and your mind, liberate you entirely from any sense of restraint until you’re cumming shamelessly, over and over again.
To do so, Cyrille knew that he had to drive your body to its very limits – stretch your pussy out as much as he could and then pound it – absolutely wreck you and finally, when you were ruined and sobbing, he’d fill you with his cum for you to remember him by.
Yes, Cyrille thought savagely, my princess will look so good like that, crying and stuffed with cum. Mm, it’s all I want, to see her in such a state. And I’m sure now that she wants it, too. Just look at that pretty face of hers, with her bright, curious eyes, wondering how I’ll ruin her, and then there’s that perky little ass waving in the air for me. She’s so adorable, wanting cock to pound her little hole.
With that, Cyrille fell onto his knees and lining himself up, he grasped your thighs on the other side, wrapping his large hands against the front of your slim thighs before penetrating you again.
“Oh,” you breathed out.
“You’re being fucked so much today, aren’t you?” Cyrille murmured to you.
“Yes…” you sighed out happily.
“Does it feel good?”
“Mhm,” you mumbled. “Cy, I love you…”
Cyrille laughed lightly. “Angel, you’re drunk on cock, aren’t you?”
“Um…” You thought about this for a second before you gave in and nodded a little, nodding “yes” both to his question and to the wonderful feeling of his cock sinking into you once again.
Cyrille outwardly scoffed at you, but he couldn’t deny that your admission made his cock throb inside of you.
You shivered and moaned lowly. “You’re so hard, Cy, even though you just came…”
“I know I am, princess. And it’s all for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. You know what you do to me, angel,” he whispered to you, and his voice was very serious. “You know –“
“Uhn,” you breathed out, as he started to thrust into you.
“ – if I had it my way, you would always -“
“Uhn!”
“ – be filled with my cum.”
He thrust harder, hard enough that your ass bounced off of him when he pushed into you. He moaned and leaned forward slightly on his knees, stretching you out as he forced his cock all the way in.
“Uhn!” Your moans were ramping up in how desperate they were, as Cyrille fucked his cock back inside of you.
“You know that what you do to me is almost cruel,” Cyrille whispered, and the intensity of his voice made you suddenly realize that Cyrille, in his own way, was actually confessing to you. Somehow, despite how much in love you were with him, you were breaking his heart. You were leaving him, for you would never accept any future where you aligned with Voldemort. And of course, it was his choice not to follow you, but still, you made an already difficult path a truly heart-breaking one for him. And still – he loved you, and he would spend all the nights he could with you until the two of you were forced to part.
The pain of possibly losing you again made Cyrille want this night to last forever, and he could no longer tamp down his need (a need he usually managed to keep hidden away) to possess you tonight. You felt his hands gripping your waist hard. At first, it simply felt warm and lovely to have him hold you that way, but he kept squeezing harder and harder as he pushed his cock inside of you more and more intensely.
You whimpered, for it was getting hard to breathe, and in your position of head down, ass up, the blood was already rushing to your head. Your mind was quickly starting to spin. You clutched on tighter to your own thighs and focused on the decidedly physical feeling of your boyfriend fucking you.
Cyrille groaned in satisfaction as he plunged his cock back into your cum-covered cunt. His satisfaction grew more and more as he fucked you harder and harder. His fingers were gripping your waist hard enough to leave bruises. Not to mention, your own nails were digging into the softness of your thighs. As your cum from before spread everywhere, making a mess of you both, a sharp, slapping sound rang out in time with your whimpers, and the the sharp sounds tangled with the soft sounds, until both echoed in the spacious chamber of the glass boathouse where the two of you were fucking.
Cyrille’s hips jerked back and forth forcefully, almost violently, as his cock was railing into your beautiful little pussy, presented up in the air, waiting for him and only him to claim you.
Your ass and thighs were stinging all over, having been spanked and pounded into all night long, and yet, nothing could compare to the relentless pounding of in and out, in and out, in and out, right between your legs, thrusting so incredibly deep inside of you that you felt as though Cyrille was going to split you right open.
Yes, you moaned to yourself. He’s so deep inside me. His cock is just pounding my poor little pussy. I’m wet, but I’m still being spread open so, so much. I feel like he’s going to split me open. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“Cy,” you barely managed to choke out, “you’re – you’re taking me s-so hard.”
“And you’re still so fucking tight,” Cyrille hissed at you, without a touch of sympathy in his voice.
You whimpered. “C-Cy, please…”
Letting go of your thighs, Cyrille reached down with one hand and shoved his hand between your thighs to massage your clit roughly.
“Oh God, don’t!” you begged. “Don’t touch me! I’ll cum again!”
Cyrille smirked. “You make it sound like a threat, angel. When will you understand that I love seeing you cum? You’ll cum for me, angel. I don’t care that you’re embarrassed, or that you don’t want to show me how you squirt or cream. I want your cum, and short of you using your safeword, you know you’re going to have to give it to me, princess. Nothing tastes as good as your cum, and nothing feels better than when I’m fucking you right through your orgasm, pounding that spasming little pussy. Mmm, just thinking about it makes me hard as all hell. See what you do to me? The least you can do for me is to cum.”
“Cy,” you said breathlessly, embarrassed by how openly he talked about how you did squirt and cream for him. And you weren’t sure how many more times you could cum tonight. Your pussy was being used so roughly and so many times tonight… “But I’ve already – already cum so much,” you told Cyrille. “If you k-keep making me cum, I’m not gonna – gonna last – I – I – ah!”
Cyrille, who had briefly paused to hear you speak to him, resumed fucking your pussy and roughly massaging your clit.
“U-Uhn!” you moaned out loudly, as his fingers and cock drove you into yet another cumming session.
When Cyrille felt your pussy walls squeeze his cock, he quickly pulled out. Then, spreading out three fingers wide to stretch out your pussy hole, he violently finger fucked you as you came, making you squirt again.
You gasped as you felt your pussy being stretched as you came, and your face flushed a bright, embarrassed pink color as your cum was just squirting out all over the place again. It felt even more intense than being fucked through your orgasm, and Cyrille was drawing out as much cum from you as possible with his incessant finger-fucking, loving the way your cum was drenching his hand and wrist, and then dripping onto the floor.
“Fuck,” he groaned appreciatively. “I want you to cum again tonight. And again, and again. You cum so beautifully. I love it when you cum so messy, angel.”
“Y-You do?” you said, surprised. But he said before that he wanted me to cum all pretty and neat… I guess he was just teasing me, and he really does like this more… Thank Merlin, you breathed out a sigh of relief.
But the relief disappeared very, very quickly. For you felt Cyrille’s fingers inch upwards from your pussy and then, he fingered your asshole, which was a completely new sensation for you.
“C-Cy!” you cried out, startled. “N-No, I’ve n-never -“
“Is your ass virgin, my love?” Cyrille asked you, running his finger over your asshole before pressing down on it just slightly. Meanwhile, he thrust into you again, wanting you to keep his cock warm in your pussy for him as he considered whether or not to take your ass tonight.
You cried out, starting to become overstimulated. “Cy!” was all you could manage to cry out.
“If your pussy’s this tight, I can only imagine what your ass might feel like,” Cyrille muttered. Then, he groaned at the very thought of it. Princess’ ass, violating her little virgin hole, claiming it for the first time, as I should have claimed all of her for the first time… Fuck, I want her so bad. I want to feel her cum from being fucked in the ass. She’ll probably cream. Mmm, God, what I wouldn’t give to make her take me in the ass right this moment.
But you murmured out feverishly, “Cy! C-Cy! P-Please!”
Cyrille hesitated. Then, he asked you softly, “You don’t want me to take your ass just yet, do you, princess?”
You lay there, dizzy, and thought about it for a second. I’m scared. It might hurt. But… he would be my first. I want him to be my first. There’s no one else I would trust. Still…
“Um, m-maybe just a finger?” you blurted out, as a compromise. “But I think – I might be too tight…”
“I bet you are, princess,” Cyrille agreed, his mind groaning again with want. “All right, princess, and remember, you have your safeword.”
You nodded, swallowing hard.
Cyrille slowly began to insert his finger into your asshole, though it was an extremely tight fit, even for his one finger.
“Nngh…” You shut your eyes tightly to bear the strange of the new sensation.
You felt his finger starting to push deeper.
“Ah! C-Cy! Ah…!” Your nerves were not helping you whatsoever in how tight you were. Turning your head, you buried your face against Cyrille’s cloak underneath you and you sobbed. You were whimpering, and you didn’t even know it. It’s just so tight, uhn…
Cyrille quickly withdrew his finger. Leaning down, he pressed kisses all down your back and murmured, “That’s all right. Let’s not go there, angel.”
“No, I – I didn’t use my safeword,” you said softly. “I’m just nervous.”
“I know you are. So, we won’t,” Cyrille replied to you. “I’ll use your safeword for you: Raven. There.”
“That’s – That’s not how it works,” you said feebly.
Cyrille chuckled. “And the student becomes the master, does she?”
“Don’t worry, my love,” he assured you. “Your pussy can take all my cum tonight, hm? That’ll be satisfying enough. My angel, my girl…”
“Y-Yes,” you agreed, speaking as best as you could with your face pressed against the floor. You moaned for him, “P-Please, cum in your girl. Please… f-fill me with your cum. It’s all I w-want. Please.”
“Fuck, you sound so lovely, angel,” Cyrille praised you. “I love when you moan for me.”
Cyrille started to fuck your pussy again, hands on the sides of your ass to guide you down against him as his cock went deep inside of you. You moaned beautifully, hips bucking for a moment, shoulders straining, and abs appearing visibly for just a moment as you felt him delving inside of you, creating a lovely burn inside of you, one that quickly crested into pleasure.
Your sweater and shirt had fallen so far down your torso that Cyrille could see the soft undersides of your breasts and your straining shoulder blades. For a moment, he imagined wings bursting out of your shoulders. I suppose it is a sin, Cyrille thought wryly, to treat an angel like this. To tie her down and fuck her until her wings are twitching from having her pussy railed…
Cyrille fucked you a bit harder now, and he let out a soft breath as he murmured, “You’re so fucking delicate. I could break you, angel…”
He truly could, and he knew it. He could turn your wings back into feathers, shatter your glassy eyes into mosaics glittering on the floor, disintegrate your soft heart into rose petals… You’d be nothing but the wind to him, a memory once more, after today…
Cyrille sighed and watched you for a moment, your wet, juicy pussy taking his long, curved cock, while you quivered on the floor, in a lewd position you’d never be caught dead in for another man, but one in which you found yourself willingly propping yourself up for Cyrille, even putting your little hands on your thighs and then up to your pussy to spread your pretty lips apart, inviting Cyrille to fuck your cunt until he came in it…
I wish I could just marry you. Then, I’d tie you to our bed and cover you with kisses before I ruin you day and night. You’d never, ever question who you belong to, or who I belong to, Cyrille thought. But no, our paths are diverging so wildly in a matter of a few short weeks. Angel, you may never be mine again… So, just for tonight, be mine. Let me possess you, and you can have me – all of my cum, all of my desire for you… just for tonight.
Cyrille closed his eyes. Then, he started ramming his cock into you hard enough that your ass was bouncing in the air against him as he thrust inside of you hard and fast, making your wet little pussy even wetter until he was outright wrecking your poor pussy with his cock. Cyrille, who had been on his knees, put one leg up to give him just a little bit more height, and then he fucked down into you, angling himself to hit you very, very deep.
Loud whimpers rang out as you were subject to this position and angle in which Cyrille’s cock was claiming every bit of your pussy as his. Then, your whimpers become hoarse enough to sound strangled, as though he were choking you. He wasn’t, of course. Rather, you could only moan so much before your voice gave out…
Hazily, you recognized that the side of your face – mostly your cheek and cheekbone - was being rubbed pink and raw from shifting so much on the floor as Cyrille rocked hard and fast into you. He accentuated every few thrusts with a hard snap of his hips, driving deep inside of you to hit up against your core. Every time he did, you winced a little, but it still felt so good knowing how deep inside of you he was. You loved knowing that the man of your dreams, your beautiful, though secret, lover, was taking you so passionately, consummating your dream-like, seemingly non-existent relationship, in an unmistakably real and physical way.
Most days in the castle, you spent all of your time ignoring each other, pretending to be total strangers. No one knew that you spent your secret moments together like this, with him thrusting deep inside of you, and you taking it all, and though it might have seemed silly to others, you were so proud of yourself for being able to be the girl Cyrille could take and secretly fuck for his pleasure. You wanted, more than anything, to be the woman he cummed in every single night, bedding you as his, marking you as his, taking you as undeniably his, his, his…
Far from feeling demeaning, it made you feel like you were loved and safe, and it made you feel braver to know that you were his woman, and that he was yours too, equally so. You knew that if anyone ever hurt Cyrille, you would rip them apart before they could even blink. To be loved was not to feel lesser, but to feel greater. But for now, in this secret little world of yours, he was the one keeping you safe between his arms, even while he devoured your body ravenously by claiming your mouth with kisses, squeezing your waist with his large hands, punishing your ass with spanks, and fucking your pussy with his cock. Even your eyes were his, as he kept you totally mesmerized. Even now, with your face pressed against the floor, you’d managed to turn your head so you could look down at him and watch Cyrille, with his cut, sleek body, rail you from behind. Your voice, too, was his, as he repeatedly managed to push out strained moans and wanting whimpers from you. Even James had never made you whine this way, for you didn’t really like to hear yourself in this manner – all delicate-sounding and aching, because it made you feel like you were revealing too much of yourself. But with Cyrille, it wasn’t a question – if you didn’t make those sounds, if you didn’t release the incredible tension flaring up between your legs through your voice in some way, you’d lose your mind entirely. Those sounds were a compromise, to be honest, as was your begging for him.
Right now was a perfect example of that. He was fucking you so hard you had gone all dizzy, and your eyes slid blearily from your lover’s abs and from the vision of his dragon tattoo creeping around his side, down to the stone floor. Because you were in the boathouse, where the middle of the floor was cut away entirely and filled with water from the lake, you caught the shimmering waves in the moonlight splashing gently up against the boat docked inside, as well as the waves cresting up against the cement boundaries that contained the water.
You found yourself looking jealously at the water, for it was cresting in a softer and slower rhythm by far, than the intense, hard-paced, and absolutely punishing rhythm in which Cyrille was pounding your pussy.
It’s beyond stretching me out. I feel like I’m going to rip open, you thought, exhausted, but still trying your very best to withstand the burning between your thighs. And yet… the way his thick cock is filling me up, all swollen and like, and pushing against my pussy walls, opening me up, and then hitting so, so, deep as to make me shudder, it all – it all feels so good, so wonderful, to be taken like this by him. I never want him to stop. As long as it’s him, as long as it’s Cyrille, I love to take it all.
“L-Love you,” you mumbled out blearily. “Love you, C-Cy…”
Cyrille groaned loudly in response to your tender words. Then, gripping your ass hard enough that his nails sank into your already bright red flesh, Cyrille pushed his hips forward hard, and he slammed his cock as hard as he could against your cervix. You moaned weakly, but for the first time, Cyrille’s moan overtook yours. His head had tilted back, and his sculpted, fine chest expanded as he breathed in hard. His abs were also straining quite hard, tight-lined on his slender body, and own thighs and obliques were burning as he worked your body, putting his all in pounding you with his hard, stiff cock, over and over again.
“U-Uhn!” Your cries were becoming so feeble, as you could hardly draw breath, but they were clearly the most desperate ones yet.
“Do you need to use your safeword?” Cyrille asked you, his voice raspy.
You shook your head as best as you could, though it was difficult with your cheek pressed up against the floor.
Having received your assurance, Cyrille took no mercy on you, still violently taking your pussy as his, pushing his swollen cock into your tender cunt, reveling in how wet and warm you were, and loving at how, in your panicked squirming, your pussy was endlessly clenching down on his cock. You really didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your hands, still tied together, were scrabbling uselessly against his cloak on the floor. You were breathing shallowly, your eyes no longer making sense of anything you were seeing, not even the waves – and yet, your pussy was dripping wet, so beautifully soaked, and weeping with cum, and still taking cock, still taking a rough pounding, still letting him fuck and fuck and fuck you senseless…
“Ah – Ah, ah, ah!” Your legs gave out, and suddenly, you were lying flat on the floor, on top of Cyrille’s cloak.
Cyrille kept fucking you, lowering himself to stay with you, even as you fell onto the floor. Your hips and thighs bounced off of the hard cement floor as Cyrille continued to drive his cock deep into your aching pussy, pounding into your tight cunt, which was still gripping on his cock enough that your hips were being pulled up and then slammed back down with the force of his cock thrusting in and out of you.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Endless moans were dripping from your lips. Your eyes were tightly shut, and your bound hands were curled up tightly against your chest as you took Cyrille’s cock between your legs, even as your mind was starting to see stars and blank out.
This – This is pretty close to my dream, you thought hazily.
You felt Cyrille’s sharp jaw dig slightly into your shoulder and his cheek press against your curls as he lay on top of you to fuck you hard against the floor.
“Cy,” you panted, feeling both safe and suffocated under his weight “Cy, oh, fuck, ah, ah, ah…!”
Cyrille groaned right into your ear, “Princess, you’re so fucking wet.”
It was true. Soft squelches sounded out as your pussy was so wet in taking him. But it was hardly your fault. Any girl who was taking cock this hard and for this long would be gushing, you knew. So, you whimpered at the somewhat unfair accusation, not realizing how much Cyrille loved it. If you were wet, he was making you feel good, and he wanted that for you, and was so proud of that. And as for how good you were making him feel- well…
You gasped as Cyrille suddenly yanked you up in one swift pull and turned you over before pushing you down roughly so that he could take you in missionary position. He wanted to see your lovely face as he came in you – which was soon.
Rushing to be inside of you before he started cumming, Cyrille shoved your thighs apart and thrust back inside of you.
“Uhn!” You moaned as he pushed into you. Your thighs tensed hard. At once, the sounds of hard, rough fucking rang loud and clear as Cyrille took you and claimed you as his own, over and over again. His hands were on either side of your shoulders, meaning that his long arms were stretched out on either side of you, and his own shoulders and back were straining as he worked his hips into you quite intensely. Your delicate body, quivering underneath him, was at its limit, straining and squirming to take all of his brunt and force, and your poor pussy was very much overstimulated with so much cock relentlessly pounding away at it.
Your curls were in a complete mess, flowing all over the floor, and your chest was heaving up and down. You couldn’t breathe properly, for every time you tried, your body was rocked by another thrust that sent tingles up your spine and made your brain and heart stutter. “C-Cy, I c-can’t-!” Your words cut off as your eyes rolled back in your head. You were still obediently holding your thighs open, but they were shaking uncontrollably, and as your whole body was jolting with each thrust, so your hips were jerking up and down in the air.
Cyrille growled and ordered you, “Hold it for just a little longer, angel. Cum with me. I’m almost there, I swear. Just -“
“Cy, I c-can’t, I’m s-slipping,” you stammered out. Stars were beginning to burst in your mind. The ones in your tummy were straining to hold their light in.
“Cy!” you nearly cried out. You wanted to cry. Please let me cum! Please, please, please! I can’t – I can’t hold it back anymore!
“You will hold it, princess, or I’ll have to punish you,” Cyrille warned you.
Your only response was a strangled, “P-Please!”
Cyrille gave you a series of short, hard thrusts, letting his cock slam up into your core and then holding it there for a breath before giving you another extremely rough thrust.
“Uhn!” Your cries were being ripped from your throat. “Uh! Uh! Uhn!”
You started to sob. It felt so good, but it was just so much, so much for one pussy to handle... It was so brutal, but so delicious. Were you supposed to cum, or cry…? You weren’t sure anymore. All you knew was that your lover was so deep inside you that you were literally seeing stars, with bright spots appearing in your hazy vision. Your toes clenched hard in your shoes and your hands, still tied together, clasped tightly with one another.
I can’t take it, you thought to yourself. Again, whether this meant you were about to cry or cum, you weren’t sure.
Just as you thought that, Cyrille’s growl rumbled from his throat and then ripped through the air savagely. “Cum,” he commanded breathlessly, but authoritatively. “Cum with me. Now.”
It was such a sexy, low, dominant voice that you couldn’t help but melt in his arms and do exactly as he said. You both came together, gasping and shivering together as only lovers could do.
“C-Cy,” you breathed out, in a wavering voice that promised tears.
“Angel?” Cyrille panted out quietly. “You came so much… Are you all right?”
“S-Stay…” Your voice dropped off. You meant to say ‘stay in me,’ but you couldn’t finish your sentence.
But it was all right, for Cyrille knew what you meant anyways. And for once, Cyrille listened and didn’t pull out. Instead, he stayed buried deep inside of you and filled you up all the way with his cum.
You were moaning softly, loving that he was finally giving you what you wanted tonight, and not pulling away from you. “Thank you,” you mumbled softly, truly happy.
“Mm, you love taking cum, don’t you?” Cyrille whispered, looking down to see you all starry-eyed and rosy-cheeked. You’d managed to wrap your trembling legs around his waist, wishing he’d cum in you without pulling out, and he’d done that for you.
“If it’s yours…” you corrected him.
Cyrille bent down and kissed you deeply. The both of you tasted each other sweetly, trading kisses and breaths, as Cyrille gradually softened inside of you.
* * * * * * * * * *
Finally, the two of you had relaxed a little and weren’t shivering like mad together.
“Angel…” Cyrille breathed out.
“Cy,” you whispered against his mouth, completely exhausted.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
You shook your head.
“Did I frighten you?”
You shook your head again.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, or I will be…”
At this, Cyrille’s brow furrowed.
“… if you give me another kiss.”
Cyrille’s expression broke into one of relief. “Every time you ask me for a kiss, angel, my heart goes into a tailspin, you know.”
You laughed lightly. “Even after you’ve fucked me all night?”
“Especially after I’ve fucked you all night,” he corrected you.
You hummed happily as he leaned in to kiss you. Soft lips married soft lips for a moment, brushing against each other lovingly. As Cyrille closed his eyes, his long eyelashes brushed against your cheeks.
When you parted, Cyrille pressed his forehead to yours. He murmured, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you ask to be my submissive tonight?” Cyrille wondered. “You were right in that I was feeling vulnerable, and I’m grateful that you were trying to pull me out of that. But, you must have had your own reasons. So, tell me, why?”
You hesitated. How do I even begin to explain the sadness I feel in knowing that I’m going to lose him again after graduation? And how do I begin to explain my own version of possessiveness over him, that I want to be his best lover, knowing full well that I have no idea what it really means to be a submissive or whatever… And even if I could explain, I don’t want to say these things out loud. It means too much.
You shook your head as you tried your best to hit that balance between being honest and being delicate, “I just wanted to feel that I’m yours, and that you’re mine.”
“You know that both of those things are true,” Cyrille said, frowning a little. “Do you still doubt our relationship?”
“No,” you said quickly. “Well… Not now, I mean. Not while I have you here with me. But we might… not be together again for a while, and I don’t want to forget you again. I already know I’ll miss you. So what I wanted, what I truly wanted, and what you gave me tonight, was to feel you make love to me so intensely that when I close my eyes on some night without you, I can remember the feeling of you deep inside me, of you loving me…”
Cyrille’s eyes tightened. He suddenly understood exactly what you meant. Angel’s talking about our future together… Well, more accurately, how we don’t have a future together.
“I see. So, that’s why you asked to be my submissive tonight,” Cyrille realized.
You nodded. “Yes…”
Cyrille sighed a little. How do I reassure her of my love for her, especially when I’m feeling so uncertain myself? Truthfully, I’m terrified. That Mark on my arm… What have I done? But Cyrille forced himself to be braver. Maybe I can’t promise any future, he thought, but I can reassure her of my feelings for her now. At least, I can try.
“Angel, I don’t -” Cyrille swallowed. “I don’t know exactly how to say this, but…”
“But what…?” you prompted. “You can tell me anything, Cyrille.”
“Well,” he said softly, “I suppose, what I mean is that – I love you.”
“And I’m glad that we got to do this – to make love with this dynamic. I think it was the right thing to do tonight. But truly, angel, we don’t have to go down this path if you don’t want to. Submissive, dominant, whatever the hell you want to call yourself and explore – It doesn’t matter to me. You’re perfect for me. The point is that I want to be yours, and I am trying very, very hard to make you happily mine…”
It was as close to a marriage proposal as you would ever get.
“I’m yours,” you assured him. Your voice dropped to a soft whisper as you murmured to him lovingly, “My Lord.”
“My Queen,” he murmured back. He reached down and at long last, he untied the ribbon around your wrists. He brought your hand up and kissed the back of your hand.
“That first night you came back to me, you had a ribbon on your wrist then, too,” Cyrille remembered. “I tied it back on for you, to hide the mark I’d left on your wrist. I was afraid you’d wake up and forget me again.”
As he spoke, his lips slowly traced down the back of your hand to the inside of your wrist again. You felt his lips suck and press hard against your wrist once more.
You breathed in, a little sharply, as you felt him leave his mark on your wrist. Cyrille gently tied the ribbon back just around the one wrist, to leave your hands free. You reached up and cupping his handsome face in both of your hands, you kissed him. Then, just wanting to lie with him, you sank down against him and curled up on his chest. Cyrille wrapped his arms around you to hold you close. You reached up and grasped his forearms. As you did, unknowingly, your fingers pressed over the Dark Mark on the inside of Cyrille’s arm. Cyrille let out a quiet breath and stared up at the ceiling of the boathouse, which, being pure glass, caught the light starting to peek over the horizon in the most beautiful way – like watercolors playing with golden light.
“We have to go back,” you mumbled. “It’s nearly dawn.”
“Yes, we do,” Cyrille agreed, and he sighed. He gave your forehead another soft kiss. “How are you feeling?”
“Really good,” you told him, to his surprise. Seeing his confusion, you laughed lightly as you said, “I’m sure I’ll wake up sore all over. I’ll be cursing you in the morning, Cyrille Lestrange, mark my words. But for now, I feel like I’m in my best condition. It’s like after hard exercise, you know? Like my body has gotten rid of anything wearisome, and is filled with good things…”
“Filled with good things,” Cyrille smirked, as he thought of how you were still filled with his cum.
“Mhm,” you agreed, smiling as you shared his reference.
“Well,” he whispered deviously, “let’s see how long you can hold on to this ‘good thing.’”
The both of you got up and dressed. Then, after smacking your ass very lightly, Cyrille Lestrange sent you back panty-less and still stuffed with his cum, all the way up to Gryffindor tower.
* * * * * * * * * *
Still full of your lover’s thick, white cum, you fell into your bed, hid your blushing face in your hands, and smiled beautifully as you fell off to sleep. The night had been so perfect that you managed to forget about the future for a moment, and just dream of fairytales and happy endings.
Perhaps it was strange that being fucked to tears and cummed in countless times was what made you believe in fairytales again, but then again, you were a Rosier and he was a Lestrange – was it really so strange that your language of love slipped into possession as much as protection? As it was, in life, there are nights where angels win, and other nights where demons win. Tonight, on your last night together with Cyrille, the demons won out. And that was exactly as it should be.
#light and dark#cyrille lestrange#marauders#marauders era#harry potter imagine#harry potter smut#fanfiction#fanfic
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Light and Dark | Part 15
Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦
You shifted in your sleep. Slowly, your mind registered sensation again as you felt something warm tighten around you.
"Mm...?” you breathed out incoherently. “Sleep... more...”
A light voice spoke back to you, almost as though narrating: “For an angel, you sleep quite deeply. Explains a lot. You likely missed all the instructions they gave out - like how you’re supposed to hide your halo. It pops out when you sleep, you know. I can see you dreaming.”
You paused. Blearily, you mumbled “...God?”
A gentle laugh sounded out by your ear. “Not quite.”
Soft, wandering fingers drew circles up your body - first over your thighs, then your hips, then your shoulders, and finally, very lightly on your cheek.
You grumbled and turned away your face. “No... halo... ever,” you murmured in vague protest. Yeah, I don’t... Mhm, no... halo... I haven’t got one... No...
“Never mind. Sleep, angel. Sleep for as long as you want. Nobody will be up here. Tonight’s class is already over.”
Class...? Class? Class!
You jolted up, shouting, “Charms!”
“Angel, you are very behind,” a highly amused voice informed you. “You missed Charms back when we were in that cave. And I missed Astronomy, which is my favorite class, I’ll have you know.”
“In that cave.” Hearing those words, it all came flooding back to you.
You turned around and saw, lying behind you - “Cyrille.”
“Thank Merlin you recognize me,” he said wryly. “Or else I’d have been quite concerned about how... far I went with you.”
“Did I faint?” you asked him, trying to think back.
“Yes, angel,” Cyrille said gently. “I brought you back here. I Apparated to the outskirts and then used one of the - well, one of the hidden tunnels.”
As he spoke, you looked around. “Are we in the Astronomy Tower?”
Cyrille nodded. “I had to bring you back somewhere to sleep. And I couldn’t take you back to the Slytherin dormitory...”
“Well, what about the Gryffindor dormitory?” you asked. “You’ve taken me up there before.”
“How should I put this?” Cyrille reached out and pulled you to him tighter. Leaning his head down against your shoulder, he sighed softly against your neck. “I suppose I didn’t want to give you back. Not this time.”
You felt his long eyelashes flutter over your skin in a ‘butterfly kiss’ as he murmured proudly, “After all, you’re mine now, angel.”
You paused. “What?”
“You moaned for me,” he sighed, smiling against your neck. “Right before you fainted.”
“That was probably a gasp for breath,” you argued back. You were now fully awake, only to find that the first cognizable emotion you felt was irritation.
“No, it wasn’t,” Cyrille told you, lifting his head to look at you. “Angel, you went like this.” He opened his mouth a little to let out the requisite breath of air to copy the little moan you’d finally given him. “You went - ‘ah.’”
You rolled your eyes at his little play. “Stop it,” you told him, even though he looked quite adorable when he made that face.
Cyrille just smirked at you, and responded by wrapping his arms around your body.
The two of you were snuggled up in the far corner of the balcony outside of the Astronomy room. Cyrille had dragged a few of the unused, stacked-up rugs from inside the classroom outside. Then, laying you down carefully, he had wrapped you in his blazer to keep you warm. He’d also found an a small glass star globe and conjured flames within it. He’d carefully slipped it into the blazer pocket to make sure that you’d be warm enough, as it was nighttime now, and the Astronomy Tower was quite high up.
Noticing this, you asked him, “Aren’t you cold?” You pulled a little on his thin school shirt.
Cyrille shook his head. “I rarely get cold, angel. Don’t worry about me.”
You gazed into his face for a moment. Then, you said gently, “You seem a little bit better now.”
“I am, thanks to you,” Cyrille replied. “But I’m afraid of how you felt about it. Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head. “No. Just a little sore on my thighs.”
Cyrille frowned. “Yes, I didn’t have enough medicine left to heal your thighs. I mostly focused on your neck.”
“You healed me again?”
“I just used the remainder of the medicine you had on you,” Cyrille replied. “I felt it in your blazer pocket as I was carrying you back to the castle.”
“How did you manage to get your hands on medicine like that anyways?” you wondered aloud. “I’ve heard that Madam Pomfrey doesn’t usually give out medicine in containers because she doesn’t trust students with applying medicine. She just keeps students in the Hospital Wing until they’re all better.”
Cyrille responded lightly, “Well, Pomfrey didn’t give that to me.”
“Did you buy it somewhere?”
Cyrille shook his head. “No.”
“Then?”
“I made it.”
You blinked. “What? You made that? But we don’t study Healing Magic. How could you know how to make this?”
Cyrille shrugged. “That’s why the medicine’s not very good, I suppose. As you saw for yourself, it has only half the power of real Dittany. It’s because that’s my own attempt to make Dittany. See, I’ve been studying on my own to become a Healer.”
What? Cyrille... a Healer? You were stunned. Come to think of it. He is always in the library. Even that day we were together, he was there when only Amelia and a few others were...
But Merlin’s beard, that’s unexpected, you thought to yourself.
“You just thought of something mean, didn’t you?” Cyrille said wryly, watching the astonishment play out on your face.
“No!” you protested.
He gave you a knowing look, telling you subtly to fess up.
“Well, I thought it was surprising,” you admitted. “But why would that be mean?”
“Because it means that you associate me with violence, as opposed to healing,” Cyrille replied, his voice heavy despite the tone of levity thusfar in your conversation.
“Though, I guess I deserve that assumption,” Cyrille said. He sighed. “You’ve seen my... dominant tendencies. And I’m a Lestrange.”
“Who cares?” you said bluntly. “It doesn’t matter that you’re a Lestrange. Do what you want. Become a Healer.”
“You really think it’s that simple?” Cyrille asked, both challenging and hopeful.
“Why not?” you said back. You lifted your head defiantly and said proudly, “Anyhow, I’m a Rosier, and I’m going to be an Auror.”
Cyrille smiled. “I know. I know that already.”
“It doesn’t surprise me, either,” Cyrille said. “You’re going to do really well as an Auror...”
He looked out at the night sky as the first stars began to appear. Softly, he murmured, “And if you get high up enough - who knows? Maybe you’ll even get to kill me... with your own hands...”
You allowed him one second of melancholy before you sat up and then promptly tackled him to the ground. Pinning him down underneath you, you growled, “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” he asked calmly. “It’s true.”
“Stop it,” you told him seriously. “I don’t want to hear you talking about your... your own death. It’s not right.”
Cyrille gazed up at you, but he was seeing something beyond you.
“Angel,” he said quietly, making no move to resist your pinning him down. “I’m not afraid of dying.”
You sighed. “I know. That’s your problem, Cyrille. You’re not afraid of anything.”
Gazing into his eyes, you murmured, “That’s what makes me scared for you. It’s as if you feel that you have nothing to lose... nothing to live for...”
“Why should that bother you?” Cyrille asked, his voice flat.
You hesitated before you murmured, “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Cyrille blinked in surprise. Then, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down on top of him. He embraced you quite tightly, his arms pressing against your back.
“Don’t worry about me, angel. I’m not dead yet,” he assured you - which, as reassurances go, didn’t amount to much.
And yet, it was true. Your head was lying on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat - sharp, yet soothing, just like his personality.
You closed your eyes and breathed in time to his heartbeat. Slowly, you felt yourself relax against him again.
“You can sleep more if you want,” Cyrille whispered to you, running his long fingers carefully through your curls. “I’ll make sure no one comes in and sees us here.”
“Just keep your halo invisible,” he murmured, smiling. “Angel...”
You kept your cheek pressed to his chest, but looked up at him to ask, “Why do you call me that?”
“Hm?”
“Angel.”
“Oh, because when we first met, you accused me of being the devil. In fact, I believe you called me the spawn of Satan himself.” He laughed. “So, I called you angel, hoping to catch you off guard...”
You frowned. “I hope I didn’t fall for it.”
“You did. Worked like a charm,” he said. His eyes lightened as he recalled how you’d cozied up to him for the first time.
“But, it took time,” Cyrille remembered. “At first, you said you didn’t like it. It was only when we became closer, you asked me to call you that again. And it took you days to work up the courage to ask me. To confess to me that you liked that name.”
“I’ve been calling you that ever since,” Cyrille told you. But he quickly amended, “Although, I haven’t had much chance to use it these past couple of years...”
Hiding your face a little behind your hands curled up against his chest, you said softly, “Call me it now.”
Cyrille glanced down at you. Time must run in circles. This is exactly how she asked me to call her ‘angel’ the first time - all shy and like.
He smiled and said softly, “Angel.”
He felt your little hands unfurl and press softly against his chest.
“Angel,” he whispered again.
He felt your lips part, and your warm little mouth gently kiss him through his shirt. He heard you whisper so sweetly, “Cyrille.”
You raised your head and shifted a little to lean towards him, clearly reaching for a kiss - one that he happily gave you. It was very tender, and long, and full of memory...
Memory? you wondered thoughtfully.
“I think... I think my body remembers you,” you confessed to Cyrille. “Whenever I’m with you like this, I feel myself responding to you... as though we’ve been this way, all pressed up like this and keeping each other safe, many times before... I can’t remember it. But that’s what it feels like.”
Cyrille’s heart lifted when he heard you say that. “Does it really feel like that?”
“Yeah...” You kissed him again. This time, your lips barely grazed his, and yet, you felt that golden thread of dim memory hum soundly through your body once again.
Cyrille turned his head slightly, to have your lips slot perfectly against his. You kept your mouths locked together for as long as you could, tasting each other’s mouths quite gently.
“You taste like a dream, angel,” Cyrille murmured against your lips.
“Cyrille...”
“Yes?”
“If I got my memories back, do you think we’d fall in love again?”
His eyes widened slightly. You felt his heart thump soundly in his chest. Cyrille thought to himself, To have Angel back... completely... In all of my dreams of her, I’ve never allowed myself to dream that. Because she lost those memories for a reason. Her mind couldn’t take it anymore...
“No,” Cyrille replied, without too much of a noticeable pause. “We can find our way back without it.”
“How?” you wondered.
“Like this.” He gently brought your face up and kissed you again. You traded soft, whispering kisses for a while longer, but you both began to want more. Cyrille’s hands slid down your body until they grasped your waist and gently pushed you up so that your face was level with his, allowing him to kiss you more deeply.
When he slid you up, your hands fell off of his chest and shoulders onto the floor, landing lightly on either side of Cyrille’s head. Holding yourself up, you bent your head down to kiss him. Your curls tumbled forward, down past your shoulders.
“Sorry, my hair...” you said, swatting your curls impatiently out of the way. “It’s a lot.”
Cyrille put his hands on your face and gently smoothed back your hair. “No, don’t apologize,” he murmured. “It’s perfect to grab.” He smirked up at you.
You rolled your eyes at him, but then quickly went back to kissing him, sinking your lips into his. You could feel his hands wander further down to your thighs, and he pressed you down on him. Slowly, your thighs parted until your knees were on either side of him. You were half-sitting and half-lying on him now, with your hands out on either side of his head and your knees on either side of his waist.
Feeling his abs move slightly as he reached down to tangle his long hands in your hair, gripping it hard just like he promised, and holding you against him to kiss you deeper, you suddenly found yourself feeling very... warm between your thighs.
“Cy- Cyrille,” you managed to mumble out, as his lips incessantly pressed against yours, stealing away your breath kiss by kiss.
“Hm?” he said, his eyes still closed as he focused on kissing you. He smoothly slipped his tongue between your parted lips.
“I - mm,” you cut off as his tongue pressed softly with yours, and then tangled with yours a bit messily. You loved the way his tongue felt against yours, all soft and warm, and teasing... It made you smile.
But you also could not ignore the warmth pooling between your thighs. You finally drew back a little. Feeling you pull away, Cyrille opened his eyes to see you above him. Both of you still had your mouths open and were panting softly, soft tongues wet with each other’s taste. The corner of your mouth glistened a little bit with his saliva.
Cyrille reached up and gently wiped it away. “What is it?” he asked you.
“You know,” you said, a bit shyly, “for how rough you are, you haven’t actually fucked me, even though you always say you’re going to. Are you just all talk?”
“Well, angel,” Cyrille said, a bit evasively, “are you sure that you’re ready? I mean, you choked on my cock, squirted and creamed all over my fingers, and also fainted... So, where, may I ask, is this confidence of yours coming from? Anyways, I thought your thighs were hurting - aching and all.”
“Yes, they are a bit... sore,” you admitted, “but there’s an - an even deeper ache. I want you... I need you to reach it for me. Please?"
“Hm,” Cyrille says, noncommittally. But then, he lifted his eyebrow at you as said, “Does my angel need to receive a proper fucking?”
“Yes,” you breathed out.
Cyrille smirked. “So, I was right. You just want to be fucked.”
Well, no, you thought. You took a deep breath before you continued, “Well, I don’t mind being fucked. But I was also thinking that... it doesn’t just have to be mindless fucking all the time. You could... I mean, if - if you wanted, you could make love to me... I wouldn’t, um, I wouldn't mind that.” Your voice had fallen into a mumble by the end.
There was a long, tense silence.
Unable to bear it, you suddenly blurted out, “I mean, for starters, just having sex would be better than - than all this anticipation, don’t you think?”
Cyrille tried to smile at you as he normally did, but you could tell that, for some reason, he was struggling to maintain his normal flippancy. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I’ve always considered anticipation a part of the game.”
“Are we... still playing games?” you asked, your cheeks flushing a bit.
Cyrille paused. Then, he said, in an uncertain voice, “We always are, angel.”
“Oh.” You lowered your eyes and slowly slipped off of him, falling next to him on the rug.
“Angel,” Cyrille murmured regretfully. “I didn’t mean that. I just...”
He sighed and turning over, he gently hugged you back to him again, though you kept your back to him. “Don’t you want to beat me at my game? That’s what everyone wants...”
“What do you mean ‘that’s what everyone wants’?”
“I thought this power dynamic thing between us was what you were after, what you wanted...” Cyrille said quietly. “Not... not me. I mean, just me, as Cyrille, isn’t that boring?”
Frowning, you turned over a little to look at him again. “What are you talking about? This power game is the cost of being around you.”
Cyrille blinked, as the meaning of your words took a second to wash over him.
“Is that how you think of it?” he asked wonderingly. He reached out and touched your cheek.
“Of course. Why else would I deal with all of your crap?” you said bluntly.
But Cyrille’s eyes turned warm at your words. You paused when you felt his fingers press warmly against your cheek.
Turning your face a little so that his fingers slipped onto your lips, you kissed his fingertips. “Cyrille...”
He watched you for a moment, thinking of the first night that the two of you had been together on this Astronomy Tower. He’d hardly dared to believe that you were with him again.
But being so close to you again wasn’t all just easy happiness. It meant that Cyrille had to deal with all of his own wounds again. He tried to be forthcoming with you.
“Angel, I may... not be very good at this,” Cyrille confessed in a slow, paced voice.
You gave him a funny smile. “What? Sex? You’re not a virgin, are you? I mean, it’s obviously fine if you are, but I always assumed- ”
“No, it’s true that I’ve had my fair share of women and men,” Cyrille replied, “but it’s never really about the sex. The sex is a substitute for control, for power... The people I’ve been with so far, most of them like to manipulate or be manipulated. They like feeling as though they've made the so-called Serpent Prince cave. So, it hardly matters how I’m touching them, as long as it feels like a rough, hard fucking. The more animalistic and senseless it is, the more I am praised...”
Cyrille hesitated, then, he looked into your eyes as he whispered, “But you want me differently than that, don’t you?”
You slowly nodded, meeting his gaze with your own bright and warm eyes. “I want to feel close to you, for once. All the times we’ve been together so far, there’s this distance between us. You focus all of your attention on me, or you use me to fulfill your own desires... I don’t mind that. Not at all. It feels... really good. But I just figure that there’s more to - to sex- um, yes, to sex,” you stuttered awkwardly, nearly fessing up “to us.”
Cyrille didn’t break his gaze with you, but he didn’t react otherwise, either.
Your hands reached out and softly pressed against his chest again. Closing your eyes and feeling his warmth under your palms, you whispered, "Please just try?”
He held his breath for a moment, and you felt his heart gently thumping in his chest. You smiled and reminded him, “Breathe.”
He listened to you, and breathed out. Then, he said quietly, “All right, angel. We’ll try. Your wish is my command.”
A genuine smile slowly spread across your face. Cyrille watched as a lovely radiance spread through your lips, blushed your cheeks, and lit up your pretty eyes. He hadn’t seen you smile like that for a long time. For a moment, he just gazed at you, helpless in the face of your radiance.
You asked him, “You always ask for my permission. Now, I’ll ask for yours. May I kiss you?”
Cyrille finally smiled a little at this. “Yes, angel,” he murmured. “I’d like nothing better.”
As you were both on your side, facing each other, you shifted forward a little. Cyrille helped you, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you closer to him.
For a moment, you just took Cyrille in - his lovely scent of pine and basil and something fresh, yet gentle, like a water lily. As your hands slid up his chest, your fingers ran over the fine, silky strands of his long, silver hair. Then, your hands gently smoothed a path up his throat to his sharp jaw. Looking at his face, for the first time, you noticed a thin white scar crossing in a vertical line through his eyebrow and left eye. You paused, meaning to look more closely at it, because it seemed familiar, somehow. But before you could look at it closer, Cyrille’s eyes captivated you once again, as it always did, sometimes almost to the point of paralysis, and yet, especially recently, his gaze animated everything within you all at once. Holding his face in your hands, you tilted your head back and then, shifting forward that last bit more - you kissed him.
Cyrille’s hands pressed down on the small of your back, and that patch of warm made you feel safe. You snuggled up closer to him as you kissed him, pressing your body all along his - well, as much as you could, for he was quite a bit taller than you.
Slowly, as your hands fell to his chest once more, Cyrille’s hands moved towards your face, until he was cupping your face in both hands as he continued to kiss you, tasting your sweetness.
You felt your mind hum in contentment at the soft, yet passionate kiss. However, your body was only beginning to warm up and the ache between your legs was still demanding your attention. You slowly moved against Cyrille a little, rolling your hips almost imperceptibly.
But Cyrille caught it at once. “Angel, you’re a little needy right now, aren’t you?” he murmured to you. His hand dropped down to gently grip your thigh.
You stopped moving your hips at once. “No...” you said, but the hesitance in your voice told Cyrille all he needed to know.
He smiled. “Oh, really? I bet you think I won’t notice your little hips grinding against me, hm? You naughty thing.”
“It was only a little,” you relented, a little embarrassed. “ I didn’t even know I was doing it until you said something.”
“Well, I notice everything about you,” Cyrille told you. He leaned down and pressed soft kisses to your jaw. You felt his long eyelashes brush softly against your cheek.
Then, Cyrille gently pushed you down on the rug underneath you two, so that you were no longer lying on your sides, facing each other. Instead, you were lying on your back and Cyrille was leaning over you, one hand on the ground beside your head and the other on your shoulder.
Cyrille continued kissing down your neck, all the way to the base of your throat. His long fingers made short work of your buttons. You felt the fabric of your school blouse slowly sliding off open. When the edges of your shirt’s opening caught slightly on both of your breasts, Cyrille reached down and pushed your shirt free. It gracefully fell open on either side of your body, finally revealing your breasts, cupped in a lace bra, and then your beautiful waist and abs, to Cyrille.
Cyrille stopped to admire you. You were even more beautiful than he had imagined, which was saying a lot. You were all curves, soft curves, and smooth, creamy skin, and bright eyes, and messy hair...
You normally weren’t shy about your body, but the way Cyrille gazed down at you - so softly and yet so tenderly, made you suddenly fell a bit self-conscious.
“Don’t,” you said half-heartedly, pulling his blazer up over your body.
“Angel, you’re stunning,” Cyrille reassured you. But he let you hold onto the blazer across your tummy, while he bent his head down to trail kisses down your shoulder. As he did, Cyrille’s hands slid up your shoulders to slowly slip your bra straps off. Then, Cyrille gently pulled down your bra, revealing your breasts to him.
You watched him a bit apprehensively. You had puffy, pink nipples, and you’d always been a bit self-conscious about that.
“Mm,” Cyrille breathed out softly, pressing his hands against you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. His eyes flickered up to you, and he noticed that you were gazing down at his hands with half-lidded eyes. As he continued to massage your breasts in his large hands, you bit down on your lower lip.
“You have the softest nipples, angel,” Cyrille murmured. “All pink and puffy, like your pussy.”
You blushed a little. “You like that?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling a little. “It’s very cute, princess.”
Cyrille adored your breasts, and he took his time pleasuring and sucking on each of your breasts. His tongue swirled around your nipple before pressing against it a little harder. He then pressed his mouth more firmly against your supple skin, taking in as much of your soft breast as he could before sucking hard. When he finished, he switched over to your other breast, and continued gently groping your other breast with his hand.
You closed your eyes to take in the sensation. His mouth on you felt so good, heavenly, and his fingers playing with your nipple made your body tense in such a lovely way...
Uhn... you thought hazily. As lazy thoughts of pleasure drifted across your mind, you suddenly thought of something. He said I’d already moaned for him... Then does that mean -
“S-So, I can moan now?” you asked him softly, looking down at him.
For a moment, all you saw was his long hair, with strands falling against your chest as Cyrille had buried his face against your breasts.
But at your question, he looked up at you. Smiling, he said, “Yes, angel, you can moan all you want now.”
You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling relieved.
“See?” Cyrille teased you. “Losing’s not so bad.”
The smile instantly dropped off of your face and you frowned instead, annoyed by how Cyrille had phrased it.
Cyrille laughed. “And there’s that classic expression of yours...”
“I don’t want to lose to you,” you said, tugging at his hair a bit in protest.
“All right, all right,” Cyrille said, still smirking. “Calm down, angel.”
He leaned forward for a brief kiss on the lips before lifting himself up a little to hover above you at face level again.
“Tell me what you want,” Cyrille murmured, looking down at you. “Tell me clearly.” You knew that Cyrille was giving you - and himself - one last chance to back out.
“I want you,” you replied warmly. You reached and tugged at the end of his shirt, clearly indicating that you wanted him to take it off.
Cyrille obliged you. He reached down and stripped off his shirt in one fluid movement. It dropped to the floor besides you.
You suddenly paused, blinking in a bit of a surprised daze. Cyrille was on the taller side, and was rather thin, almost the complete opposite of James’ bear-like build with broad shoulders and larger arms and chest.
But Cyrille’s small stature was quite deceptive, because you suddenly realized how cut he was. Everything about him was sleek and lean, but also sharp, almost carven. You could see his abs quite clearly, and they led down to a sharp ‘V’ line on his lower stomach and hips. Like everything else about him, Cyrille’s body was brutal, unforgiving, and highly efficient.
His raven necklace, which had been tucked away under his shirt, now lay on his chest, sparkling in its silver and sapphire inlay. What was more, there was a large, dark blue tattoo of a serpent etched onto his side, and you could tell by the way it curved over the side of his abs that it went across his back as well.
You suddenly were slapped with the realization that with that body, he could actually ravage your body and your pussy if he insisted on mercilessly fucking you.
“You’re staring again,” Cyrille said dryly. “What, have I got horns coming out of my head?”
You shook your head. “Just... keep to your promise,” you told softly, still clutching his blazer across your tummy.
“Promise?”
“Be gentle with me, please.”
“Angel,” Cyrille told you lightly, “that was just for embraces and touches, not for taking you.”
“You never specified,” you said lightly, not backing down. But you gulped a little.
Cyrille sighed. “Well, aren’t you just the queen of loopholes?”
You looked at him with a skeptical eye. “Don’t you want to be gentle with me? I’m not just your fucktoy, am I?”
Cyrille’s exasperation broke as quickly as it had come. “No, angel, of course not,” he reassured you quickly. “And yes, I want you in all ways - and gently is definitely one of them.”
"Good,” you said softly. Then, you reached up and wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him back down towards you.
You wrapped your legs against his waist and started to push yourself against him, grinding against him slowly and sensually.
In a matter of minutes, you felt yourself starting to getting quite wet underneath your panties. You felt Cyrille starting to respond as well, his cock rising and hardening rather quickly as he felt your warm and sweet little body moving against him so needily.
You clung onto him and buried your face against his shoulder as you grinded against him. Your breasts pressed up against his sculpted chest, and your soft tummy lightly touched up against his cut abs every time you rolled your hips against him.
Your thighs were quite sore, but you held in your complaints. The pleasure of being with Cyrille this way blurred any feeling of soreness. You just... wanted him. You wondered for a moment if you were playing right into his hands, but you pushed away the thought and decided to focus only on this moment, right now.
You heard Cyrille’s breathing pick up quite a bit. He reached down to grasp your hips in his hands, his fingernails digging slightly into your hips as he held onto you and encouraged you to grind harder against him. Cyrille loved feeling you move against him so sensually. You were quite good at moving your body this way, and when your soft breasts and tummy pressed against him, not to mention your thighs and pussy, Cyrille’s mind went hazy with bliss. My little angel, pressing herself against me like this... Cyrille sighed in happiness, even as his cock was starting to ache with a more lustful need or you. But for the moment, he ignored it, just loving the way you were being with him, hugging him so tightly and pressing up against him. You were so precious to him. He loved how your curls tickled his cheek, and he felt a warm glow within him as he heard you starting to pant a little against his shoulder.
Abruptly, Cyrille’s cock, now rather hard, throbbed, jerking his attention out of hazy warmth to a much more physical and raw need.
“Princess, do you think you can take me?” he asked you.
You nodded.
“Are you sure? You’re wet enough to take my cock?” Cyrille reached up to stroke your hair. “I can be patient, angel,” he assured you. “I want to take my time with you...”
You shook your head and breathed out, “No. Please, I need you now.” Your voice was slightly hoarse with want.
Cyrille suddenly smirked. “Oh, angel, you are a good girl. You said ‘please’ without me reminding you.”
“What?”
“Remember, I told you - when you take my cock, you have to say ‘please,’” Cyrille reminded you. “And look at you, doing it all on your own. Good girl.”
“Don’t you think I deserve a reward, then?” you asked him, giving him your best puppy eyes.
Cyrille laughed softly and kissed your forehead. “All right, angel.”
He raised himself off of you, sitting back on his knees. You followed him up, pushing yourself up so that you were sitting your hands out behind you. You wondered whether Cyrille wanted your mouth on his cock.
But Cyrille shook his head and pushed you back down gently. “Lay back, angel. I’ll take care of you...”
“Oh, just do one thing for me,” he added.
“Yes?”
“Stop holding onto my blazer,” Cyrille said, his eyes glimmering with laughter. “You’re going to rip it to shreds.”
“Oh! Oh, sorry,” you said, finally letting go of his blazer. It dropped onto the floor.
Cyrille smiled to himself. What did he care about the blazer? You could rip it all you wanted. He just wanted to see and touch you.
Cyrille lovingly put his hands on your waist. You shivered a little, both because his hands were slightly colder than you, and because of the overwhelming intimacy of being touched so slowly and tenderly. Cyrille traced your curves down until his hands hit the waistband of your skirt. He slowly pushed your skirt off of your hips. Then, he slipped his fingers underneath the sides of your panties and gently slipped them off of you.
You quickly closed your knees together. Cyrille let you keep your thighs together as he himself stripped off his pants and briefs. But then, he reached out and pushed your knees apart. “Don’t be shy,” he told you. “You already know I love your pussy.”
Leaning forward, he kissed your pussy sweetly. You moaned a little and wiggled your hips as you felt his lips press against you.
Then, sitting back again, Cyrille guided his cock to your pussyhole.
His cock ached with the need to be inside you, but Cyrille tried to keep his voice free from any pressure as he confirmed, “Angel, are you sure you want this? You know you can tell me anything, and I’ll respect it, no questions asked.”
You nodded, gazing down at him. You could feel the tip of his cock, wet with precum, grazing your pussyhole. “Yes, please,” you whispered.
Cyrille nodded and said softly, “Good girl.”
You held your breath. Cyrille pushed himself gently into you, stretching you out a little as you took in the tip of his cock.
It had been at least a few months since you’d felt this delicious feeling of being stretched out and filled up - first by a man’s cock, and then, hopefully, by his cum...
Though, a few months ago, you could never imagine that it would be Cyrille Lestrange, of all people, entering you like this.
He pushed himself in a little deeper, slowly sinking his cock inside you. You shuddered slightly. Over the past couple of years, you’d gotten so used to James’ cock pushing inside of your pussy, but Cyrille’s cock penetrating you was a completely different sensation.
Cyrille’s cock wasn’t as broad as James’, but it was longer and slightly curved upwards. A little jolt ran through you as you suddenly felt the tip of his cock pushing up against your most sensitive spot inside of you, a place that James could only reached with his fingers, by curling them up inside you.
Your eyes widened and your thighs immediately tensed. Feeling Cyrille’s cock pressing up against your sweet spot already, your pussy quickly became wet with anticipation, as a wonderful feeling curling up inside your lower tummy.
With James’, too, he’d been a bit broader, so you could feel yourself stretching out before he hit up deep against you. But with Cyrille, his cock, slightly thinner and longer, meant that you suddenly felt him pushing deep inside of you with no warning. Already, even though he was being so sweet and gentle with you, he was quite deep inside of your sex.
Your pussy clenched a little, again, in anticipation, at feeling how deep inside he was already. You glanced down to see that he only about halfway inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut nervously.
Feeling your pussy clench on his cock already, Cyrille groaned softly and breathed out, “Oh, angel, you are so tight. Are you sure I’m not your first?”
You could only manage a soft moan in response.
“Mm, yes, moan for me,” Cyrille whispered. “Good girl.”
The way he was treating you, holding you so gently, and whispering so lovingly to you, heightened everything. If he was just going to give you a rough fucking, you’d put up your walls and just focus on taking him, but this was different. Everything felt so intentional, and it made you feel very, very vulnerable, both emotionally and physically. It was what you wanted, but you were still a bit scared.
“Cyrille...” you murmured, and you reached your arms out to him.
He shifted forward, and keeping his cock inside of you, he leaned forward so that you could hug him as he lay gently on top of you.
You hugged him tightly for a moment. Then, Cyrille lifted himself up slightly on his forearms so that he could keep pushing himself inside of you, bit by bit. As you lost focus for a moment, your arms slipped open and you ended up holding onto his shoulders.
Realizing how tight you were, Cyrille pulled out for a moment and reached down to rub your pussy for just a little longer, before he penetrated you again, this time, taking you a bit harder to make you take more of his cock.
Uhn... You moaned inside your head as you felt how quickly he filled you up. You held onto his shoulders tighter as you felt him pushing his way further inside of you. Already, he was going to hit up against your core very soon...
Cyrille glanced down, and moaned. The sight of you taking him in, your tight little pussy getting increasingly wetter as your body worked to accommodate the length of his cock, was gorgeous.
Cyrille’s cock throbbed right as he hit up against your pussy, curving just to hit your sensitive spot.
You let out another soft moan, a gentle cry that bled with your need and want of Cyrille. Because he was filling you up just as you needed to be filled, just as you would beg to be filled.
Then, shifting his weight completely on his forearms resting on either side of your head, Cyrille pushed himself in all the way inside you.
“Ah!” you cried out loudly. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, and your pussy clenched hard as the tip of his cock rammed up against you.
Cyrille breathed out slowly, feeling how fucking tight you were wrapped around his cock like this. And you were shivering against him already, clutching onto his shoulders like he was your lifeline.
“I said I’d be gentle, angel, but it’s difficult to focus when you’re gripping me like that,” Cyrille whispered to you.
“Am I h-hurting you?” you said anxiously, pulling your hands away from his shoulders.
“No, I wasn’t - uhn, I wasn’t talking about your fingernails,” Cyrille breathed out. He closed his eyes for a moment as he reminded himself to take it slow with you, to enjoy every bit of this night with you and make it last, no matter how tight your pussy was on his cock.
But you were feeling it too.
“You’re... You’re really deep inside me,” you choked out softly, still a little bit in disbelief at the fact that he could hit up against you so quickly, without even having started to fuck you properly.
“That’s because you’re a tight, delicate little thing, angel,” Cyrille told you. His arms collapsing, he fell forward onto you completely and wrapped his arms around you, though he was careful not to put his weight directly on top of you.
Still, he pressed up against you enough to make your whole body feel warm and protected. You hugged him back eagerly, happily and lovingly tangling your fingers in his silky hair, and Cyrille smiled at how cute you were.
He felt you relax in his arms, reassured by the way he held you, and your thighs opened a little more. Cyrille used the moment to gently pull out of you, only to push in again, a little deeper.
“Uhn...” you breathed out. Your fingers tightened in his hair.
“Angel, am I hurting you?” Cyrille asked you, worried.
“No, it’s just that... it’s just that you feel really good,” you told him, blushing a little.
He kissed you softly on the cheek and murmured, “That’s what I want for you, angel. That’s all I want for you.”
You felt Cyrille start to move inside of you, his cock pushing both at your entrance to slowly stretch you out and deeper inside of you, as he coaxed your pussy walls apart.
Breathing our softly, you slowly melted against Cyrille, thighs slipping open all the way and head falling back softly onto the rug beneath you. As you began to relax, you were able to take more of him in and have it feel like pure pleasure.
In particular, the tip of his cock rubbed up against you in such a lovely way, sending butterflies spiraling in your stomach.
Though you’d barely started to fuck, thinking of how you might feel his hot cum shooting out against and spreading out on your sensitive spot made you tremble with happy anticipation.
You wanted it so badly that your pussy throbbed hotly just thinking about it. You wanted to take him deeper and deeper, even though you knew it’d leave you sore tomorrow.
I’ll be a good girl for you, you promised Cyrille in your head. I want to feel you fill me up. I want to take your cum, every last drop of it, deep inside my pussy. Please, please, please...
Cyrille reached down and lifted your legs slightly, pushing your pussy up a little to fuck you deeper.
You gasped softly as Cyrille began to rock into you.
Oh, fuck, that feels so good, you moaned softly in your head. Oh, God... His cock hits right up against me. Ah...
Cyrille pressed down on your thighs slightly, pushing your legs up until your knees were folded and pressed up high against Cyrille’s sides.
He kept rocking into you slowly, hitting up against you softly, but very deeply.
You bit down on your lower lip as a low moan escaped you. "Ah... Cy-Cy, ah, ah, ah...”
“Oh, angel, the sounds you make are going to be the death of me,” Cyrille breathed out.
“It f-feels so g-good,” you stuttered out. “Uhn...”
Your knees pressed harder against Cyrille. You wished you had something to hold. As it were, you ended up unintentionally holding onto, and tugging a little on, Cyrille’s necklace as you felt his cock pushing gently at your sweet spot over and over again.
“You’re already trembling, angel,” Cyrille murmured. “I can feel you...”
“Cy-Cyrille,” you said, panting. You shut your eyes and wrapped your hand tighter around his raven pendant, tangling your fingers in the cold metal chain and gently pulling Cyrille down for a kiss.
He obliged and you moaned hotly into his mouth as you felt yourself tremble. His cock felt so good to you, hitting up against you just perfectly. Your mind was already a whimpering mess.
“Are you going to cum, princess?” Cyrille whispered between kisses.
You nodded, a bit dazed. “Mhm,” you told him, your panting little mouth still pressed against his. “Ah, ah, ah...”
"Fuck,” Cyrille cursed, as he felt your pussy walls squeeze around his cock.
“C-Cy,” you cried out, calling out his name. Your tummy and thighs tensed hard and you locked your knees against him. Your pussy spasmed on his cock as a flood of wet, sweet cum released from deep inside of you.
“U-Uh...” you moaned.
Cyrille felt your sweet cum drench the length of his cock. “Angel,” he whispered softly. “Cumming already? You’re so sensitive...”
“O-only for you,” you murmured softly.
“Mmm,” he breathed out, dropping his head a little to softly press his forehead to yours. Your eyes were closed as you breathed out, slowly coming down from your first climax. You’d let go of his necklace and instead pressed both of your hands against his bare chest as you came. Your body was still all tense and quivering under him, but as you finished cumming, you softened and melted against him again.
Cyrille’s eyes were quite affectionate as he gazed down at you. “Angel, you are so utterly breathtaking.” He leaned down and caught your lips in yet another kiss.
At the same time, he slowly took your hands in his. He gently, but firmly, pinned your hands down on the rug on either side of your head.
For a long stretch of time, the two of you stayed together like that - holding hands tightly, softly panting into each other’s mouths, then breaking apart to catch your breaths, and as you did, resting your foreheads against each other. And all throughout, he was making deep, slow, and sensual love to you, slowly and deliberately pushing into you, making you feel every inch of his cock. His slow fucking spread all of your cum over the length of his cock, making it a bit easier for him to fuck you deeper. Consequently, despite having just cum, you were still getting wetter by the second, deep inside your pussy.
“Princess, you are so wet already,” Cyrille whispered, feeling how slick and warm you were getting for him.
You gave him a soft, somewhat confused nod. You were very wet, but you barely noticed until he told you, as you were just focused on the tension slowly but surely building up inside of you again.
When Cyrille heard soft, wet sounds from pushing his cock into you, he knew you were wet enough to be able to take him a bit harder now. Cyrille still kept you busy with kisses, but he also started to move his hips a little faster and harder, delving deeper and pushing harder against your pussy walls, making them part for his cock by pushing in and out of you quickly. He worked his way deeper and deeper into you thrust by thrust.
You breath caught as you felt his cock demanding more and more from your tight little pussy. Luckily, you were now very, very wet for him. Wet for him, yes, mmm, I want him to fuck me, to make me his... Getting so wet already, it’s all for him. I want him to claim my body, my pussy, as his... Because, uhn, fuck, it’s Cyrille, and he feels so good. So fucking good - Ah, ah, ah... He’s spreading me open so well... And he’s so deep inside me, so deep - uh...
Cyrille saw your eyes starting to glaze over. Your legs relaxed and slowly slipped from being pressed up against his sides to crossing over his lower back, linking delicately right where your knee-high socks ended. Your wrapping your legs around him like that was an invitation for him to take you deeper.
And he took you up on that offer.
When you felt the friction flare up deep inside you, you gasped, but Cyrille simply kept kissing you as he pushed his hips forward more forcefully, driving his cock deep inside you.
“U-Uhn...” you stuttered out soft moans in between kisses, as the feeling of being fucked so deeply took over every other sensation in your mind.
You felt Cyrille’s hands gradually squeeze your hands tighter and tighter, until he was gripping your hands very tightly, his palms pressed hard against yours. You could feel the cold metal of his rings digging into your fingers slightly as he held you down against the rug.
Cyrille was still pushing his hips into you sensually, but he was now also taking you rather fast and hard. His back muscles strained and rippled as he pushed his cock into you as deep as he could, his thighs slamming up into yours a little.
“Ah...” you moaned. His cock made you feel so tight, especially right at the tip, where he was pushing up against you. And the ridges of his cock pushed into you over and over again, making your pussyhole quite flushed and pink as you were stretched out for him.
“Uhn,” Cyrille breathed out. "Fuck, you’re stretching out so well, but you’re still so fucking tight. You’re such a good little girl for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” you moaned back.
“Tell me,” Cyrille said, trying to remember how to tease you as your pussy was stroking his cock so well that his dominant persona was, once again, falling apart, as it was apt to do in front of you.
But Cyrille was trying his damned best for you. “Tell me i-if you’re - uhn - a good girl or a bad girl for... for me - fuck, you’re tight, angel.”
And you tried your best to respond in what you thought a submissive would say, but hell if you knew, you just wanted Cyrille to make love to you, to make you his. But you tried, mumbling out, “G-good little girl f-for you - uhn...!”
“That’s right, princess, look at you, taking me in so good and so sweet,” Cyrille praised you.
Still holding you down, he growled softly as he started to pound into you a little. Your ass lifted up from the rug slightly every time his cock pulled out of you, only to be pushed back against the rug as his cock rammed back into your waiting cunt.
“Uhn, Cy-Cyrille, uh...” Your fingernails dug into the back of his palms.
“Take it, angel, take my fucking cock - all of it,” Cyrille growled into your ear. “That’s what good girls do.”
“That’s what I - I am d-doing,” you told him, clutching onto him as you knew Cyrille was working his way up to ruining your cunt.
“I know, angel,” Cyrille told you soothingly. “And for that, I’m going to fuck you even harder. That’s what good girls get, a good fucking pounding.”
You whimpered and held onto him tighter, both excited and scared by his promise.
You could hear Cyrille starting to pant heavily as his head dipped lower and lower until his cheek was pressed against yours. The muscles on his stomach tensed over and over again as he fucked you increasingly harder. He was taking his time with you, making sure that with every stroke of his cock, you were taking him in balls-deep, effectively pushing all of your breath out of you with every deep thrust.
Your soft, repeated gasping exhales were such a beautiful sound to Cyrille. It made him want to take you harder and harder, to see how far he could take you, to see how many times he could make you cum on his cock. He felt your nails dig into the back of his hands, and he loved it. He wanted you to lose control, to become lost with him. He turned his head slightly to suck at your neck as he continued to fuck you, rolling his hips into you so that it wasn’t just straight fucking, but so that you could feel his entire body pressing fervently against yours, especially his abs and hips working to fuck you deeper and harder. And this way, the base of his cock caught on your pussyhole a little bit every time, making sure to stretch you out and stimulating you even more.
Finally, Cyrille had coaxed your pussy open enough that he could feel his cock hitting up hard against your center, and his mind blurred into a series of half-coherent thoughts, half of them praises for you - princess feels so fucking good, mmm - and half of them aggressive, wanton phrases of desire - fucking take me, take me all the way like a good girl, gonna fucking cum in you, and you’ll take it, take my cum deep in this tight little pussy of yours, angel. Fuck.
Cyrille lifted his head, no longer kissing your neck, and he began to take you more greedily. He started to use his whole body to fuck you, shifting up and down and pressing into you as well as rolling his hips against you, hitting you at a slanted angle so that his whole weight was behind his pushing his cock into you.
You gasped when you felt his cock slam up against your cervix. You immediately moaned and writhed against the floor, but Cyrille was pinning you down in an iron grip, and his eyes were closed as he claimed your body with his, leaning over you protectively. The blue serpent on his back seemed to quiver as he worked every body in his muscle to passionately ram his swollen cock into your tight pussy. His thighs were now hitting up against yours so hard that your soreness from last night was being to make itself known again, no longer buried under pure pleasure.
You’d never been taken so deeply before. It almost hurt.
Your eyes were shut tight, head turned to the side, and your lips had fallen open as you half-gasped and half-moaned. “Ah, ah, ah!”
After about a minute of this intense, full-on fucking, where Cyrille took you so rough and so deep that your mind literally spun as your thighs ached and your pussy throbbed as he slammed up repeatedly against your cervix, you finally managed to get your brain working. You forced yourself to moan out, “C-Cy, p-please, you’re getting a little r-rough.”
Cyrille stopped at once. “Angel?” he said, breaking out of his blissful stupor at once.
“Hah.... Ah....” you breathed out softly, as the dull ache that was just starting quickly went away.
Cyrille’s fingers on yours loosened slightly as he leaned down to kiss you. “I’m sorry, angel,” he whispered to you. “Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head. “N-No, I’m okay, it’s just that... you’re really deep inside me...”
“I know I am,” Cyrille said softly. “And you’re so tight, princess. I’m hitting up against you, aren’t I?”
You nodded. “A little...”
“Sorry,” he repeated softly.
“No, don’t be,” you replied. “It’s not that it didn’t feel good, it was just too much too quickly. I’ve never had anyone as deep as you before... It took me off guard and I - I tensed up.”
“But I can take it. Now that I know how deep you’re going to fuck me, I can be more relaxed,” you told him. “Like I said, it did feel good... I think I would have cum if you’d kept going.”
“No, angel,” Cyrille said firmly. “Don’t take me all the way. Not if it hurts. You should cum from pleasure. At least - when we’re making love. We’ll figure out the pleasure from pain part later, but I have to say, you seem to be completely a pleasure and sweetness type of girl. That’s what got you the nickname ‘princess,’ remember?” He leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his, making you laugh a little.
“Here, angel, let’s try something else. A better position for you, so that you can control how much of my cock you want to take,” Cyrille let go of your hands, his fingers sliding out of yours. He sat back and gently pulled you to him so that you were both sitting upright and you were sitting on top of him.
You understood what he was suggesting. Nodding, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Then, he held onto you by the waist as you slowly sank back down on his cock.
Both of you moaned softly as your warm pussy enveloped his hard cock again. It really did fill you up in such a blissful way. You fell forward, your long hair momentarily covering both you and Cyrille from view, as your breasts pressed against his shoulder and his head was tucked under yours. Cyrille lightly kissed your throat. You let yourself enjoy just feeling his lips on your neck for a moment, and then you sat back a little more, sinking further down on his cock.
“Uhn...” you breathed out.
“Mm, you feel so good, angel,” Cyrille praised you, sighing with both relief and tension as you sank down bit by bit on his cock.
Finally, you were sitting on his lap, his cock deep inside of you. But sitting like this with him, your ass and his thighs made it so that you couldn’t take him all the way in, as you had been before. And so long as he wasn’t thrusting up into you, this position gave you control. You could determine how much of his cock you were taking in and how hard and how fast.
You shifted a little, and Cyrille groaned as he felt your pussy move around his cock. “I can’t believe how tight you are,” he told you. “No wonder you’re such a princess. Such a brat.”
You gave him a little glare at his poking fun at you, but when the corner of his mouth pulled up, you felt yourself soften.
You slowly began to bounce on his cock, your ass hitting softly up against his strong thighs.
Cyrille held you up by the waist, supporting you, but also admiring the way your breasts bounced lightly in the air, and the way your gorgeous thighs worked to take him. In his eyes, you, his angel, just had the most beautiful shape, your hips and waist at a perfect contrast, a soft valley rising up and then curving out as your breasts come into form. It would not surprise Cyrille at all to one day wake up and find that the natural continuance of your soft, heavenly form came in the shape of wings.
And then, there was your pretty throat - Cyrille would never be able to get enough of that lovely little throat of yours. Even now, as you began to pant harder and harder, thighs sore but determined to ride as much of your lover’s cock as possible to milk all of his cum out of him, Cyrille gently gripped your hair and tugged your head back to see more of your throat. Your moans became higher-pitched as you had to breathe much more shallowly with your head tilted back. You felt Cyrille hungrily kiss your throat again. He leaned into you, his grip on your waist becoming a bit tighter, and you felt his necklace pendant bounce lightly against your stomach as you lifted yourself up on his cock only to come down again and again.
You shivered slightly at the coldness of the metal pendant against your warm body, which was shimmering with sweat as you kept going, kept riding him, kept fucking yourself on his cock.
The way his cock curved up to perfectly meet your sweet spot was unreal. You knew you could cum quicker for him than for anyone you’d been with before. Holding onto his shoulders, you made that possibility come true as you worked your pussy on his cock, alternately between sitting down on his lap and rolling your hips against him or grasping his shoulders and bouncing up and down on his cock, feeling your ass meet his thighs over and over again.
Watching you, Cyrille moaned in pleasure and gripped your waist a little tighter. Without realizing it, he did gently begin to thrust back in time to your bouncing, hitting up against you harder just ever so slightly.
“Oh God,” you mumbled out, as you felt your pussy starting to throb.
“Keep going,” Cyrille encouraged you. “Come on, angel, cum for me. I want to see your cum on my cock.”
You bounced faster on his cock, your breasts heaving up in the air and your hair bouncing prettily against your shoulders and back. “F-Fuck,” you stuttered out, as the tension in your pussy was reaching its high.
“I-I’m gonna -!” You stopped bouncing and instead bucked your hips desperately against Cyrille, your ass moving back and forth on his lap quite quickly as you half-rode and half-grinded yourself to orgasm on Cyrille’s cock.
“Cum,” Cyrille’s voice, both harsh and loving, gave you the order you’d been waiting for.
“Ah!” Your head had already been tilted back slightly, but now, with a soft, but desperate gasp, you fell back completely as you came all over Cyrille’s cock. Cyrille hugged you tightly by your waist, quickly catching you before you fell back. But your head still dropped back, and your hair spread out across the rug in tumbling curls.
For a moment, your entire vision blinked out. But then, as your climax receded slightly, you found yourself staring up at a brilliant night sky, crammed with beautiful constellations of stars. You breathed out, feeling as though you’d reached heaven, not in the least because of the man who was holding you and inside of you, even now.
Cyrille watched you, his angel, cum so sweetly, your thighs shaking, squeezing his hips, and your tummy stretched tight as you panted, and your breasts rising and falling quickly. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist so tightly, shaking, but determined not to let him go. And your soft little mouth was moaning in such a lovely, desperate way. Your voice was the only melody that Cyrille had ever warmed up to. He wished you knew that.
Cyrille’s arms slowly slid up, bringing you back up completely to a sitting position in front of him.
Before you could get your breath back, Cyrille’s mouth was on yours. A warm fuzziness set in your mind as his lips pressed so wonderfully against yours. You felt like you could kiss him forever and be happy that way.
But Cyrille wanted to do more than just kiss you forever. He wanted to keep your pussy wet and warm.
“Keep cumming,” Cyrille murmured to you, sliding his hand between the two of you to push his thumb against your clit and rub your still wetly throbbing pussy.
“Oh, d-don’t,” you stammered, knowing that if he drew out your orgasm any further, you wouldn’t just cum on his cock inside of your pussy, but that it would get everywhere.
“No, come on, angel, keep cumming for me. Be a good girl. Let me feel that cum all over my cock, princess,” Cyrille murmured sweetly to you, pressing against your clit quite roughly now.
Your thighs tensed. With his cock still inside of you, Cyrille moved his hips just a little, fucking you gently and fingering you to draw out your climax and sure enough, before you’d come down completely from your climax, you felt a second, smaller, but definite wave of pleasure rising within you.
“Oh, no, I’m g-gonna cum again,” you said, your voice tight and small as you were embarrassed. “No, Cy, it’s - it’s embarrassing- Uhn! Ah... N-No, ah, ah - !”
Your sharp cries cut off as you covered your face and moaned weakly into your palms as your body shook and you did, in fact, come again. In a matter of seconds, more cum flooded your pussy until it was positively dripping down his cock and had steadily dripped all over both of your thighs.
“Mmm,” Cyrille moaned, loving to see you cum so intensely.
When Cyrille pulled your hands away from your face, you had an embarrassed glare, paired with a crimson blush, waiting for him. “You always do that,” you complained, thinking about how he had made you squirt by pressing down on your tummy as he finger fucked you roughly in the library.
“Angel, I love seeing your cum all over me,” Cyrille told you. “If you truly don’t want me to do it, I won’t. But if it does make you feel good and you’re just embarrassed about it, I’m going to keep doing it until you stop being embarrassed because I fucking love seeing your cum. I love seeing you get all sloppy for me, angel. Unable to control yourself, lost to pleasure - do you have any idea how beautiful that is to me?”
“And seeing this body of yours shake under my touch...” Cyrille ran his hand up the length of your body, smoothing over your tummy to your abs and between your gorgeous breasts all the way up to your throat. He held you lightly by the throat, not at all choking you, but just holding you, and as he did, his eyes caught yours. You stopped nervously at his lustful gaze.
He smirked at you, reveling in how well you caught his moods. You knew exactly when he meant to dominate you, though, of course, only in so far as you consented. “And you know what the best part about making you soaking wet is?” Cyrille purred at you. “It means you can take more of my cock, princess.”
Slowly, he pushed you down by the neck and made you sink down on his cock again. He opened his thighs a little, so that you could sink further down on him than before.
As soon as his cock started to hit up against you, Cyrille saw you start to strain in your breathing and finally, your thighs shook and you whimpered as he continued to make you take his cock in all the way.
He felt your ass shift on his lap and your pussy spasm on his cock as he hit up firmly against you. Your eyes rolled back in your head. Trembling, your hands reached forward to find something to hold onto, to grip -
But before you could do so, Cyrille had, with his other hand, slid it over your waist to your back and abruptly pushed you forward so that you fell forward completely onto him. Then, keeping one hand around your throat, Cyrille grasped the back of your curls with his other hand and trapping your head in both of his hands, Cyrille lifted your face so that your eyes would meet his.
You were breathing very shallowly, in quick, little gasps. Your eyes had filled up with tears, both because of how deep he was inside you and how intimate this all felt. You almost felt as though... as though you really were his, and he really was yours.
You stared into his eyes, hoping desperately to see the same feelings reflected in his sharp, silvery eyes. But you couldn’t tell.
“Does it hurt?” Cyrille asked you.
You did feel quite full, almost uncomfortably so, but it wasn’t painful - yet, because he wasn’t moving. You shook your head. Instead, you whispered aloud, “Y-Your eyes... They’re so beautiful, but I never know what you’re thinking.”
Those words made Cyrille sad for some reason. He wanted you to be able to read him, even if it terrified him, too.
“Well then,” he murmured honestly, “your eyes are the opposite of mine, angel, because I can read everything in yours.”
“Really?” you said. “What am I thinking now?”
Cyrille accidentally shifted slightly, and you both gritted your teeth as you felt his cock hit up against you again, even with such a small movement. You both had to take a minute to recover yourselves.
But then, as you opened your eyes again, Cyrille gazed at you for a moment before telling you, “You’re wondering about what it’d like to be mine... You don’t trust me.”
You blinked in surprise, and quickly looked down, shocked by how well he read you.
“No, don’t.” He grasped your chin and pulled your face back up. As he did, he shifted a little once more and you felt his cock move deep inside your pussy again. Your breath caught for a moment. Reaching out, you steadied yourself on his shoulders.
Cyrille, too, breathed out slowly, telling himself not to cum too fast. But he managed to focus on you again. He said firmly, “If I can read your feelings, that isn’t a reason to turn away from me. I’m not going to hurt you, angel. So, don’t be afraid of showing me how you really feel.”
“That’s what everyone says before they hurt you,” you whispered, staring down at his chest.
Cyrille weighed his words in his minds for a moment before he said simply, “I’m not him, angel.”
You hesitated when you heard him say that. You slowly brought your eyes back to his, and once again, in close proximity, you noticed the thin scar on his eye again. You slowly and carefully, trying not to create any friction between your pussy and his cock buried inside of you, you reached up to touch Cyrille’s scar. Cyrille instinctively shut his eyes, and you slowly traced the scar over his eye.
“Does this scar... have anything to do with me?” you wondered aloud, almost afraid to ask in case you were simply going insane and imagining all sorts of unreal connections between the two of you.
Cyrille opened his eyes again. His eyes were filled with a strange sort-of melancholy that was very vibrant and alive. “Maybe your body really does remember me, angel,” he whispered, awed.
“This scar on my eye is the sister scar to the one on your neck,” he told you. His hand pushed aside your hair gently and slid under your curls to touch the back of your neck, where, indeed, your scar was. You shivered, both as his fingers ran over the back of your neck, and as you felt his cock shift inside you again. Will I ever get used to how deep he takes me? you wondered vaguely.
But your mind was preoccupied with other, more emotional truths. You leaned forward a little to kiss the scar on Cyrille’s eye, and he gently rubbed the back of your neck with his hand. Both of you were determined to heal each other, not by fixing and hiding, but by loving each other’s scars.
Then, you put your mouth to his ear and whispered, “Keep making love to me. I can take it. I want you inside of me all the way... I want to make you cum.”
Cyrille groaned at your enticing words, not in the least because they were warm, instead of being purely seductive the way all of his other lovers tried to be. Your voice betrayed the fact that you just wanted him. And that was new for Cyrille, and unlocked a different type of need and want inside of him.
All at once, Cyrille abruptly pushed you back down onto the rug. Your head was now buried against his chest with his arms wrapped around your head, cradling you, as well as anchoring you in place, as Cyrille wasted no time whatsoever in forcing his cock all the way inside you.
“Ah!” A desperate, wrenching cry escaped you and pierced the cold night air on the Astronomy Tower. For a moment, a flash of light passed over your eyes as Cyrille took you for his, with no barriers between the two of you.
But after the initial shock, a wonderful, if not totally intense, spurt of pleasure erupted deep inside of you.
As it turned out, your body could not only take him, but took him well. The short flashes of pain followed by bursts of pleasure quickly turned into just a deeply satisfying and mind-blurrying pounding that hit against your deepest ache, causing endless waves of release to wash over you. Once you were able to let go of your nervousness and relax, you were amazed at how incredibly good it felt to have a man’s cock ramming endlessly into the deepest and tightest part of your pussy. And as the tip of Cyrille’s cock dragged against your pussy walls, he kept passing over that sweet spot of yours, making you moan over and over again. But you never finished your moans completely because they all ended in high-pitched gasps as he hit up against you. Your sweet little cries of “ah, ah, ah!” sounded out across the balcony that night. It was wonder the two of you weren’t caught by Filch or McGonagall or - Merlin forbid - James and Lily.
Your breathing fast became mangled as Cyrille pounded into you with hard, fast thrusts. You initially tried to hold onto Cyrille, but your hands slowly slipped off of his shoulders and even down his arms and fell limply on either side of you as all of your focus was on the incredible feeling of being so deeply fucked between your legs.
Face pressed against Cyrille’s chest, you were struggling to breathe. Cyrille could feel you struggling underneath him, panting and whimpering hotly against his chest, and he took a moment to pull you up so that you were both face-to-face. Your lips, slightly swollen with the amount of kissing you both had done tonight, were parted and crying out in overwhelming ecstasy.
Cyrille groaned and kissed you messily, and his thrusts, too, became more and more sloppy as your pussy stroked his cock so tightly, so perfectly. Cyrille reached down and slid his hands underneath your ass, lifting you a little off of the ground and forcing you to fuck him back, to rock your hips against him at the same time that he rammed his cock deep inside you.
You gasped when you felt him push you back against him to take him deeper. As he fucked your pussy hard, his cock repeatedly running the entire length of your pussy only to pass too quickly your sweet spot and instead pound up against your center, both teaching you about and fulfilling a deeper ache that you hadn’t been aware of prior to being fucked by Cyrille, you whimpered quite loudly.
Cyrille immediately started to stop again, but you shook your head and wrapping your arms around him, you held him tighter.
“N-no, don’t - don’t pull out. Keep g-going. C-Cum in me,” you whispered fervently in his ear, as you kissed his cheek messily over and over again and tangled your fingers tightly in his hair.
Cyrille’s knuckles turned white as he gripped your ass hard and he pushed you onto his cock again, burying himself balls-deep inside of you and eliciting a long and drawn-out moan from you.
Cyrille growled aggressively as he pounded into you, making the most of your tight little pussy and how wet it was. His angel had the tightest pussy, and it milked his cock so well, pushing him to cum hard.
A series of strangled moans left your mouth, and Cyrille tried to make himself reach his point faster, to make himself cum quickly now. He used your pussy hard and fast, slamming into you, and taking you so roughly as his cock began to pulse with the need to cum. And yet, he felt like he could go forever. You felt so good that fucking you felt even better than cumming. The way your pussy wrapped around his cock, squeezing it, was nothing short of heaven. You really were an angel.
But just then, he heard you let out another incoherent whimper.
“Angel...” he murmured to you, but that was all he was capable of saying. He was so close, so fucking close...
Your entire pussy felt so hot and so stretched out, and your cervix was throbbing, and your thighs were sore again, but you managed to repeat, in a soft plea, “Cum i-in me, p-please...”
But Cyrille knew he couldn’t cum in you, despite how sweetly you were asking for it. Because he was going to cum hard. He could just feel it, and he knew that if he came in you now, no spell would stop you being becoming pregnant with his child.
Cyrille pulled out just in time. With a loud groan, he reached down and pulled out his cock at the last second. Thick, long strings of hot, white, salty cum flew everywhere, exploding out of his cock as Cyrille moaned loudly, his voice high and soft - how you liked it best. You gasped loudly as you felt his cum, warm and sticky, shoot out of his cock to completely coat your tummy and thighs.
“Uhhh...” he moaned as he came long and hard. He pumped his cock in his hand as he came, and cum spurted out endlessly, until his cum dripped down your shivering thighs and pooled on the rug between your legs.
You stared down at your thighs, eyes wide as you saw how much Cyrille had came, how much cum he’d emptied onto you...
But you were also frustrated that he didn’t cum in you. I wanted him to fill me up, you thought, a bit sadly as you gazed down at all the cum, all sticky over your body.
Seeing your face, Cyrille said, “I’m sorry, angel. I know you wanted my cum, but... it would have been too much. It wouldn’t have been safe. Not this time.”
You knew what he was talking about. Feelings affected the spells that prevented pregnancy, and the two of you right now... Well, it felt incredibly intimate, to say the least.
“You came so much,” you murmured, in part to distract the conversation away from talking too deeply about your feelings for each other. You reached down to a bit of cum that had pooled on your tummy. You swiped it with your finger and then tasted it, pushing your fingers past your lips.
“Mm,” you murmured softly. “I love your taste.”
Cyrille smiled at you. “Angel, you really are... a dream,” he told you.
Cyrille’s voice was like a nocturne - dark, yet soothing. And to Cyrille, your eyes reflecting the stars in the sky above, were like chandeliers, so beautiful in their subtle, yet warm glow.
Your eyes met. You blushed. Suddenly, you pulled your fingers away from your mouth. Looking away from him, you blurted out, “I still despise you, though.”
Cyrille paused. “You still despise me?”
“Mhm.”
He watched you, a bit amused, a bit sad, and a bit confused. He spoke slowly, “Here you are, on the Astronomy Tower, absolutely drenched in my cum, annoyed because I didn’t cum in you, and you’re saying you despise me?”
“Yep,” you said, trying to make your voice light. “That’s how the world works, Lestrange.”
Cyrille’s fingers itched, wanting to choke you for calling him by his last name again. But he bit down those dominant tendencies and instead, drawing out his wand, performed spells to clean you both up. Then, he picked up his blazer and gently covered you with it again before lying down next to you.
He reached up and pressed his palm on your face. For once, his hand was warm, but your face was still warmer as you were blushing quite a bit.
“The world may be that way for some people, but not for us,” Cyrille corrected you gently, wanting you to admit what you already knew: that the two of you weren’t just fuck buddies anymore - if you ever had been.
“You don’t despise me, angel,” Cyrille said softly, watching you.
“I do,” you said stubbornly.
Cyrille saw your fingers clutching nervously at his blazer again.
“You do?” he murmured. He shifted closer to you.
“Y-yes,” you said, stuttering a little as Cyrille came so very close to you again.
“Angel.” He slid his finger under your chin and guided you back up to look into your eyes.
You paused. For the first time, his eyes seemed so warm - golden, almost.
“Don’t despise me,” he told you, his soft voice pleading with you. “Not when I want you to come home to me...”
Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed hard.
“Angel,” he said again, “ I know it’s going to be hard for you to give me your heart after what he did to you, but I’d like you to let me try... to give me a chance. Can you do that for me, angel?”
You hesitated. Your heart was thundering. You reached down and guided his other hand to your heart, so he could feel how fast it was thumping.
Cyrille blinked in astonishment. His eyes flickered back up to you, as he now realized how much this meant to you.
Slowly, you nodded.
There was a moment of complete stillness and silence.
And then, the two of you collided - already breathless with hope and want before your mouths even met, but then they did - and in that desperate, fervent kiss was the truth you’d been searching for: that he was yours, and you were his.
* * * * * * * * * *
Unfortunately, fate had other plans for the two of you.
Yaxley, eager to show his worth to the Death Eaters, had accepted an assignment from Lucius Malfoy: find a new meeting spot for the Death Eaters recruits. Apparently, Hagrid was beginning to report strange sightings in the Forbidden Forest at night to Dumbledore, thus making it unsafe for Yaxley and the rest of the Death Eaters recruits to practice there any longer.
Yaxley had searched all of the dungeons, but because of the way noise traveled underground, all areas presented a risk of being caught by Professor Slughorn, the Potions professor. Finally, Yaxley had thought of the Astronomy Tower.
He entered the Astronomy room. Almost immediately, he heard moans filling the air. Yaxley frowned. What the hell is going on? After a moment, he realized that the sound was coming from outside on the balcony. He carefully peered through the glass wall, only to see the most unexpected sight - two students, clearly fucking. The man had the woman spread out on the balcony floor, on some sort-of rug, and he’d pinned her hands down, and was now using his entire body to push his cock deep inside of her.
Yaxley immediately recognized the man. That blue serpent tattoo writhing on his back as his muscles strained from how hard he was fucking her was a dead giveaway. He and Cyrille had shared a dormitory for seven years. He’d seen that tattoo enough times to know it was him.
But who’s the girl, moaning so sweetly? She almost sounds like she’s in love... even though he’s taking her so roughly. As Yaxley watched, he saw the girl’s thighs being pushed up so that she could be taken deeper, and she cried out as Cyrille pushed himself into her again, rocking her whole body with each thrust. Yaxley could suddenly see the girl’s gorgeous thighs quivering and what was more - her pink, glistening pussy being stretched out as she struggled to take Cyrille’s cock all the way. Looking closer for a moment, Yaxley saw that her pussy was flushed pink from being stretched out, and her thighs, too, were blushing crimson from being slammed into repeatedly. Her moans were almost pitiful, yet clearly those of pleasure and want. Then, in the brief flashes of space that appeared between Cyrille and the girl as their thighs slammed and parted over and over again as Cyrille drove his cock deep into her cunt, Yaxley saw the woman’s face.
His jaw dropped. At the same time, everything began to make sense to him. This is what Cyrille Lestrange has been hiding from everyone. A love affair with a Mudblood. Well, not really a Mudblood - a Half-blood, but among the original pure-blood families, that’s the same thing as a Mudblood.
A cruel smile appeared on Yaxley’s face. He watched Cyrille Lestrange take you harshly for the next few seconds before you suddenly called out for him, pleading for him to stop, and Cyrille did.
Yaxley lifted his eyebrow, watching the way Cyrille spoke to you and touched you with utmost care, worriedly asking you if you were all right, if he had somehow hurt you. It’s not just sex for them, is it? Yaxley wondered, as he saw the two of you hug each other and kiss tenderly.
Well, isn’t this nice? Yaxley thought crudely. Forget about finding a meeting space. It’ll be much quicker to rise among the ranks by tearing Cyrille Lestrange down than by painfully working my way up. And that Rosier girl - she’s the perfect trigger point.
With a plan forming in his mind, Yaxley turned around and walked away.
* * * * * * * * * *
You and Cyrille stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms until morning. He taught you the names of the stars and told you the stories behind the constellations until you fell asleep, snuggled up warmly against him.
When morning came, you woke up first, and you shook him awake. After trading sleepy kisses, both missing each other’s mouths until you both laughed in exasperation and gave up, the two of you finally parted ways to go shower and get ready for classes that day. You knew that you’d already missed too many classes. Gryffindor or not, McGonagall was likely going to fail you if you missed another one of her classes.
“See you in Transfiguration?” you asked Cyrille hopefully.
“Of course,” he said, smiling back at you.
He watched you flounce off happily, eager to shower and get ready for class to see him again.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Lestrange.”
Cyrille, having just returned from the Astronomy Tower and taken a shower, stepped out of the bathroom and back into the dormitory room. His room mate, Yaxley, was standing and leaning against his bedpost, watching him.
“Yaxley,” Cyrille returned, trying to hide his outright distaste for Yaxley. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Really? It looks as though you were waiting for me.”
“Well, I suppose I was wondering something.”
“Then, spit it out,” Cyrille said impatiently, throwing his wet towel into the laundry bin.
“All right, I’ll spit it out.” Yaxley remarked in an all-too-knowing voice, “I thought it was you who said that we didn’t fuck Mudbloods.”
Cyrille froze. “What?”
“That Rosier girl. I saw you with her.”
“You saw me with her?” Cyrille said, carefully letting his voice show just the proper amount of disbelief.
He was so convincing that he made Yaxley pause, but then Yaxley remembered what he’d seen. His mouth curved into a cunning smile as he drawled, “Yes. You. With her. Fucking her. Shall I describe it in more detail?”
“I don’t think that’s necess- ”
“You were fucking her so hard she begged you to stop. Her little Mudblood pussy couldn’t take all of you, and I have to say, I can’t blame her. You were working her rather too fervently. And yes, I admit, the two of you were so pressed up and tangled with each other that it was a little difficult to see, but rest assured, I saw it all clearly enough. You did enjoy her, didn’t you?”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Yaxley’s eyes glinted. He knew he’d already won.
“Tell me,” Yaxley drawled, “do you make her say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ like you make all your other lovers do?”
“Shut up.”
But Yaxley continued, “I’ve been your roommate for seven years. I’ve had to deal with more than my fair share of your little freak shows.”
Cyrille fell silent. His jaw was clenched, standing out sharply on his angular face and against his long, wet silver hair. His knuckles were white as his hands were clenched into tight fists.
Yaxley snorted. “I almost feel sorry for the poor Mudblood. She doesn’t know about the others before her, does she? You’ve had quite the string of lovers. And she sounded so in love. In fact, I was waiting for her to call you ‘Sir’ or whatever other ridiculous name you use, but she stopped just short of that. Just short. I bet if you asked her to, she would even call you ‘Daddy’ in a heartbeat...”
“Yaxley.” Cyrille’s voice was deadly quiet. “You stay out of this.”
Yaxley smirked. “You know, I don’t think I will. In fact, I rather think your brothers would be very interested to know- ”
“Don’t you dare say a word to them.”
“Why not?” Yaxley challenged, his voice rising, and it was clear that this was what he was here for. The other comments were all just to taunt Cyrille, but this was Yaxley’s real challenge. He wanted to take Cyrille’s place as their group’s leader. And if this was the trigger to Cyrille’s downfall, Yaxley had every incentive to pull it.
“Is this why you wouldn’t let Rabastan see your thoughts?” Yaxley pressed haughtily, cherishing how powerful he felt as Cyrille shifted uneasily in front of him.
“Are you afraid they’d rope her back into the pureblood fold?” Yaxley asked. “But you know, she’d never make it. Her mother was a Mudblood, after all.”
“She’s a better pureblood than you, Yaxley,” Cyrille growled. His fingers flexed, and Yaxley knew that Cyrille was itching to grab his wand.
Yaxley grinned. He’d done his job here.
“I think I’ll be off to dinner, then,” Yaxley said carelessly. “Oh, that is - unless you want me to ask for your permission, sir.”
Cyrille closed his eyes and forced himself not to respond.
Yaxley laughed as he left the dormitory.
* * * * * * * * * *
Emmeline spotted you in the Great Hall. You’d come down for breakfast after cleaning up in your dormitory. Leaping up, she immediately raced up to you, stopping you at the entrance and not letting you enter the Great Hall without speaking to her.
“You didn’t come to class yesterday! And Remus did. And you were out all night. I saw Remus in the common room. Plus, he doesn’t wear any rings - I asked,” Emmeline told you breathlessly. “So, who is it?”
You stared at Emmeline, both exasperated and amused. “It’s no one, Em. I just wasn’t feeling well... I had a headache, and I wanted to be on my own.”
Emmeline gave you a look of total disbelief. “Nuh uh. C’mon. I’m your best friend. Tell me: Who was it?”
You shook your head at her.
But then, just over your shoulder, a pleased voice said knowingly, “Lestrange. Cyrille Lestrange.”
Your heart dropped down through your stomach. You whirled around to find Yaxley standing there. “What- ?” you began.
Yaxley shook his head at you. “Don’t even try to deny it, angel.” His eyes glittered with malevolence as he used the word he’d overheard Cyrille using for you as he’d stopped fucking you to check if you were all right.
“I pity you,” Yaxley sneered, clearly not pitying you at all. “You don’t know even know, do you?”
Emmeline’s eyes darted furiously between you and Yaxley.
“Know what?” you said thinly. Your heart was already sinking, but you crossed your arms defiantly, not letting Yaxley see even a trace of doubt in you.
“Cyrille Lestrange is already betrothed,” Yaxley informed you. “To Selene Selwyn. They’re going to get married right after graduation. It’s the pureblood way.” He paused, and then threw at you, “Not that you would know anything about that.”
Then, he shoved you aside and strode into the Great Hall first.
Emmeline was staring at you with wide eyes, clearly shocked. “Um...” she began uncertainly.
“Forget it,” you told her. “Forget what you heard. None of it’s true.”
“But- ”
“None of it is true,” you repeated, almost snapping at her.
Emmeline hesitated. Then, she said quietly, “Okay. Right. Uh, shall we go have dinner, then?”
You nodded. Emmeline began to walk into the Great Hall, and you followed after her.
As you made your way to the Gryffindor table, a troubled succession of thoughts tumbled forward from your mind. None of what Yaxley said is true. Especially the bit about Cyrille being engaged to someone already. No, that isn’t true.
...Is it?
#light and dark#harry potter smut#harry potter imagine#cyrille lestrange#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x lily evans#marauders#marauders era#fanfic#fanfiction
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