#cyrille lestrange x reader

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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. ♥

#question #Joke's On You #update #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

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

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 19

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: PTSD.] [Warning: Mention of Domestic Abuse.] 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!

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My mother nearly killed me. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want me. I literally almost died because of her. And I couldn’t handle the aftermath, so I distanced myself from anyone and everyone who reminded me of my background, and the world that I was originally raised in.

I always thought that I was a bold Gryffindor who decided to renounce her family as an act of righteousness and self-possession. But now I know that that was never true. I’ve only ever been defined as the victim of my circumstances - of my father’s distant apathy and my mother’s utter rage. I’m not the decider of my own fate. I never was.

And worse still, I threw away my memories of Cyrille because I couldn’t deal with the truth. I’m not as brave as I thought I was. I’m not brave at all. 

You sobbed endlessly into your hands, face buried against your pillow. Your entire body shook as wrenching cries ran through you. Your chest and lungs were sore from gasping, and your eyes were red and exhausted from crying.

Your bed sank down slightly as someone joined you, but it took a long while for you to realize that someone had entered your room and was sitting on your bed with you. Finally, you heard a heavy sigh. Then, extremely gentle hands grasped you and carefully turned you to your side, so that the person could look at your face.

“Oh, angel,” Cyrille murmured softly, when he saw your face. 

Heavy, bright tears were spilling non-stop from your soft, heart-broken eyes, streaking down your face until they all merged into two indistinguishable streams that left your cheeks bright and glistening. 

Gently sitting you up and pulling you into his arms, Cyrille kissed the top of your head. He sighed as he murmured, with his lips pressed against your hair, “This is why I didn’t want you to have your memories back. Of course it was your choice, and it was a brave choice, but I didn’t want to see you hurting...” 

Upon seeing Cyrille and hearing his soft whispers, a fresh wave of guilt crashed into you as you were now painfully aware of what you had made him go through because of your decision to lose your memories. In particular, you thought of how he must have felt these past two years that you had spent being James Potter’s girlfriend.

“Cyrille…” you bleated out, his name bubbling up your lips through the ocean of tears still filling up your chest and threatening to drown you, it seemed. His name was both the last word you’d ever uttered before you lost your memories, and the first word you managed to speak through your tears after you’d gotten your memories back.

“What is it?” Cyrille asked you. “Tell me everything. I’m right here.”

You opened your mouth to speak to him, but fresh tears streaked down your face, leaving your already shiny cheeks newly minted with wetness.

“Angel?” Cyrille said, a little startled at your sudden wave of tears.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you sobbed, trying to apologize to him through your tears. “I’m so s-sorry for e-everything!”

Cyrille paused. He hadn’t been expecting an apology. He’d been expecting you to talk about your mother. But you were apologizing to him. For what? he wondered.

Regardless of what you meant, Cyrille first and foremost focused on assuring you. “Angel, you have nothing to be sorry about. Do you hear me? Nothing. You did everything right. You’re so brave.”

“No, I’m n-not. I ran away from e-everything because I c-couldn’t take it. I even t-traded in my m-memories of you just to feel a-all right again.” You pressed your eyes against your palms hard, turning away from Cyrille as the guilt ate at your heart. Still weeping, you blurted out, “I’m so sorry!” 

Cyrille felt like his heart was breaking right along with yours. Shifting closer to you, he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders. “No,” he whispered, “the last thing you should be worrying about is me. I’m worried about you.”

But you kept repeating, “I-I’m sorry, Cyrille. I’m s-sorry for what I d-did to you.”

“You didn’t do anything to me,” Cyrille told you quietly, but firmly. “I fell for you, angel. That’s not your fault, you know. And then I chose to love you for the years following that. That’s not your fault, either.”

You shook your head at him, and burst into tears yet again. You tried to stop yourself from crying, but you couldn’t seem to still your cries. A pool of sadness kept welling up inside of you, over and over again. Stuttered gasps rang out in the air, as you tried – and failed – to dam the flood of tears.

Finally, you gave up, and you let yourself sob openly before Cyrille.  

Seeing you so shattered made Cyrille feel shattered, too. What could he possibly say in this instant that could make it all right, make your deep wounds go away? 

He couldn’t say anything, and he knew that he couldn’t. He had known all along that these memories would destroy you if you ever got them back. 

He sighed long and low. “Angel…” he murmured regretfully.

Thinking that he was disappointed in you, you cried heavily, nearly wailing.

Eventually, Cyrille got you to sit up and slide into his lap. You were facing sideways, so that your back was leaning against his arm as you curled up against him. His other hand rested in your lap, squeezing your thigh gently to remind you through soft pressure that he was with you now.

You kept crying, but you felt much safer now that Cyrille was with you. Curling up in his lap and sitting against him, you wept against the front of his robes.

Cyrille gently rocked you back and forth, stopping only to kiss your head again or to slowly rub your shoulder.

In that manner, Cyrille simply waited for you, displaying all the patience in the world - patience that did not come naturally to him, but rather patience that he had developed because of you, through loving you, and throughout those lonely years of watching you start over in your life, completely forgetting him. 

But Cyrille always hoped that you would come back to him one day. That was his great strength - to hope. Even in the midst of growing up amongst a brutal community, he still hoped that there was good in them. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Finally, when you had cried your heart out, you became much quieter, sniffling. 

Cyrille peeked down at you. “Angel...?” he murmured. His voice was very, very gentle, as were his hands when he touched your face to look at you. 

You didn’t say anything, but you let him push your face up.

Cyrille exhaled, both relieved to see that your tears were thinning, but also more sad than ever at seeing how exhausted you were from all of your crying.

For a moment, Cyrille just planted loving kisses on your curls over and over again. 

Finally, wiping your tears away, he asked you gently, “Angel, do you want to lie down?” 

When you nodded, Cyrille helped you get up from his lap and lie back down against your pillows. When you fell back against your pillow, Cyrille tucked your blankets around you. 

“You don’t have to- to stay,” you told him, hiccupping slightly. Somewhat embarrassed, you found yourself conflicted - wanting him to stay with you, but also wanting him to leave.

Fortunately, Cyrille instinctively seemed to know exactly how to comfort you while giving you your space. Cyrille lay down next to you, but he stayed on top of the covers and he was on his side, not touching you, just being there for you. He looked up at your ceiling, giving you time to subtly wipe your face. 

Finally, when some time had passed, Cyrille peeked over at you. Your eyes were open and you were gazing a bit numbly at the ceiling, too. The light from the far window was coming into the room in gentle strips, and a pale pink strip lay across your curls and spilled up onto your bed frame. 

“You have rose petals in your hair,” Cyrille told you softly, knowing you would finally understand what he was talking about. 

You wanted to smile at him, but you seemed to have forgotten how to smile in the moment. Instead, you whispered to him, “All this time...” Your voice trailed off as the prolonged intensity of it all hit you.

“Hm?” Cyrille murmured softly.

“You loved me twice.”

“No, angel. You loved me twice,” Cyrille corrected you gently. “I loved you once, and I never stopped.” 

At his words, a few more tears slipped from your eyes. Cyrille reached over and tenderly wiped them away, his thumb smoothing over your skin. 

“Your heart is breaking... ” he murmured softly, recognizing how deep the pain went inside of you. 

You nodded once, with downcast eyes. I don’t know quite how to explain it, even to myself. It’s not as simple as heartbreak because of a relationship falling apart. This isn’t like how I felt when I broke up with James. That was a form of heartbreak, too, but this heartbreak - what I’m feeling now - goes so much deeper. Because it isn’t just about another person. It’s about myself. It’s about realizing that I wasn’t the person I thought I was... You felt your heart starting to swell with salt water again. 

You swallowed hard. No, I don’t want to cry again. Not with Cyrille here...

“Angel, I promised you that I would keep you safe. I meant that in every way,” Cyrille reminded you, speaking quietly. “If you need to cry, cry. And if there’s anything I can do for you, then tell me. Please. You know I’ll do anything for you.” 

Blinking to try to push back the tears, your eyes flickered up to his. “You’ve already done it all,” you reminded him quietly. You reached up with a trembling hand and gently touched the scar just over his eye. When Cyrille instinctively closed his eye, you traced your fingertips down over the thin scar. In a trembling voice threatening more tears, you murmured, “You saved my life. There’s nothing beyond that. To ask anything more of you would be a sin, Cyrille. I know that now.”

When your fingers reached his cheekbone, Cyrille opened his eye again. “No, angel,” he told you fervently, gazing down at you. “That was only the beginning for you and me.” His hand slipped from your cheek down to under your neck, and his fingers pressed up against the scar on your neck. Your eyes tightened as the memory of exactly how you had gotten that scar flashed through your mind again.

“We’re still here,” Cyrille reminded you, seeing the sudden tightness in your eyes, “and against all odds, we’re together again.” He leaned down a little to press his forehead against yours.

You closed your eyes, and you tried to bring yourself back into this moment, of being with Cyrille. He’s always been with me, you realized. At least I know that now. 

“And I remember you now,” you whispered out loud. “Properly, that is.”

“You do?” Cyrille asked you quietly.

You nodded. “All of the times we slipped away from our lessons and went off to who knows where...” you reminisced. “And in my restored memories, I saw all of the long hours we spent under the rose bushes in the garden, the dances we practiced together in your family’s ballroom, the nights we spent together on the rooftop and you’d tell me all about the different constellations in the sky, and the even later nights we spent talking about silly dreams and fears of ours under the covers...”

You looked up at Cyrille and said fondly, “You always knew to bring me snacks when you visited late at night.” 

“You wouldn’t let me in otherwise,” Cyrille told you, remembering with you. “You love sleep, angel. The only way I could coax you out of bed to let me into your room was if I brought you something sweet to eat. It was always a gamble as to whether you’d choose food or sleep...” 

“Well, you figured me out quickly,” you replied. 

“Mm, maybe. You’re very open with your heart, angel,” Cyrille said softly. 

“You know, without my memories, I used to be quite wary around you, because of how well you seemed to read me. I didn’t understand how you knew all of my secrets and beyond that, in any given moment, you seemed to be able to read my mind, or at least my mood. Still, I’d get these flashes where my body seemed to remember you. Like with our scars... I knew instinctively that we were connected. But now, I can finally trust... everything I’ve been feeling between us,” you told him. “It’s not just my body that remembers you anymore, Cyrille. It’s my mind, too. I truly remember you, and I know now how all of the time that we spent together has led to our being together here, and now. It makes sense to me now, why you and I are so... entwined.”

For a moment, Cyrille stopped breathing. That’s right. Angel knows us - our story -  now. All of those memories I’ve been holding onto on my own, all of the things I wished I could tell her and never could... She has them all again. We’re no longer living on parallel dimensions. We’ve joined together, finally.

Without being totally cognizant of it, Cyrille gave into his overwhelming feelings in the moment, and he kissed you. When his lips touched yours, you breathed out a little in surprise, and Cyrille suddenly realized what he was doing. 

“Angel,” he breathed out suddenly. He began to pull away, but you said quickly, “No, it’s okay. Don’t go.”

Cyrille paused. His lips were still on yours, but only just. “Are you sure?” he asked you. A moment later, Cyrille felt your soft lips bump up against his a little as you nodded your assent.

Cyrille did kiss you, but he tried his best to be soft and patient for you because of how fragile you were feeling. But it was difficult for him to hold back, now that he was certain that you finally weren’t so wary of him, now that you understood and trusted that the two of you belonged together, which Cyrille had known all along and all alone. Despite how slow the two of you kissed, Cyrille nonetheless kissed you hard enough to push your head back into your pillows. Simply put, he wanted – no, needed – you to know how much he loved you. He captured your lips in his for a long moment before finally drawing away from you.

You breathlessly stared up into his beautiful silver eyes. They were exactly as you remembered them, except perhaps a little sadder, a little wearier - but then, so were you.  

“I’m so sorry,” you said again softly, meaning every bit of it. “I know that we’re together again, but that doesn’t change what I did to you. And I know I was just trying to save myself, but I still left you, right after you risked your life to save mine.”

“Angel -” Cyrille began.

But you shook your head. “I’m not your angel. I don’t deserve to be called that. I- ”

Cyrille cut you off suddenly with another kiss. This time, his lips grasped more fervently at your lips, drawing out your breaths.

When the two of you parted, he gently rested his forehead on yours once more. With his eyes closed, he begged you, “Don’t apologize. Please. I never want to hear you say sorry for that again. It was never your fault. You didn’t ask for any of it.” 

“But I was so weak that I- ”

“No.” Cyrille cut you off. “No. You are not weak. You have never been weak.”

Gripping the back of your neck in his hand, Cyrille urged, “Do you understand me? You’re stronger and braver than anyone I know. You’ve always been. It’s why I fell for you in the first place.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” you confessed. “I’m weak. I saw in my memories how I ran away from everything. If I had been truly brave, I wouldn’t have done that.”  You swallowed hard, feeling a new lump jump up suddenly in your throat. “I’m a c-coward.” 

“Angel, you are not a coward. Please, don’t downplay what happened to you... what you went through,” Cyrille told you. “It would have forced anyone into shock. It’s not that you were weak. It’s that your mother- ”

My mother... An image of her raising her wand and her deranged, furious voice screaming, “SECTIS!” at you abruptly rang out in your mind. 

You flinched, and Cyrille cut off. 

Cyrille paused. Then, he whispered to you in a soft and gentle voice, “You’re brave. I need you to believe that. If you can’t believe it for yourself just yet, believe it for me. Can you do that for me?”

Your eyes slowly filled with tears again. 

Not hearing any response from you and seeing tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over yet again, Cyrille sighed. “I’m sorry if that was too much,” he said regretfully. “I just can’t have you thinking that any of this insane tragedy was a product of your weakness. I can’t allow that, not when you’re the best person I know.”

“Stop saying things like that. You don’t mean that,” you whispered, and your voice reflected the paralyzing pain that was cut deep into your heart at the moment. “You can’t.”

“I can, and I do,” Cyrille pushed back, starting to become frustrated. “I swear to you that I do. Why can’t you see yourself the way I see you?”

The tears finally slipped from your eyes again as you could no longer hold them back. Whether the tears came from the pain of your memories, or the pain you felt at Cyrille’s utter trust in you, you couldn’t say. Either way, it was enough to break your heart in half. 

Seeing you crying again, Cyrille broke, too. In a pained, desperate voice, he whispered fervently, “Angel, I love you.” 

“Mm- !” A soft noise of surprise escaped you as Cyrille kissed you passionately, no longer holding back. 

Cyrille’s words, treasuring your spirit, and his kiss, cherishing your heart, and both given to you with such devotion and passion, finally sparked something other than just pure guilt and sorrow within you. Instead, you felt a soft, but nonetheless startling, opening up of your heart, born out of your desire to respond to Cyrille’s affirmation of you. 

You wanted to love him. Yes, above everything, even your own pain, you wanted to love Cyrille Lestrange back. At your beckoning, the other emotions within you, which had gotten all lost and swallowed up in the outpouring of shame that you felt at regaining your memories all at once, were finally, and barely, able to push through the heavy negativity weighing down your soul. You were finally able to recognize and focus on all of the overwhelming gratitude, respect, and love that you felt for this man before you. And when Cyrille spoke to you and reminded you of who you were, you felt that tiny, but essential, spark of hope come back to life inside of your heart.

Yes, I’m not completely weak, you told yourself. After all, I did come back. I did choose to regain my memories. And Cyrille still believes in me, so maybe I can, too.

Slowly, you began to kiss Cyrille back. At first, you simply parted your lips slightly to receive more of his kisses. But as the two of you kept kissing, your hands tentatively reached up and touched his chest.

Cyrille reached up with one hand to press your hands against his chest. 

“Cy,” you mumbled, feeling the warmth of his hand on the back of yours. 

“Hm?” 

“You were my first...” you murmured.

“First?”

“First... love.”

You felt Cyrille’s lips curve up into the softest smile against yours, as he knew what you were referring to - that beautiful, almost heavenly moment, with the two of your lying together among the fabrics and jewels in the ballroom closet... You had so dearly caught him off guard when you’d buried your head against his shoulder and confessed that you’d rather not go home if it meant that you couldn’t be with him. 

Cyrille knew that he himself would never feel that vulnerable and happy again. Although it had only been a couple years since then, he had already become far too disillusioned to ever let his heart be caught off guard like that again, even if it was with you, his angel. But at least he had had that moment with you when you were both a little younger, and you were both a little more optimistic of life and love.

Your hands slipped up past his shoulders, slipping between his robes and his hair until you were holding the back of his neck, too. You pulled Cyrille down on top of you, so that he was no longer just lying alongside you, but was now above you. 

Letting you guide him and pull him down to you, Cyrille carefully, but willingly, sank down on top of you, sinking his lips into yours more deeply as he did so. He rested his arms on either side of your head. Leaning forward onto his forearms, he cradled your head between his arms lovingly as he kissed you. He was holding onto his promise of keeping you safe, pressing your body softly but securely under his own, so that you were contained entirely in the outline of his body over yours.

A faint moan left your lips as he kissed you very tenderly. 

“Are you all right, princess?” he murmured, his lips still pressed to yours. 

“Yes,” you breathed out. You nearly smiled when he called you “princess,” because you knew it was what he called you whenever he was worried he was pushing you too hard. Whenever he called you that, you knew he was pausing, waiting for you to tell him to back off, with him just needing to make sure that this was all right, and that this was what you wanted, after all. 

In your mind, you thought to yourself, I know that there is a cruelty to Cyrille. I know that he can be deceptive, and harsh, and possessive. I’ve seen flashes of it sometimes in his eyes, and I know that he does his utmost to keep me from seeing that side of him. I never want to be naïve about what he is. But he’s so gentle with me. He always has been. And I believe that this is his true self, and I’m going to do my best to consistently be someone that he can let his guard down with, just as he reminds me that I’m safe with him, even when my heart’s bleeding out all over the place...

You softly ducked your head down for just a moment to press a kiss against his neck. “I love you,” you offered shyly, sounding much more like your usual self. 

Cyrille exhaled lightly, but the sound of his breath rang out surprisingly loud in this small world that the two of you were falling into together. Then, Cyrille caught your lips yet again. 

As the two of you kissed, Cyrille slowly ended up on top of you, with his hips slipping slowly but surely between your thighs. Your blanket was still between the two of you, separating you, since he was lying on top of it, and you lying under it. But you could feel his weight and his warmth pressing into your body, and it made you feel a bit more grounded and relaxed. Appreciating the feeling of him against you, you squeezed your thighs slightly against his hips, needing to connect with his physicality, because doing so reminded you that you, too, were actually with him now and not simply lost in your past.

“Cyrille?” you whispered. Your voice was a bit raspy from having cried so much. 

“Yes?” Cyrille parted from you just a little, to gaze down at your face.

“Is this real?” you asked him, almost afraid to ask. “I didn’t die that day, did I?”

“Of course not,” Cyrille replied steadfastly. “As if I would let such a thing happen to you.”

“Believe me,” he said, smoothing your hair back from your face to press a firm, but gentle, kiss on your forehead, “there is no version of the world where I am alive, and you are not.”

“Don’t say that,” you pushed back at him, appreciating the sentiment, but hating the way he talked far too easily about his own death.

“Then, believe me,” Cyrille repeated, nuzzling his nose with yours softly. “We’re both alive. You’re here with me. And I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”

You paused. His words were finally starting to sink in through your intense haze of hurt and pain from your memories. 

“But what if I’m just dreaming of you again?” you whispered, feeling foolish for asking such a thing, but also wanting very much to hear his reply. “I told you before, Cy, I dream of you often. What if this is another one of my dreams of you?” 

“Because, angel, can’t you feel me with you?” Cyrille breathed out.

You blinked, and then, you slightly pushed your face up, your lips searching his, to feel his mouth on yours.

Cyrille responded immediately, instantly knowing what you wanted. He kissed you passionately, to remind you that you were with him now, and that you were both all right.

You sighed softly. You pushed down the blanket a little to press your hands against his chest. You clutched the front of his robes and nodding slightly, you murmured, “I feel like… I’m starting to come back.”

“Cy,” you breathed out, closing your eyes to focus on the feeling of being together with him.

“Yes?” he encouraged you gently.

“You really do... feel like home,” you told him.

Pulling him down so that you could press your face against his neck, you inhaled his clean, sharp scent, as you murmured, “Thank you for letting me fall in love with you again.” 

Cyrille shook his head slightly. You could feel his neck shifting a little as he did. 

“Angel, don’t you know...?” Cyrille asked you.

“Know what?”

“That’s my line.” 

You paused, not quite understanding why Cyrille thought that way.

Sensing your confusion, Cyrille explained to you, “To be honest, I didn’t think we’d be together ever again. After all, what were the chances of it happening the first time? So then, to expect it to happen again, to ask for you twice... It seemed impossible.”

“But you were so confident,” you responded, still slightly confused. “You were always teasing me, right from the very beginning. I thought you were certain that I would come back to you. You knew exactly how to play me, to bring me back. You were simply waiting for me to fall back to you.” You cocked your head a little to the side as you asked him, “Weren’t you?”

“No. Never,” Cyrille told you. “Don’t you remember? I told you that I’d played all of my cards with you on day one. Well, short of telling you your memories, that is. Bu I had essentially put my hand out there for the world to see, and for you to do whatever you wanted – whether that was to take advantage of me or ignore me entirely. After that point, our relationship was entirely determined by you.”

You did, in fact, remember that when you’d first confronted each other on the Astronomy Tower, during the party, Cyrille had said something like, “I’ve revealed my cards to you. Now, it’s all up to you, angel.”

“It’s all up to you...” you repeated now.

Cyrille slowly nodded, recognizing his own words.

“This is what you meant,” you whispered aloud, awed.

Cyrille admitted, “I was so sure that you would reject me.”

You hesitated, before you confessed, “Well, at first, I did want to ignore you. I thought I was simply a game to you. Or, if we were serious, I thought you might be bad for me. The more I was drawn to you, the more I felt myself being drawn to my past, and I found myself wondering if that was a negative thing. But…”

“But…?”

“But you’ve always… mesmerized me.” Your voice was sweet and low as you whispered to him, “I could spend all day looking at you, you know. And it’s not just about physical beauty or whatever. It’s your aura. It’s who you are. You’re… so beautiful. And sometimes, I’ll admit, it’s hard to trust you because everything about you is always shifting, like you’re wearing a thousand masks… But I’ve always, always wanted you.”

“I’m sorry I’m so hard to trust,” Cyrille said regretfully. “I just... I have a hard time feeling grounded, most days. I know that I’ve supposed to be a hundred things to people, and it’s become my nature to shift... to please people, to scare them...” 

His voice faded into a disgraced and dark tone as he murmured, “I try not to be like that around you, but I can’t seem to get it out of my bloodstream anymore. I’m afraid I’ll always have that bit of Lestrange, that bit of serpent, in me...”

“I’m sorry, angel,” he said heavily, apologizing sincerely to you.

But you shook your head at him, not wanting him to have to explain or apologize anymore. “No,” you told him softly, “I understand now. I remember it all… The way you grew up, the way your parents trained you, the lessons you had -”

“- The ones you were supposed to have, but you avoided,” Cyrille reminded you.

“Yes,” you agreed. “But I knew what they were supposed to be. Disguise, deception, seduction, manipulation... We’re expected to learn them right alongside with Potions and Charms and the like. I never did, but I know you did. And you were good at it, too. I remember. Your parents always praised you for how quickly you caught on with everything.”

“And you still find me… worthy?” Cyrille wondered. He cringed at himself, already expecting rejection.

But you said simply, “Yes. In all ways, Cyrille.”

Cyrille drew back a little from you to press his mouth to yours yet again. He was determined to kiss you as many times as you’d cried today.

You gratefully accepted his many kisses, as the way his lips moved so affectionately whispered love to you, over and over again, reminding you that you were going to be okay. 

But Cyrille was tense. You could feel the way his lips pulled away from yours slightly towards the end of each grasping kiss, and his neck and shoulders moved back, lifting just a little, as though to keep himself from kissing you too deeply. He was trying to remain steady for you, a gentle presence, waiting for you to find yourself again. 

You paused slightly. “You’re holding back,” you murmured to him, half-accusingly and half-appreciatively.

Cyrille paused, too. The both of you stayed still, millimeters away from each other’s lips, gazing into each other’s cautious eyes. 

Cyrille didn’t move or say anything, but you read the hesitant affirmation in his silver eyes.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t play a role for me. You don’t need to try to be my perfect lover. Just kiss me for real. Kiss me as you. Please.”

Cyrille’s eyes shadowed over slightly, as he was not entirely sure how to respond to this. 

Knowing that your request would go against every instinct he had, you made the first move. Lifting your head just a little off of your pillow, you pressed your lips against his lovingly, inviting him to take you, to kiss you back. 

At first, Cyrille responded uncertainly, but slowly, he began to relax. His head dipped down just a little to catch your lips more fervently.

At that moment, Cyrille’s silver hair fell forward, and fell over yours, spilling over and entangling a little with your curls. Seen from above, his silvery aura, intertwining with your golden spirit, was reminiscent of the moon and sun intertwining, shivering together sharply against a cold glass window. The two of you symbolized two incredibly different energies colliding in the narrow space of love, as thin as the space between your mouth pressed up against his, blinking in and out of existence over and over again as your lips met over and over again, but that space of love was gradually opening up in the face of fierce, fierce love. 

“Angel,” Cyrille whispered, “I don’t know what I’m doing...”

“Me neither,” you confessed. “It’s all right.” 

Cyrille nodded softly, trusting you. 

You became lost together in this hushed, melancholy, and yet brimming-with-love-and-hope world of your own. The light filtered in through the curtain of Cyrille’s long silver hair around you both. You blinked tiredly a few times, as your eyes were exhausted from crying, before you shut your eyes and focused on feeling Cyrille’s lips on yours. And the way he kissed you now was everything you had ever wanted from him. Because it was him. Cyrille Lestrange. Not some image that he felt he had to be for you. No, it was just him, kissing you. And somehow, his vulnerable kisses now were what was calling you back, finally, into the present. 

Yes, Cyrille’s kisses were slowly pulling you out of the deep place that you’d sunk into immediately after remembering all of your old memories. Even when your mind tried to drag you back into your feelings of utter worthlessness and of complete sadness over your mother’s hatred towards you and your father’s complete indifference towards both you and your mother, Cyrille’s loving words and affectionate kisses interfered and pulled you back to the world of the living, the world of the light, the world where there was the possibility of a future for you to be the person you wanted to be, someone who was stronger than the version of yourself that you were now. 

You remembered what Cyrille had told you before: “There is a certain darkness in you. While some people are born to live in the light, people like you and me are not.”

You kissed Cyrille fervently, determined and hopeful that between the two of you, you could help each other to construct your own shared and internal world, where the good things won out over all of the deep, aching bad that you both had been subjected to, and carried deep within you everyday. Perhaps you could not escape the past, and knowing what you knew now, you would never ever chose to forget again, but you were cautiously hopeful that someday, if you tried hard enough, you could develop the capacity to carry it with you. 

It helped, somehow, to have Cyrille besides you. As the two of you grew older, you knew you’d fall out of each other’s reach. This moment that you had with each other now was scarily precious and fragile because it did not exist in the future, so far as you could see, anyways, and you knew that. But in spirit, you would always be traveling in the same direction as him - in parallel dimensions, yes, but nonetheless, a partnership in the truest sense. 

Cyrille, you temper your violence with hope, you thought, while I temper my vulnerabilities with spirit.

In some ways, we are such different people, and we are definitely on divergent paths. I feel it everyday, when we sit at different tables and with different people. And yet, you complete me, Cyrille Lestrange. As if turns out, you always have. 

Being able to name your emotions for him deep inside of your own heart, your feelings for him began to slowly but surely dominate your heart and mind. Your fears remained deep in your mind somewhere, and the trauma of everything you had re-experienced today left the strong bite of anxiety lingering in your veins, but Cyrille had managed to coax out your tenderness and love, too, and thankfully, those latter emotions were the ones that were winning out, and stabilizing you.

“Cyrille,” you told him softly, breathing out blissfully between kisses, “you kiss so well...” 

Cyrille exhaled softly. Then, he said quietly to you, “Angel, I know you just got years’ worth of memories back, but I need you to remember one more thing for me, going forward.” 

“Yeah?” you murmured sweetly. 

He kissed you all over your face, pressing soft but very intentional kisses on your cheekbones, nose, and forehead before whispering to you, “I love you.” 

“If you have all your memories back, remember that. Remember that I love you,” Cyrille told you tenderly. His kisses showered over you like soft, sunny rain on a late summer’s evening. 

Your closed your eyes as you gave yourself to Cyrille’s words, and to his kisses. “Cyrille...” you breathed out his name as your head tilted back a little.

“My love,” Cyrille murmured back, pressing his lips against your throat. 

“While we’re on the topic of memories and love, I- I have a question,” you said, your breath catching a little as Cyrille gave you a soft love mark on your neck.

Cyrille normally hated leaving marks. He didn’t want to leave traces of his touch on lovers who merely wanted sex from him, nor did he particularly like seeing those he did care about with marks, because they unconsciously reminded him too much of scars from actual abuse.

But you taught him to differentiate between being loved and cared for, as opposed to being used and subjected to something. In doing so, you encouraged him to be more open, and less afraid, both of intimacy and of his own needs and desires. For once, he was able to mark you without fear of hurting you.

“And what question would that be?” he asked you, teasing you a little in an attempt to lift your mood.

You started to look down, but Cyrille gently kept his hand on your chin and murmured, “Wait. Let me kiss your neck, my love.”

“Oh...” You stared up at the ceiling, a bit surprised as you felt his lips press against your throat, followed by a light graze of his teeth biting your throat gently, but hard enough to leave the mark of his mouth, of his love, on your soft skin.

“Mm,” Cyrille breathed out softly. “Mine.”

Your mind suddenly spun a little. This was so unlike him - his sucking on your neck hard enough to leave mark, even biting you, and then telling you in such a light-hearted tone that you were his, and yet, you loved it. You loved how open he was being with you.

“Did you leave your mark on me?” you wondered aloud. 

“Yes. You look so good with my mark on you,” Cyrille praised you.

A strange, but nonetheless lovely, warmth bloomed in your tummy at his words.

Kissing over the blossoming mark gently, Cyrille reminded you, “You know, you can still ask me your question. I’m listening, angel.”

“Oh, right,” you said, murmuring a bit fuzzily as you called back your question in your mind. “Cyrille, why didn’t you give up on me?”

You had been wondering this since Cyrille had told you that he hadn’t actually been confident at all that you could come back to him. Truth be told, you had assumed that Cyrille had always believed that you would easily fall for him again, for why else would he hold out on the hope that you could be together again? After all, no one could have predicted whether you would ever find your memories again. So, then, why take on the risk of caring for someone who might never care for you back? You couldn’t help but wonder. 

Cyrille paused. Then, he reverted to a serious mood as he replied, “How could I have given up on you? The question doesn’t make much sense, angel.”

“But what if I never came back to you?” You tried to explain. “What if I had... stayed with James?”

Cyrille stopped kissing your throat for a moment. In a heavy voice, Cyrille replied honestly, “I would let you go, of course. What could I do? If you loved someone else, then you loved someone else. That would be the end of the story, regardless of what I felt for you.” His cold fingers traced down your throat to your chest, and he pressed lightly right over your heart as he murmured, “After all, I had no right to you, angel. No one does... Your heart is your own.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “But yours too, no? I’m sure you had no shortage of suitors. Despite that, you still waited for me. That’s what I don’t understand...”

“It’s as I said: How could I do not?” Cyrille insisted, before he returned to pressing kisses against your throat. His hand rested lightly at the base of your neck as he murmured, “When you are love itself to me...”

You exhaled slowly. Your mind was fuzzy. Love itself...? you thought hazily. I don’t believe that. Not one bit. But when Cyrille says it, I find myself wanting to accept it anyways. Because he offers the idea to me so sweetly. His voice suggests that he’s merely returning the idea of love to me, as if it truly were mine, as if I already really were love itself... 

A serpent’s tongue indeed, you thought to yourself. But instead of being put-off or feeling wary, you sank into a feeling of pleasant acceptance, grateful that Cyrille was willing to paint over your darkness by re-introducing the vibrant color of soft pale pink back to your cheeks with his too bold declarations of love for you. 

You murmured teasingly, “You’re a worse romantic than Westley, you know. As it turns out, Cyrille Lestrange, you’re a complete fool for love.” 

Your hands found their way into his hair and you lovingly tangled your fingers into his silky hair. You had grown quite fond of the way his hair slid between your fingers like a dream too shiny to completely catch, yet nonetheless slipping by you in a most wonderful way. 

Cyrille heard your comment, and he realized, once again, how you failed to see how much you meant to him. You were the one who had prevented Cyrille from blindly accepting the premise that all love is illusion. You challenged him on the notion in that ballroom closet crammed with tulle and jeweled dresses, when you whole-heartedly rejected his notion of sex as excusable manipulation, and instead offered him sex as tied to love. 

Cyrille felt that he owed you his sanity, in that sense. Because, otherwise, at age fourteen, he was ready to believe all that his father had taught him about sex, especially with regards to the concept of male authority. You’d freed him from accepting sex in such a narrow-minded way, and instead taught him that it was but one of many languages to share with your lover. 

Thus, from Cyrille’s perspective, he really was returning the love you taught him. True, he’d kept it safe, even tried to care for it to make it grow, for the two years that you’d entrusted it to him. And finally, today, he was able to return it back to you.

So now, Cyrille was determined to make love feel very real to you. He wanted to make you feel the way you had made him feel all that time ago, locked away together, just the two of you, in your secret little world of first loves and near-foolish confessions, for that was where Cyrille had first encountered the idea of love - in you.

And did Cyrille still believe in the vision of true love you’d presented him with in the ballroom closet? No, perhaps not. Cyrille had, after all, often used his body and his charisma to please, taunt, and comfort many lovers, and he knew that sex as illusion was a powerful spell. His father was not mistaken. Sex and illusion was a powerful way to get what you wanted. Sex as power was a heady and intoxicating arena of its own, and Cyrille was all too familiar with the board, players, and tactics to stop believing in its mechanisms, even if he was ashamed of it. But to the degree that sex as love could exist in this world and in his mind, its soft, effervescent, and dying form was you.

Cyrille pressed long, passionate, yet slow kisses all over your neck. It felt pleasant, but eventually, you wanted him to kiss your lips.

“Cy, where are you…?” you breathed out. Your hands slipped up from his chest to his face to pull him back up to you. “Come back, I want to kiss you…”

Hearing you, Cyrille found his way back to you, claiming your mouth as his, and feeling you do the same to him. The two of you kissed tenderly with your eyes closed, not needing to see each other to share a rhythm in trading kisses. In fact, it might be too much to look at each other for too long in this moment. You both required making the most out of the silence and blindness, in order to tamp down the utter intensity of being together. Getting your memories back was traumatic for countless reasons, most of them involving the deep psychological scars left behind by abuse and violence, but remembering those lost memories also meant that this - this moment, right now - was your first true reunion with Cyrille. You finally remembered all of the time that you had spent together and understood your relationship in context. 

Reciprocally, Cyrille no longer had to pretend not to know the deepest parts of you. That had been his mask for you: hiding the true depth of your feelings and his understanding of your motivations and vulnerabilities, for fear that he would scare you away by knowing your most intimate secrets when you couldn't remember why he would know that.

And now, for the first time, Cyrille had no need to coax or demand permission from you out of a barely restrained desire to claim you as his. Today, he was not afraid that he would become possessive, with all of his secret feelings and grievances bubbling up at you. It simply was not about that anymore. Because in all of his dreams of having you, even his most fantastical dreams had not involved you remembering him. He’d simply never let his fantasies go there - it was too much heaven to dream of. 

Having sacrificed his dream of a complete relationship with you, Cyrille could only pray that you would never experience the harshness of your past again. That was why he had been so fiercely determined to keep your love a secret, to never let any of the other Death Eater purebloods have you in their minds, for any reason at all. 

Consequently, for the past few months, if not years, Cyrille had tried very hard to find a way that the two of you could have loving relationship again, without him relying on anything from the past two summers you had spent together, hidden away among the rose gardens and ballroom closets. 

And if we were to pick up where we left off, Cyrille thought, in that ballroom closet, with my hand between her thighs... 

Cyrille looked down at you with a soft, half-lidded gaze. He asked you very tenderly and patiently, “Would you want me, angel?”

“You can say no, of course,” he reminded you. “You can always say no. I’ll never press you… for anything.”

But you nodded, your eyes tracing down his body, still clothed but nonetheless pressing against you already and promising warmth. 

“Yes,” you said softly. “I want you. More than ever.”

“Well, princess, you already know that your wish is my command,” Cyrille replied. 

“And you said you hated that line,” you teased him. 

“I did, but I couldn’t have you mad at me for insulting your favorite book,” Cyrille told him.

You laughed lightly at last, though that movement felt foreign to your face after crying for so many hours on end. 

Neither of you immediately made to have sex. Instead, having been granted your permission, Cyrille simply leaned back down and returned to kissing you.

And quite naturally, as the two of you kissed, you began to rock together slightly now. Your blanket was still between the two of you, but it was slowly gathering up between your thighs and stomachs.

Safely pinned underneath him, with his arms cradling you as he kissed you, stealing the breath from your body, you felt your serpent prince caving into you very slowly, loosening his need for authority and his mastery of illusion to slowly unwind his coils in order to love you freely.

The entire irony of your relationship was quite simple, in some ways. The serpent prince says to the angel, “your wish is my command,” and yet, his own wish is to be dead. He had grown up learning that no serpent fears death. No, they all wish for it. But when his angel tells him to breathe, he breathes. And he breathes solely for her, at first, so as not to make her sad and lonely. But through her, he eventually learns the importance of breathing for himself. And even when she’s gone, ripped away from him by life, he stands on his own and understands that there is an importance, and a solid weight, to life.

And for you, too, when Cyrille kisses you so lovingly but demandingly, forcing you to keep your chin up, head tilted back, and throat exposed for him for so long that you begin to feel light-headed, and even then, he continues to steal your breath away from your very lips kiss after kiss after kiss, you find yourself remembering that he is your serpent prince, and the only man that you would ever willingly drown with - not for, but with. 

Your gentle rocking, both with and against each other, was becoming more and more intense. Your breathing was starting to come in little gasps, and Cyrille was moaning softly into your mouth. You held each other’s hands tightly as he rocked gently between your legs, pressing up softly against you, with mouths shifting slightly together.  

Gradually, Cyrille’s hips slowly pushed into you. Your breath hitched in your throat. At the same time, Cyrille exhaled, and you felt his soft breath blossom across your lips and cheeks. You breathed out with a little moan of your own, and you pulled your legs up a little, folding them and pressing your knees against his sides again.

She’s so lovely, Cyrille melted inside, hearing your soft moan and feeling your thighs press up gently against his hips and obliques. 

“Cy,” you exhaled, a little breathlessly, “please...”

Take it slow, and take her softly, Cyrille thought to himself. She deserves to feel that kind of love. Always, but especially today.

Your blanket finally slipped out entirely from between the two of you, and fell off of your bed, landing on the floor in an unceremonious heap. Now with his body pressing directly against yours, your legs and hips were pushed up a bit and your middle sank down towards the bed as your legs lifted. 

Cyrille rocked into you again, this time a little harder, before drawing back, intending to repeat the movement. When Cyrille’s hips parted from you for the space of a heartbeat, your hips fell back towards the bed, and your head fell back, pushing your chin up into the air. You exhaled softly as your head slid back onto your pillow. You responded so well to him, naturally letting your softer body meld and fold against his sharper and more muscular one. You bent with him in such a lovely way, moving with him in such a perfectly synchronized manner, both in position and rhythm, that Cyrille began to wonder if you had been made for him. None of his lovers could even come close to you - the way you breathed out for him, the way your hips and knees bent together and extended perfectly in time with how his hips rocked in you, and the way you unconsciously squeezed his hands tightly in yours whenever he pressed up against you just a little harder... 

Cyrille groaned softly, feeling himself also responding to you, and beginning to grow hard and stiff inside of his pants. His chest began to rise and fall a little more quickly. Neither of you were outright panting or anything like that, but with the heavy breathing alone, a nonetheless strange and delicate tension had appeared in the atmosphere that you were both very much sharing. 

Still trailing kisses against your soft, wanting mouth, Cyrille reached down and slid his hand beneath the waistband of your skirt and then, underneath your panties. Moving slowly, he gently touched you bare between your thighs, rubbing you softly with his fingers. 

“Ah...” You breathed out softly, as you felt his fingertips graze you, before sinking through your folds, and then feeling the length of his fingers sliding against you to quickly make you slick. Your hands gripped his arms - gently at first, but then tighter as he worked his fingers against your pretty folds.

“M-Mm, mm, ah...” Your exhales were beginning to shape into lovely, cloud-like little breaths. Your breasts were rising and falling quickly under your shirt, straining a little at the fabric. 

Meanwhile, Cyrille sucked gently at your neck, his lips grasping at your neck just hard enough to start to leave suggestive little bruises all around the love mark he’d bitten onto your skin earlier. He was painting you with his mouth, the way he’d always wanted to, and in a way he never would with anyone else.

Mm, she’s starting to get wet, Cyrille thought, feeling your warmth starting to spread between your thighs. 

Cyrille’s fingers never entered you, but he could still make you cum by teasing your pretty clit and pressing his fingers against your wet little folds. And you could make Cyrille hard by just being pleasured by him like this, letting him touch you like this... Cyrille could feel himself responding to you, his cock rising up in reply to your wetness and your lovely, half-phantom and half-princess sounds. 

Cum, princess, Cyrille thought, rubbing his fingers against you, pushing against you a bit harder until - 

A soft release of breath, not quite a moan, but almost - left your lips as you arched your back a little off the bed and, still holding onto Cyrille’s arms, your head fell back completely over your pillow. Your breasts pushed up into the air as you arched your back. Your thighs were quivering, too, as you came.

Cyrille watched you fall back on the bed with your eyes tightly shut. Reaching out, he used his hand, with his fingers covered in your delicate, sticky cum, to grasp the hemline of your shirt and push up your shirt and your bra, up to your chest. 

Your hands slipped away from his arms and your arms curled up over your naked breasts, so that the insides of your arms were pressing gently into your breasts, covering your nipples and pushing down into your softness.

Cyrille’s eyes glided over your stunning body, following your arms down from your breasts to your tummy, your waist, and your hips. Then, he slowly pulled off your skirt. Dropping your skirt on the floor besides the bed, Cyrille then leaned down to kiss your leg. 

Your arms pressed tighter into your breasts as you looked down at him and saw him pressing his lips against your ankle. You shivered as he worked his way up your leg to the inside of your thighs. His lips grazed the inside of your thighs just before your panties, and then, he paused and looked up at you, locking his silver eyes with yours, before he kissed you wetly through your panties. You tried to keep his gaze, but your eyelashes fluttered and your mouth fell open slightly as you felt his lips on you. 

Cyrille gently pushed aside the strip of fabric covering you, and then he pressed his mouth against you, slowly sliding his tongue against you. As his tongue flickered pleasantly across your clit, you moaned softly. He lapped at you so well, loving the taste of you on his mouth again. 

Opening your thighs a little more, you reached down and stretching your arm down over your tummy, you reached between your thighs and gently grasped his hair as his head moved up and down a little between your legs. His warm tongue teased your clit so well, before lavishing it with long, loving strokes. 

“Mm,” you sighed. 

You loved him there, with his head pressed in between your legs. But today, of all days, you wanted him pressed up against you the entire length of your body, and you wanted to feel him inside of you so badly. 

“Ah...” you began to breathe out a little harder, as his tongue swiped over and over at your clit, milking your sweet honey out of you and spreading it all over your pussy. 

You shut your eyes. “Cy...” you whispered, feeling how wet you were getting between your legs. You were starting to feel quite hot, and you wanted to be filled... 

“Hm?” he asked you, humming warmly against you.

“Mm, w-want you,” you breathed out, gripping his hair tighter. “Want you n-now…”

“Are you sure?” Cyrille asked you. “I haven’t made you cum with my mouth yet, angel. And you know how much I love to taste you.”

“But... I want you,” you whined softly, and you gave him a soft tug on his hair. “Please, let me feel you... inside of me.” 

“All right, princess. All right.” Cyrille nodded at you as he sucked gently at your pussy, leaving it nice and wet for him before he got up onto his knees. 

“I want to see you,” you told him softly, watching him undo his belt buckle and slide off his pants. “All of you. Your scars, too.”

Cyrille sighed a little, but he took off his robes completely, his fingers lithely working down the front buttons of his shirt before pulling it off of him. 

Your breath caught in your throat. He truly was so beautiful. It was a somewhat strange sensation for you, every time you saw Cyrille bare, because seeing him exposed for you threw your traditional notions of beauty and attractiveness right out of the window. It wasn’t exactly like he was “good-looking.” In fact, it might be more accurate to say that he was “cruel-looking” or at least intimidating. Haunting, even. But nonetheless, something within you stirred whenever you saw his bare chest, covered in horrible thin silver scars, or his abs, with the treacherous-looking dark blue inked serpent wrapping around his body, or his thighs, strong and lean, and his cock, long and curved and promising to fill you full of his cum... 

But he didn’t let you gaze at him for more than a few seconds for, as soon as he’d undressed, he’d fallen back on top of you. He kissed you again, and you responded fervently, tasting yourself on his mouth. 

“C-Cy,” you murmured, moaning a little.

“Angel,” he responded lovingly, pressing his hands to your face.

His hands were, as always, slightly colder than yours. You shivered a little, but you loved it because the slightly cold temperature meant that it was him. And slowly, as his palms pressed against your warm cheeks, his hands warmed up, too.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as the two of you kissed one another deeply, not letting each other stray or part in any way.

When Cyrille felt your legs cross over the back of his lower waist, and your thighs squeeze against his sides, he exhaled slowly. He reached down with one hand, guided himself to you. “Princess, are you sure you want me now?”

“Yes,”  you told him. You pressed your hands against his chest and shut your eyes tightly. 

Cyrille shivered a little at how warm your hands were against his bare chest. Glancing down, he saw how you were waiting for him - eyes squeezed closed and obviously holding your breath.

He smiled softly, remembering this was how you’d waited for him to kiss you too, in the rose garden. Things were different now, of course, but there was an emotional, if not unexpected, tenderness ever-present between the two of you. And it made Cyrille, who was normally incredibly impatient and blunt, want to be gentle and patient with you. He very, very slowly, began to push into you. 

Your hands pressed hard against his chest at first, before abruptly curling up into fists. “Ah!” You gasped in a muted, but intense way. It felt so incredibly intimate with him, that when you felt him start to press into you, you immediately welled up with all sorts of emotions tugging at your heartstrings. All this time I was with him, I thought I loved him. And I was right, but I didn’t know how much...

Pausing, Cyrille took a moment to hold his breath, too, before sliding in a little deeper inside of you.

“A-Ah!” Another light gasp caught at your throat, and came out as a quick sob instead. So many facades and stolen moments. Never being quite sure of each other’s feelings. And now, knowing that we’re really together again... My memories are so dark, and so painful, especially when I think of my family. But still, there’s this burst of brightness and beauty at the center of my recollections, and I think that secret, but deep warmth comes from remembering Cyrille and our quiet, but meaningful relationship together... Thank Merlin for Cyrille. Without him, today would have been so much harder, on so many different levels. Thank Merlin he’s here with me... I won’t ever let him go again.

"Angel..." Cyrille murmured, gazing down at you sadly, and seeing new iridescent tears streaking down your face. "Angel, you're crying..." He kissed your tears away. Each one of your tears hurt him, and yet they were also as precious as diamonds. Even after your tears were gone, he held you gently by your waist and pressed whispering kisses, tracing along your jaws with his lips, reminding you how much he loved you.

And though he wasn’t moving his hips, the way he kissed you, with his cock already mostly inside of you, made you feel his length shifting inside of you. It was such a wonderful feeling, to have him inside of you this way, but also holding you and kissing you so lovingly. You kept your legs around him and slowly, your hands opened up again and you reached out and hugged him tightly. 

For a long while, the two of you stayed like that, with him inside you, kissing you with his hands holding you, and softly rocking together again. Your legs, wrapped around his waist, moving up and down gently in time to your shared rhythm. Your arms were pressed up against his sides, and your hands came together to press themselves against Cyrille’s shoulder blades. 

The tiniest moans left your lips, and Cyrille was there to taste them all, and swallow them into his own breath as his lips pressed up against yours, loving you and savoring you like you were the most precious thing in the world.  

Then, Cyrille felt your curves relax and melt in his grasp, caving into his hands so gracefully... And Cyrille could also feel the roses blossoming across your thighs - his angel’s thighs, which were gently open to receive him. And he was there for you - entering you to meld soft hurt with intense pleasure.

Feeling him so deeply inside you, both physically and emotionally, you finally let yourself feel all of the want and love that Cyrille had for you. That’s right. I can trust you completely now, no matter what anyone else says, no matter what my own insecurities are whispering in the back of my mind. No more games between us - well, now I know that there never were. Holding Cyrille’s face between your hands, you kissed him with the genuine desire that you had had for him all along, too, with no reason to hide any of your love for him anymore, either. 

Cyrille moaned softly, letting slip that high and gentle sound that you loved so much. 

“Cyrille...” you whispered. You didn’t know how to say what you felt. You were so grateful for his love.

Well, say that, then. Tell him directly what you feel. No more games. No more insecurities, you pushed yourself. After everything, you owe him your truth and your vulnerability. You can do this. For him. For yourself.

You swallowed hard. Your throat felt a little sore from having sobbed so much earlier. Ignoring the little sting in your throat, you went ahead. "I- I love you," you confessed, feeling like someone was injecting your heart with salt water in that moment. Your voice came out a bit raspy, and wavering, but it didn’t matter - you needed him to know.

Cyrille's eyes were incredibly melancholy, and yet, the light that glimmered in them was one of newfound hope, for he was looking at a miracle. Here you were - you - with your complete memories - telling him that you loved him. He didn't know how to reciprocate. He felt like he needed to be a god to respond properly, and he wasn't. He was only a man. But yours. 

"Angel..." he returned in a low, barely audible murmur. That was all he could manage to say, all that he could give you in this moment.

No, I can give her bliss... Cyrille thought. Yes, let me take her away into another world, just for a little while, where she only feels pleasure and warmth, deep inside her. 

Cyrille pushed himself up onto his hands, placed on your pillow on either side of your head, and he gently thrust up into you. 

"A-ah...!" you moaned softly, your raspy voice catching onto the dust motes spiraling down in the dimly lit air.

Outside, in the real world, evening was falling, but here, there were only the two of you, finally together as a couple, but separate from the rest of the world. Nothing else mattered, Cyrille thought, because the world was cruel and ruthless, but here, your love for each other was soft and forgiving and bleeding with vulnerability...

And all of the strange, spiraling energy that Cyrille felt in that moment, so did you. It was no wonder that you were crying, what with the past, present, and future all melding together, with the soft and slow heat, almost pleasant burn, that you were feeling between your legs as he took you, just as you’d asked him to.

"I love you," you whispered again to Cyrille. You slowly slid your hands up his back as you repeated in a faint murmur, "I... love you... so much..."

If she keeps saying it, my heart is going to explode, Cyrille thought. He closed his eyes and let his feelings show through his physicality, consummating his love for you by making love to you in a passionate and loving way.

"Ah!" You cried out when Cyrille thrust up into you in response to your confessions.

Cyrille groaned, feeling your tightness wrapping around him. Your confessions made the sex feel so much more potent, and Cyrille’s mind was growing hazy. You, too, were feeling the consequences of your unrestrained confessions, as you trembled, causing your thighs to shiver against him, and your pussy to throb gently against his cock. 

Cyrille bit down on his lower lip. Just then, he felt you shudder underneath him. He quickly looked down at you. Your head had fallen to the side, lolling a little on your pillow. You were breathing out softly, but shallowly, already exhausted from how emotionally draining this extreme intimacy between the two of you was. 

A stray strand of your hair fell across your face and caught on your lips, which were wet and pink from all of the kisses that you'd received from Cyrille in the past hour. The soft, romantic curl fluttered against your lips as you softly exhaled out in time to Cyrille’s hips pressing into you, taking you as his woman, and giving you himself unconditionally in return. 

Cyrille reached down and pushed your head back up. Then, arms slipping further apart to hold himself above you still, and shoulder blades caving in, Cyrille bent his down down and kissed you fervently. As he gently thrust into you, with each thrust, his mouth pushed against yours, pushing your head back a little with his. You moaned, and at that moment, his lips slipped between yours and he stole away your breath, exhale by exhale...

His waist glided back and forth between your thighs, spreading you open lovingly to coax you to take him over and over again. But even as your thighs spread open, glimmering slightly with your beautiful wetness spreading out from between your legs, your shins, crossed lovingly against his back, tightened, wanting him closer and deeper. Cyrille responded, knowing, without words, what you wanted from him. And he wanted it, too - to give you pleasure, to satiate your mind with repeated bliss, and to make that little tummy of yours flutter with butterflies - first in rising anticipation, then in a wave of intense pleasure. 

Responding to you, Cyrille began to take you just a little harder, and your hips pressed slightly into the bed with every rock. 

“Hah... Ah...” You breathed out. “Cy...” 

Cyrille groaned softly, even though he was only pushing about three-fourths of his cock inside of you. You still felt so good to him, so perfect underneath him, with your breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust, and your soft moans slipping out of your pretty lips, and your curls - which had, with time, grown back even longer and wilder than before - were sprawled over your pillow in the most beautiful way possible.

“Angel...” Cyrille whispered. “My love…”

“U-Uhn,” you stuttered back. Cyrille felt your little hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, nails streaking lightly over his skin, before finally slipping back into his hair - to grip it needily, as Cyrille disarmed you by reaching your sweet spot over and over again with his long, hard cock.

Your head still tilted back, you wrapped your arms around Cyrille’s shoulders and you lifted your chest up from the bed, dragging yourself up against Cyrille and pressing yourself tightly to him, as you needed to release tension somehow with Cyrille’s gentle thrusting pushing you closer and closer to your climax.

Then, when Cyrille pushed his hips forward, thrusting more than before, you held your breath and your entire body shivered against him. Your head came up and for a moment, you pressed your face against his strong, steady shoulder as you moaned for him.

Hearing your soft melodic moans fill the room, Cyrille melted into you, pressing kisses adoringly on your shoulders. But he kept holding himself up for you, because you were holding onto him for support. Feeling your hot breath on his shoulder, followed by your shivering, sharp gasp as he hit up against your sweet spot yet again, Cyrille exhaled sharply. The way you were holding onto him, as though he were your lifeline, made Cyrille’s protectiveness over your rush forward.

“Princess? Are you all- all right?” he managed to breathe out. Cyrille was sweating, as it was taking everything he had to not only hold you up as you clung to him, but also to hold himself up, and then - to continue making love to you so, so gently, despite how tight and warm and wet you were for him. 

“Yes, don’t stop,” you gasped out, feeling how close you were. 

“K-Keep going?” Cyrille asked you.

“Y-Yes, please,” you moaned softly. “Deeper, please...” 

You buried your head against his chest, moaning openly with your lips pressed hard right against his collarbone. Your whole body was wrapped around his, holding onto him for love and support, while your thighs were wide open for him, wanting him deep inside of you...

Cyrille took a deep breath. As he did, the lovely scent of your skin and your curls washed over him. Your scent was so tantalizing to Cyrille, not because it reminded him of anything in particular - simply because it was you. Scent, Cyrille discovered hazily, could be warm... 

Moaning, he plunged his cock inside of you again. Though he wasn’t too deep inside of you, it will still enough to spread you open and hit up against that sweet spot of yours that Cyrille somehow found so quickly and  easily.

At that moment, you breathed out, in a voice lighter than silk, yet still tense and tight with need, “Cyrille, ah!” Your voice, gasping at the air, showcased your complete vulnerability as you gave yourself - your body, your heart, and your mind - to Cyrille all at once. And you gave yourself in such a whole-hearted way, not because you were throwing yourself at him and asking him to take care of you, or because you wanted to take out your aggression on someone and use them for your own needs, but because you were willing to give yourself and express your need and want for him, without asking anything of him first. 

“Uhn,” Cyrille exhaled softly, for once in his life, unable to find the right thing to say. This… This was why you were his everything. You disarmed him, merely by being yourself, and in yourself, you had such a fearless capacity to love. But you were so human about it, as well. Your ability to love didn’t manifest itself in such a beautiful way because you were some superwoman. No, actually Cyrille knew that you could be shy. In fact, you hated, maybe more than anything else, how vulnerable you could be. Cyrille knew that about you. He’d known it from the very first moment he spoke to you, when you told him straightaway that he was the spawn of the devil. You preferred to be in a battle of wits than to have to confess your fears and feelings for someone. You would rather hide behind games than let someone see the softness in your eyes. 

All of these things were true. But what was so courageous about you was that when it mattered most, you always put yourself out there first – like now. You took your soft, beating heart in both hands, and offered it to him, all hope and prayer. Because you had a deeper, even more innate, nearly primal understanding, that who you were could not be taken away from you, ever. By your mother or father, by James, or by Cyrille. This fundamental bravery that was core to you, made you able to offer yourself and your love to the people you loved more than anyone else Cyrille knew. And that you would choose him, of all people, to give your heart to, was more warmth and courage than Cyrille could bear.

Cyrille was beginning to lose himself. The way you not only loved him now, but relied on him, trusted him... And how you showed that by holding your thighs open for him even as you were quivering all over, and how you hugged his shoulders so tightly it felt like you both were about to break, and how you kept pressing desperate little kisses against his shoulder between your moans, and how your soft breasts kept pressing into his chest, as he made love to you... It was all starting to blur together into the single experience of loving each other. 

Distinct sensations dissolved into experience as the two of you joined together, finding each other in the strange emotional and physical landscape of love and lust and memory. Everything was washed over by a soft blue color, the color of iridescent dewdrops caught on the edges of a morning glory petal, because sadness was the main emotion that the two of you were trading in your kisses and in sex. In some ways, sadness might be the basis of any love making on this earth, but it was particularly true for the two of you.

Though neither of you knew quite how to say it aloud or how to resolve it, both you and Cyrille shared a deep sense of wanting to have a genuine place to call “home.” Instead, the two of you, as young but completely powerless rebels, had ended up finding it in each other. Naturally, there was a deep sadness to that, as you both implicitly understood that every human being is a little bit too flawed, and too fragile, to really ever be someone else’s “home.”

But Cyrille wanted so badly to be that for you, even as he was struggling himself to find his own place in the world. Because you had taught him love, day by day, mesmerizing him by constantly catching him off guard every time you abruptly switched between your defiant, mischievous spirit and your shy, delicate blushes.

And whenever you opened your mouth to accept his kisses or to moan his name softly, Cyrille saw a lovely, iridescent shade of blue, all soft and hazy, arising from your parted lips. He wanted to swallow all of it, to take it into his own mouth, to take away your sadness, to heal you. And so, he found himself kissing you and over and over and over again that evening. 

“Uh...” You breathed out a long, sweet moan into his waiting mouth. Then, his lips closed around yours again, closing your moan into an even softer and muffled sound that became lost somewhere between your mouth and his.

In controlled, gentle thrusts, Cyrille made love to you as tenderly and affectionately as he could, and he drunk in your sweet, near-silent, but warm moans as affirmation that he was loving you properly. 

As he kept pressing up against your sweet spot, you knew you were so close. In fact, you’d been close for a long while now, as he’d kept you right on the edge of spilling over into your orgasm for a long time with his gently paced rhythm. And all you could hear inside your head was his name - Cyrille, Cyrille, Cyrille... And he was pounding softly but incessantly against your sweet spot in the same frantic, light rhythm that you were calling out his name in your head. Cyrille, Cyrille, Cyrille... Ah, ah, ah...! 

Suddenly, your arms tightened around Cyrille in a nearly vicelike manner. At that moment, Cyrille heard you gasp sharply. All at once you tensed so tightly that for a minute, your chin was on his shoulder as you lifted yourself up from your bed. 

Cyrille groaned, both his arms and his thighs shaking as he felt you clutching onto him and your sweet, wet cunt tightening all around his cock at the same time. 

“Ah!” you cried out, your voice already weary, almost husky, from crying all day. 

“A-Angel - !” Cyrille breathed out. 

Though both of you were trembling all over, your body gave out before his. You fell back against the pillows, arms falling open onto either side of your head. 

“Cyrille,” you gasped out sweetly. It was the only thing that made sense to you to say. “Cyrille...” 

Cyrille felt you cumming, with his cock still inside of you. And there you were, murmuring his name like it was the only prayer you believed in, as you came, all lovely and blushing, on his cock.

Blearily, you opened your eyes, as the shimmering waves of pleasure let you down gently. The sadness got in the way of it all, muting the usual lust between the two of you, while amplifying the intense emotional undercurrents of the moment, but even so, you were sure that you had never felt such pure sexual pleasure. 

You looked up at Cyrille with dreamy, yet melancholy eyes. And you noticed how hard he was panting... You paused. You were the one who had just cum, so why was Cyrille the one breathing hard, sweating, and even trembling all over?

It occurred to you that you hadn’t felt him press up against you once - not all the way, even that, given his length, it was so easy and natural for him to do so. He was being gentle with me today... And I was holding onto him the whole time, especially when I came all over his cock... You reached up and gently touched his face. “Cyrille...” 

He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. 

“Cy?” you called, a little worried. You quickly pressed little kisses all over his chest. “Are you all right?”

Cyrille’s eyes flashed open. 

Your fingers were already grazing his cheek, but now you traced his cheekbone all the way up to just above his ear. You tucked his long hair behind his ear as you murmured, “Was I holding onto you too tightly?”

Cyrille shook his head at you.

Liar, you thought adoringly.

“I love you,” you told him again, whispering, just as your fingertips whispered against his face.

Cyrille paused. Your eyes were still a little red from all of the crying that you had done earlier today. Cyrille quickly bent down. You instinctively closed your eyes, and he kissed your eyelids very gently before pulling his head back up. 

Then, you asked him softly, “Cum in me?” You spread your legs open for him again on the bed. You reached down and cocking your head to the side on your pillow, you put your hands on your thighs, inviting him to take you again as his, and to confirm it by finishing inside of your waiting pussy.

Cyrille closed his eyes and pushed himself to sit back on his knees. He gave himself a moment, feeling himself shift back into himself, untangling his identity from yours for just a second, to let himself breathe again.

Though you were still lying back with your head on your pillow, your little hands gently reached down to touch his lower abs. You felt him inhale sharply when he felt your touch.

There was a beat where you watched Cyrille take a deep breath. The early evening sunlight, coming in through the window, introduced pale gold into your lovers’ world, but at the same time, it accentuated the darkest blue hues in the shadows. In that strange, almost underwater-type lighting, Cyrille looked like a carven sculpture that someone had accidentally spilled watercolors all over... A living testament to paradox, a beautiful sculpture of grief, and the wreath of lilies and lavenders released such a potent scent of misery and melancholy...

And flickering in this interplay of light and shadow were the silver flashes - not of your lover’s haunting eyes, but of his even more haunting scars all across his chest, like slivers of moonlight embedded in his chest. 

Straining a little, you slowly reached up to touch his chest, but just before your fingers touched his skin, Cyrille, with his eyes still closed, had reached down and feeling your beautiful curves for a moment, he found and gripped your soft hips.

Smoothly finding his way back inside you, Cyrille thrust into you, still soft, but quicker, and unexpected.

“Ah!” you cried out. Your hand trembled, and then fell back against the pillow, without having touched his chest.

And then, everything became shifting hues - your body shifting on the bed, his hips moving fast, thighs pressing up on thighs, and Cyrille, gripping your hips hard, threw back his head and let out a hard exhale as he controlled himself, not thrusting too hard, but at the same time, the intensity between the two of you – the electricity and utter magnetism that has always been there, but purposefully hidden, subdued – a secret in Cyrille’s heart, and an almost fearful unknown in yours -  was finally acknowledged between the two of you. And with that recognition, the energy between the two of you was at once complete and whole, an entire universe of memories and feelings, connecting the ways stars create constellations between them, but it was also insatiable, the way the universe continues to expand beyond even its own boundaries…

“Ah, ah, ah, C-Cy!” You gasped out softly with each thrust.

And subconsciously, your feelings bled into your fragile heart, whispering to you the knowledge that your heart harbored, even when your mind tried to subdue it for fear of vulnerability, and those feelings said: I know it’s going to take me a long time, if not a life time, to process some of these memories. But despite everything, I’m glad I choose to get my memories back. Because now I remember you and me, Cyrille - I remember our full story.

I know you took the time and the effort to make me fall in love with you a second time, without our first two summers together, completely erasing that, and meeting again as strangers... So, I think it’s safe to say that I would have loved you anyways, but after getting my memories back, I need you to know: I love you, Cyrille Lestrange. I truly love you, and I always will. You have always been my anchor in this mad world of ours, even when I couldn’t always see you holding me.

And they said memory’s a terrifying landscape, and they were right. But how can I admit that when I found love there?

Yes, I loved you once - and I will. I always will.

"A-always," you stuttered out softly, and out of nowhere, offering no prefacing explanation.

But Cyrille knew what you meant. He knew it before you even spoke it, for he was there to witness it when it first formed in your heart, in that stifling closet during those summers of secret escapades. 

Your hands slipped out past the edges of your pillow, which you had been clutching tightly as Cyrille made love to you, and now, your palms hit up against the wood bedframe just behind your head, and you stretched out your body for him to take, to handle with care, to make cum, and to make his.

Because you loved him. You loved him - and interestingly, your body remembered that when your mind could not, so it was only fitting that this was how you reunited, melding yourselves in every physical way possible, to fulfill your memories, and then to exceed them.

Your whimpers broke through your moans, and your voice was too tired to crest the way it normally did, but you still tried your best to moan for Cyrille, and for receiving his sweet, sweet love... 

“C-Cy, d-deeper, please,” you begged, your voice breaking a little. 

Cyrille obliged lovingly and without hesitation, he pulled your hips up level with his, lifting you so that your thighs rested on top of his, and your hips buckled and revived, buckled and revived, as you took him deeper between your thighs. 

“O-oh,” you breathed out. “Cy!” 

Cyrille’s pants blended with a low growl, as he could not stop thinking about how he was with his angel, inside of you. Inside of you. No matter how much you’d dreamed of him, it would never add up to the amount of times that Cyrille had dreamt of being inside you. Your body, and the way you offered yourself to him, was Cyrille’s paradise. Would he ever admit it to you? Perhaps, perhaps not. But nonetheless, it was true. Moaning, Cyrille leaned forward and kissed you all over your body, while holding your hips down and pushing into you over and over again.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Your soft and breathy gasps filled the air. You were truly too tired to moan properly anymore, but your lovely little gasps and somewhat raspy breaths held a charm of their own.

“A-Angel, I’m close,” Cyrille confessed, pressing his cock up against just a little past your sweet spot, but only just.

“Oh, Cy,” you barely managed to breathe out. “Cum in me. Oh, please…”

“You want me to cum in you?”

“Yes...”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Cy, please...”“ 

“Then, angel,” Cyrille breathed out, “tell me I’m yours, and only yours.”

Cyrille’s mind spun him back to that lost, suspended moment of heaven with you in the ballroom closet, where you had looked up at him and said, “Couldn’t you - Couldn’t you just be mine?”

When he had been unable to respond, you had said, a bit sadly, “No? You don’t want that?”

Cyrille had regretted not answering affirmatively in that moment ever since that day. And he wanted you to know now that while he still couldn’t promise himself to you completely because of his role within the Death Eaters, at least when it came to people, there was now absolutely no one but you. Only you held his heart.

Intense emotions swelled in your heart as you obliged him and whispered fervently, “You’re mine, Cyrille. You’re mine. All mine. Only mine. My love… My lord.”

Hearing your sweet and possessive words, Cyrille closed his eyes tightly and he pushed himself to orgasm, fucking you a little harder, though still nowhere near as deeply or as roughly as he usually did. The two of you didn’t need to be rough or hard right now. The level of emotion, of intimacy, of love and connection between you was more than enough to accomplish a sexual and emotional high that pure sex could never even hope to touch.

“And you, angel, are mine,” Cyrille told you, and with his words, his thrusts into you reminded and emphasized you that he meant every bit of the word “mine.”

You barely managed to bleat out, “Y-Yes,” in response, as you felt yourself starting to squeeze around his cock tighter, and you simultaneously felt him responding to you.

“Uhn,” Cyrille gasped out, but his gasps were overtaken by yours, as you began to cry out, “Ah, ah, ah!”

“Cy - !” Your voice cut off.

“Angel – uhn!” Cyrille groaned loudly.

And finally, physicality and emotionally merged into one singular world, as did the two parallel relationships that the two of you had had up until this point (the one with memory, and the one without), settling upon a soft but insistent taking of your body, a pressing up against your sweet spot and just a little bit beyond. 

You were crying out and gasping, but it was all soft, and he was groaning and thrusting into you, but it was all soft, too - and yet, you were cumming hard - and he was cumming hard - your voices collided, the tension snapped, his hips were still taking yours to task-

Your hands pushed hard at the bedframe above your head, wishing the oak frame was clay so that you could have something to sink your hands into. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you were both cumming all over each other. He was filling you completely with his cum, his cum, in your beautiful body, and you were giving your sweet, sweet cum right back, cumming all over his cock and thighs...

And everywhere, there was the painful, yet gorgeous feeling of being alive and being in love, love, love... 

Your mind blanked out as you were enveloped in total, unrelenting ecstasy. It felt like being swallowed by the sun. 

Cyrille, however, realized how full you were getting of his cum, and he quickly snapped out of it. Feeling nervous, he suddenly pulled out before he could finish cumming, and his cum shot up your stomach, coating your tummy all over with white, hot cum. 

You gasped as you felt your body fall back on the bed all of a sudden. Your hands fell away from the bed frame, and your hips bounced lightly on the mattress below you. At the same time, you felt something hot and sticky hit your tummy in long threads of liquid, painting your tummy, and even your thighs, all over. 

You were so disoriented all of a sudden. You had been dragged down from your high so hard. Wasn’t he cumming in me...? you thought, exhausted and bewildered. I thought I felt him. I thought I felt his cum filling me up inside... I’m so wet. There’s so much cum everywhere. 

Where is he? I don’t feel him against me anymore... Eyes still closed, you reached out and felt in front of you and then, not feeling anything there, you frantically patted the sheets next to you - but they too, were empty.

Suddenly, you were afraid that he was gone, that he’d never been here, that you’d dreamed this entire thing - 

"Cy-Cyrille?" you called out blindly, furiously blinking your eyes. 

But to your utter relief, he replied to, saying your name, "Angel...”

You turned your head. Cyrille had rolled away to the very edge of the bed. He was still breathing hard, and he had also just opened his eyes when he heard you asking for him.

He took one look at your face and saw the remnants of the panic that had begun to bloom at the thought of his absence. 

He quickly came over to you, promising, “I’m here, princess. I’m right here."

As he leaned over you again and pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, you finally relaxed back into your own body, tugging and reeling in your soul back to your physical form. You let out a soft sigh of relief. Cyrille was just starting to get his breath back, still recovering from the high pitch of emotional intensity that had challenged him for the entire evening. Warm breaths passing over each other’s faces, you reached up and gently clasping his face in your hands, you slowly nuzzled your nose against his, smiling a little. 

And at your sweet, cuddling touch, the serpent prince's icy demeanor melted away to reveal a young man in love. And when you heard him breath out softly, slowly regaining control of himself, your own lioness quality of defensive softened to reveal a young woman in love. 

Your eyes slowly slipped shut. Cyrille leaned forward just a little bit more to kiss your cheek. But after the brief initial kiss, he kept his lips pressed to your cheek, and you could feel his long lashes fluttering against your cheek. When you recognized his lashes brushing up gently against your skin as a trademark of your soft, romantic lover, another lighter, almost dreamlike wave of pleasure tingled down your spine. You thought to yourself blurrily, Oh, love is a butterfly’s wings against my skin...

His voice only a gentle whisper, Cyrille murmured to you, “Are you tired, angel?”

“No,” you told him, but you hiccupped softly immediately afterwards.

Cyrille smiled. “Liar,” he said knowingly. 

His eyes were still open, gazing down at you lovingly, and still in slight disbelief at having you this way, at both having you back and having you now... 

Cyrille hesitated. Then, he said cautiously, “I think… that would have been our first time.”

You blinked. Then, you nodded and said, “Yeah, I think so, too... except I don’t think I would have been crying.”

“Hm, are you sure about that?” Cyrille teased you. “I think you would have, angel. You’re very soft, you know. Your heart… It bleeds out everywhere.”

You paused, not quite sure how to take it. “I can’t help it,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to stop myself from showing when I love somebody.” You thought of both James and Cyrille, and your heart thumped in your chest.

“It’s a good thing,” Cyrille promised you. “You’ve just got to be careful with who you trust with your heart…”

“Well,” you murmured, “I have you…”

“Yes, angel, you do,” Cyrille responded.

Smiling at his affirmation, slowly, your eyes were closed, and though the natural rogue of your blushing cheeks had not yet faded away, your breathing had slowed... 

Seeing you like this, it was not hard for Cyrille to think back to your lying in his family’s rose garden, with rose petals strewn about in your hair.

Love, as shared by the two of you, was total submersion and rogue rose petals.

Cyrille very slowly fell to his side, but he remained pressed up gently at your side, knowing that you would feel worried if he were to suddenly leave you. And he had no desire or want to leave you. Ever. 

Cyrille remembered how happy he had felt when you’d finally confessed to him in that carriage during the Yule Ball, that you dreamed of him and only him. When you had admitted that, Cyrille had wondered whether you were telling the truth, and if so, for how long you’d dreamt of him. Because Cyrille had been dreaming of you forever... 

Reaching up, Cyrille gently pressed his hand against your face. Then, he gave you a soft, barely touching kiss on your forehead, as he whispered, “I hope you know: You’re my dream, too, angel.”

Those rogue rose petals, escaped from that stifling rose garden, fell to the water's surface in a faraway river somewhere, and they say that to this day, the ripples have yet to end.

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

When you fell asleep, Cyrille reached for his wand. He slowly drew his wand over your body, casting the required spells to prevent you from taking child. But he felt the first try falter. Cyrille sighed. 

Get your head together, Cyrille, he told himself sharply. She said she’d run away with you. But if it was going to ruin her life, would you let her? No, of course not. You don’t have any guaranteed future, Cyrille. You could die as soon as tomorrow, now that the others know how deeply you care for Angel... There will be a steep price to pay when you see your brothers and Bellatrix next. So, how could you be so naïve as to want a future with her, when you might have no future at all... 

Cyrille cast the spells again, and this time, they succeeded. 

But he wanted to clean you up by hand. He dressed quickly, and then, he went to your bathroom to fetch a clean, damp rag. As he retrieved a rag from a pile of fresh towels, however, something caught his eye. In the trash can, there was a familiar dress stuffed in there.

Cyrille paused. He slowly pulled out the dress. The garter set, all tangled up, fell out of the dress and onto the floor in a heap. 

Cyrille hesitated. Then, he used his magic to clean it and gently hang it up on the back of the bathroom door.

Afterwards, he returned to you. He gently wiped you down with the rag, taking care to be very soft with you between your thighs. Once finished, he pulled your blanket up from the floor and tucked it around you snugly. 

You woke up a little when you felt his hands tucking in your blanket over your shoulders.

“Mm... Cy?” you mumbled.

“Yes, angel,” he replied gently. 

“Please... don’t go,” you murmured softly. “Stay with... with me.”

Cyrille let out a quiet sigh that you, in your sleepy state, didn’t catch.

Angel, you know that if I ever leave you, it’s because it’s to protect you, or to save other people. You never have to plead with me to stay. I love you. I’d gladly stay by your side my whole life...

When Cyrille didn’t answer, you reached out from underneath the covers. Your fingers fumbled a little across the front of his shirt before finally finding his face. 

“...I love you,” you murmured to him. 

Cyrille closed his eyes. He grasped your hand in his and kissed the back of your hand. He whispered, “I love you, too, angel.” 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

Outside, Emmeline and James finally decided to take a peek inside of the dormitory to make sure that you were all right.

Emmeline opened your shared dormitory door just a smidgen. She and James peered in. Both of them paused when they saw the way Cyrille was kissing the back of your hand as you slept. You were all tucked in under the covers, though the sight of your skirt and panties on the floor at the end of the bed made it clear that the two of you had just made love to each other. 

“Oh…” James breathed out softly.

Emmeline nudged him back with her shoulder before she closed the door. They both quickly backed away.

Down at the end of the girls’ dormitory staircase, Emmeline stopped and looked up at James. Seeing the expression on his face, she started to say, “James- ”

James quickly shook his head. “No, don’t. Just- ” He sighed. Then, he put his hand on Emmeline’s shoulder and requested, “Don’t worry about me. Just make sure she’s all right, please. Maybe Lestrange isn’t a bad guy, after all, but I’d still feel a lot better knowing you’ve got your eye on him.”

“Of course,” Emmeline replied softly. “She’s my best friend, you know. I’d do it even without you asking me.”

“I know,” James said quietly. “Thanks, Em. And don’t - don’t say anything about me?” 

Emmeline nodded. 

“All right, then...” With that, James left, quickly making his way down the staircase and back to the Heads’ Dormitory.

  *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

Once inside the Heads’ Dormitory, instead of heading into his room, James made directly for Lily’s room.

When James came in, Lily was at her desk, studying. However, upon seeing her boyfriend’s expression, she immediately knew that something was wrong.

Standing up, Lily said worriedly, “James?”

James barreled right into her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and pushing her down on her bed behind her. As they toppled over, with James lying gently on top of Lily, he buried his face against her chest.

Lily hesitated. Then, she slowly brought her hands up and ran her fingers through James’ messy hair.

“James, what’s wrong?” she asked softly. “You can tell me.”

For a long moment, James was silent. But then, he admitted in a sighing voice, “I think she’s seeing someone else now.”

“Who’s seeing -? Oh.” Lily immediately realized that James was talking about you.

Without asking for an explanation, Lily said understandingly, “It’s always strange, isn’t it? When you run into an ex, and you realize that their life has moved on without you in it…”

“Yeah,” James said. He sighed gratefully, appreciating how openly Lily was taking this.

But wanting to be considerate, James told Lily, “We don’t have to talk about this, you know. I just didn’t want to hide anything from you. I – uh, I learned not to keep things hidden from my last relationship. But that doesn’t mean we have to talk about it.”

Lily shrugged lightly. “It doesn’t bother me. She was important to you. I know that. I’d rather we talk about it, then, if it helps you.”

Smiling slightly, she said, “My ego can take it, you know.”

James lifted his head and looked up at Lily in wonder. 

“What?” Lily asked him, seeing the way he was gazing at her.

“You might be more mature than the Marauders,” James said, awed. He didn’t think anyone could be wiser and more accepting than Remus. 

“Might?” Lily repeated, highly insulted. 

“Oh,” James said, quickly realizing how affronted she was. “Er - Never mind. I take it back!”

“James, of all the insults -!” Lily began. 

“Hey, it wasn’t an insult!” James protested. “It was a compliment!”

“Comparing me to the likes of Sirius on the topic of maturity is decidedly not a compliment, James Potter!” She yanked roughly at his hair. 

“Ow!”  

Lily tried to push James off of her, but James firmly pinned her down on the bed and covered her face with kisses. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” James mumbled out quickly between kisses. “Aw, c’mon, Lils, it really was a compliment. They’re my friends and all.” 

“Yes, I know that they’re your friends. Trust me, it’s impossible to miss that fact,” Lily said impatiently. “But they’re all idiots.”

“No,” James protested. “Then, what does that make me?”

“Chief Idiot,” Lily replied flatly, with absolutely no hesitation in her voice. 

“All right, well, Chief Idiot is kindly requesting that you cut him some slack here,” James told her, a bit wryly. 

“Chief Idiot is always requesting slack,” Lily retorted.

James paused. Then, he offered, “Chief Idiot will barter you thirty kisses on the forehead for said forgiveness. Redeemable at your choice of time and place.” 

Lily tried to hold firm and continue to be annoyed, but she couldn’t. After only a few minutes, she dissolved into giggles.

“Oh, fine,” she pretended to groan. Letting James reel her into his arms, she hid her face in the crook of his neck as she smiled happily. 

James finally smiled when he heard Lily laugh. His heart loosened a little bit. Gazing at Lily, James thought to himself, Yeah, I think it’s about time I start to … to let go of Baby now.

James paused, catching himself. In his mind, he amended, Right, for starters, I’ll stop calling her that in my mind… 

“James?”

“Hm?”

“I would like to redeem one forehead kiss from Chief Idiot now,” Lily requested. She felt silly saying it, and a slight tinge of pink spread across her freckled cheeks. 

James chuckled softly and looking down at Lily’s blushing face, he pushed back her beautiful ginger hair before planting a sweet kiss against her forehead. As he pressed his lips warmly against her forehead, James drew her in close to him. 

Yeah, I think I’ve found my place in life, James thought contentedly, as Lily reciprocated and wrapped her arms around him, too. 

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

Two very different loves, but both with long periods of unrequited feelings, unfolded beautifully to long-awaited conclusions that day. Those who came after would never explicitly learn of such stories, but it contributed to the magic of the castle all the same. 

Unfortunately, such magic was restricted to the confines of the castle. The real world lay in wait, and with the coming war, it promised absolute devastation and havoc for both you and Cyrille, and Lily and James, with the destruction of your fragile glass worlds and fragile glass hearts beginning in just a few weeks’ time. 

#fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #cyrille lestrange #james potter x reader #James Potter x Lily Evans #James Potter #Marauders #marauders era #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 16

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: Flashes of Pain, Borderline Non-Consensual; Mention of Rape.] 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) ❦

In fact, Yaxley had already alerted Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange that their little brother was “seeing that Rosier girl.” Cyrille did not go down to breakfast that day. He sat on his bed, wondering how best to respond to Yaxley. He wasn’t sure, but he had at least decided on seeing you before Transfiguration. 

However, before Cyrille could leave the Slytherin dormitory to go find you, Goyle appeared with a letter for Cyrille.

“Came for you with the morning owls,” Goyle grunted, and he thrust the letter at Cyrille. “Yaxley said that it was probably really important, so I took the trouble of bringing it down.”

Cyrille ripped it open at once.

“Well, aren’t you going to thank me?” Goyle asked moodily.

“Thank you,” Cyrille said, in a perfunctory and dead voice. He unfolded the letter in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he read the letter from his brothers.

Cyrille, 

We’ve been made aware of your unscrupulous behavior at school. While pleasing purebloods is encouraged, even you must know that the Rosier girl is an exception, so much so that she is known as a Mudblood among our circles. 

While we do not wish her any harm, we cannot accept her taking advantage of our little brother, and should we ever hear that that misguided girl is seen anywhere near you again, we will ask your friends to protect you from her undue influences. Yaxley, I believe, would be a particularly strong ally for you.

Do not be afraid to rely on us, Cyrille. Unlike the Mudblood girl who only seeks your status and prestige as a pureblood (as all Mudbloods are apt to do), we are here to help you. Do not get addicted to someone as harmful and toxic as that self-serving Mudblood.

Remember, we are your family. As such, we will be sure to remind you of where your loyalties lie at our next meeting, and if that does not suffice, we will see to it that such a negative threat to your life is altogether eliminated, should that course of action become necessary.

Sincerely,

Your brothers, Rabastan and Rodulphus

Cyrille’s heart sank as he finished reading the letter. The message was clear: Stay away from her, or else she’ll pay the price.

“Class is starting. You coming or what?” Goyle grunted.

Cyrille nodded. He folded the letter back up and put it inside the front cover of his Transfiguration textbook. Oh angel, he thought heavily, I’m not going to be able to love you the way I promised... 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You already knew who Selene Selwyn was. She was a sixth year Slytherin, and the girl who Cyrille had addressed down in the Slytherin common room. The night of the party, she’d said that they were waiting for Cyrille, and Cyrille had touched her face and asked her to go ahead with the others. 

Peering through a bite-sized hole in your toast, you watched her chatting with her friends at the Slytherin table for a brief moment. She’s very pretty. She looks like what my parents always wanted me to look like - very put-together, smooth hair, clean dress... But it looks fitting on her, somehow. 

“Hey.” Em shouldered you gently. “We need to head to class.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You stuffed the remainder of the toast in your mouth, wiped your hand on your skirt, and grabbed your bookbag. 

You showed up to Transfiguration just a minute before class started. Upon noticing that Cyrille had not yet arrived, you dragged Emmeline over to one of the last three-student rows available. You sat in the middle chair, and glanced at the empty seat on your right, wondering if Cyrille would catch it. 

Cyrille came in just a few seconds after you. You saw his eyes flash over to you. Then, he looked subtly over his shoulder at Goyle. Dropping his eyes, he chose to sit besides Goyle instead of you. 

You hesitated. He said he’d be in class with me today, didn’t he? 

Slowly, your spirits sank as your mind began to accept the hurtful fact that Yaxley could be right. In fact, you yourself had suspected this from the very beginning - that this was all just a game for Cyrille. 

Suddenly, it all made sense to you - why Cyrille didn’t want to be seen with you, why Cyrille never wanted to leave marks on your body, and perhaps even why Cyrille didn’t seem to want you to get your memories back.

Of course I’m just a game to him, you thought numbly. And last night, he must have felt like he won. What the hell was I thinking, asking him to make love to me, making up stories about our connections like our scars, telling him I’d give him a chance at a relationship? 

In the cold light of day, you understood how incredibly stupid you’d been last night. You snorted loudly. It rang out across the classroom.

“Something amusing to you?” Professor McGonagall said sternly, looking at you with a severe eyebrow.

“Er - No, Professor,” you said, embarrassed. You quickly looked down, hiding your face behind your curls, and hiding from those silver eyes watching you carefully from across the room. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

But you couldn’t escape his silver eyes at night. As you lay in bed, with one hand slipped under her panties and rubbing yourself furiously, and the other hand clamped over your mouth as you tried to muffle your moans (Emmeline was in the shower), Cyrille’s voice slithered into your fantasies.

“Does my angel need to receive a proper fucking?”

Yes, you moaned back in your head. Yes, yes, yes, she does.

“Lay back, angel. I’ll take care of you...”

Your thighs fell open on your bed. You held your breath, imagining that you were bracing yourself to take his cock... You slid your fingers inside of yourself to simulate his cock, but they were pitifully inadequate as a substitute. Still, you pumped your fingers hard into your pussy, making yourself slick and wet.

Take it, angel, take my fucking cock - all of it. That’s what good girls do.

Yes, I want it. Please, give it to me. I want it so badly. I’m a good girl. I’m your good girl. Can’t you see that? Turning around quickly on your bed, you buried your face into your pillow. Then, whining softly, you pressed your wet pussy against your sheets, using your thighs and hips to lightly bounce your pussy against the mattress. You needed friction to satisfy that ache inside you.

Keep going. Come on, angel, cum for me. I want to see your cum on my cock.

You moaned into your pillow and your fingers gripped the pillow edges tightly as you pressed yourself hard against your bed now, rocking your hips impatiently back and forth. Your sheets bunched up between your thighs and you used that little peak to fuck yourself.

“U-Uhn,” you breathed out softly. Your eyes were shut tight. And your hair, which was soft and unkempt from just getting out of the shower before Emmeline, fell in front of your face in soft curls.

Cum.

You curled up on your bed, using your legs to take your sheets with you. Wrapping your legs around your gathered sheets, you bucked your hips to make your pussy feel that intense friction. Climbing to a release, you clutched your pillow against your flushed face and you imagined holding onto Cyrille’s strong, reliable shoulders as you finally -

“Ah!” A very quiet, but explosive gasp left you as your thighs pressed hard against your sheets, swallowing them up as you came.

You lay there for a moment, panting softly as your release washed away. Then, you realized how sticky with cum your panties were. You frowned and in your head, you groaned.

You heard Cyrille click his tongue at you in your mind. Oh, princess, what have you done? Imagining me again? And just after you’d showered and changed. So irresponsible. 

Shut up, you told him in your head. You’re a complete arsehole. I regret ever letting you pull me away from that Slytherin party that night, and taking me up to the Astronomy Tower.

No, Cyrille corrected you in your head, I only took you out into the hallways so that the Slytherins in our common room wouldn’t jump your drunk ass. You were the one that suggested we go to the Astronomy Tower.

And, Cyrille continued, that second time, which is when, yes, I brought you to the Astronomy Tower, still - it was you who suggested that we make love.

Fine, you threw at him. Fine. You’re right. You won. Happy now?

His silver eyes flashed in response, but even in your dreams, you didn’t know what they meant.

And you never would. It had been one week since Cyrille Lestrange had started ignoring you. And there was no reason and no sign that that would ever change.

Your ambivalence is so cruel, you thought, staring up at your ceiling, still in your cum-soaked panties.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Down in the Slytherin common room, Cyrille’s old dreams of you were all flooding back in full force, only this time they were all accompanied by very real sensations. He no longer had to imagine how good your mouth felt taking his cock or how tight your pussy was or how - he knew exactly how tight and good your little throat was and how your throbbing pussy would squeeze around his cock from the moment he entered you. He no longer had to guess at how you’d whimper and clutch onto him when he hit up against you - he knew just how your fingers felt gripping at his shoulders and how you’d bury your head against his neck as you whined. And there were so many things his previous fantasies had missed out on - how gorgeous your hair looked gripped tightly in his hand or pressed up against the floor or wall; and how beautifully you gasped when he first penetrated you, stretching you out quite a bit; and how wet you became from his very voice, let alone from taking his hard cock. Now, all of these little nuances made it into his fantasies, too, making it far harder to bear the fact that he wasn’t actually with you.

Standing under a cold pouring of water under the showerhead, Cyrille pumped his swollen cock in his hand, imagining that it was your tight pussy, and he swore that he could almost hear your little moans. He jerked his hand up and down faster and faster, and your moans became lovely little whimpers. Then, he thrust his hips forward roughly - and you gasped as he gasped. His other hand flew out and hit the cold tile of the shower wall was a loud thud. Cyrille breathed out quite hard as his cum shot everywhere. As he finally opened his eyes and pushed his long, drenched hair out of his face, he thought to himself, Angel, the way you take over all of my fantasies should be a sin...

But his last thought of you for the night was not about sex. It was about the way you’d held each other afterwards. Cyrille had never held or been held after sex. So, then, to have you all curled up in his arms, listening with bright eyes as he told you about different constellations and which stories had stayed with him, he’d felt so very warm. Your eyelashes fluttered lower and lower until they finally slipped shut. As your breathing slowed into a soft and peaceful rhythm, you melted perfectly against his chest. Cyrille’s heart had stuttered, and he breathed out slowly, too afraid to move even a little in case it might disturb you. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

For all her outspokenness, Emmeline was also quite observant, especially when it came to her close friends, and you were her best friend. 

When Yaxley had said Cyrille Lestrange’s name, Emmeline had been looking directly at your face, and she saw the ways your eyes clouded over when Yaxley told you that Cyrille was betrothed. 

That day in Transfiguration, Emmeline took it upon herself to glance over at Cyrille’s hands. Sure enough, he was wearing quite a few heavy silver rings. Emmeline let out a slow breath. 

When McGonagall ended class, Emmeline saw you glance up at Cyrille. When you saw him leave with Goyle, you put your head in your hands and muttered to yourself, “You fool. You utter fool.” 

Did that Slytherin son of a bitch do something to my best friend? Emmeline thought, her blood already starting to boil. 

Then, Emmeline saw James shoot a concerned look at you, and besides him, Remus scratched his chin thoughtfully.

With that, a bright idea clunked into Emmeline’s always-churning brain. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Remus. Pst. Remus.”

Remus stopped, bewildered, as he heard someone hissing his name from behind a pillar. Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed him. 

“What in the name of Merlin? Emmeline?”

“Yes. Are you finished being surprised? Great, now listen,” Emmeline said, determinedly steamrollering on over Remus’ weak mutters of surprise. “You know how to get into the Slytherin common room, don’t you?”

“Erm, that - that depends on what for,” Remus said uneasily. 

Emmeline grinned at him, and her confident smirk was one that rivaled Sirius’. Remus stared at her, taken aback. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

An unlikely trio of Emmeline, Amelia, and Remus stood nervously outside the Slytherin dungeon.

“Okay, Remus,” Emmeline whispered to him. She gave him a soft pat on the rump and said, “Do your thing.” 

Remus was not sure what Emmeline meant by that, but he tailed in two Slytherins and discovered that the password was “thistle.”

He went back and brought Amelia and Emmeline in. 

They crept into the boys’ dormitory. Amelia took out her wand and whispered, “Traceus Lestrange.” 

A glowing ball of light appeared and led them to the correct room. 

“Homenum Revelio,” Amelia said smartly, tapping her wand on the door. It was silent. “All right, no one there.”

“Probably because everyone’s at lunch. Where we should be,” Remus offered meekly. 

“We’ve already come too far,” Emmeline said, and exuberantly kicked open the door.

“Uh... Uh...” Remus said nervously, as he watched Emmeline ransack Lestrange’s desk and bookbag, which was lying on his chair.

Meanwhile, Amelia pulled out a large, slimy bullfrog from her pocket.

“What in Merlin’s name-?” Remus began, looking at the frog.

“Sometimes justice is a frog,” Amelia said succinctly. 

Just then, they heard footsteps. The three of them froze. Emmeline stood there, clutching Cyrille’s textbook in her hands and staring at Amelia, who was clutching the frog. Then, as the footsteps began to get closer and closer, Remus swallowed nervously.

The door opened, and Yaxley, Crabbe, and Goyle walked in. 

Almost as though planned, Amelia’s frog belched loudly and exploded from her hands, landing smack in Yaxley’s face. 

“What the hell-!?” he sputtered.

“Run!” Emmeline burst out of the room, with Remus and Amelia hot on her heels. 

They sprinted all the way to the Great Hall. 

“G-Good job,” Emmeline breathed out, trying to catch her breath. 

“Was it, though?” Remus queried uncertainly.

Amelia shrugged. “They did get the frog to the face. So, I guess, in some sense, justice was served.”

She clapped Remus on the shoulder as a form of thanks, and then she and Emmeline went off to find you and Hestia. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“You sure you don’t want to talk about anything?”

“I’m fine, Em,” you told her. How can I explain to her everything that happened? How can I explain to her what a complete fool I was, walking into a trap that I knew since day one was a trap, and falling for it anyways? 

You and Emmeline returned briefly to Gryffindor Tower to grab your books for Charms. As you switched out your textbooks, you suddenly realized - “Em, why do you have two Transfiguration textbooks?” 

“Oh, never mind that,” she said, quickly shoving it away in her desk cabinet. 

You arched your eyebrow at her, but she’d already grabbed her Charms textbook, taken your hand, and led you away from your dormitory. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The fact that Cyrille made no effort to speak to you in the following two weeks only cemented the fact that everything he’d said to you was all part of a heartless ruse. Now that he’d coaxed you into admitting your vulnerabilities and giving yourself to him physically and emotionally, he’d won his prize. Clearly, he had no further interest in you. 

Two weeks later, in Transfiguration, when Cyrille didn’t even spare you a glance, you couldn’t help but think back to what he’d said to you: “I’d like you to let me try... give me a chance. Can you do that for me, angel?”

You shook your head at yourself. No, you told yourself, stop. Let’s just focus on being an Auror, all right? Dreams don’t betray you the way people do. But it was very difficult to stay focused that day. 

Only a table away, James was teasing Lily by scribbling things on the corner of her parchment. Lily was trying very hard to keep a straight face. She kept giving him stern looks, but finally broke down and laughed delicately behind her hand. You looked over for a moment and could make out the word “Hogsmeade” in James’ familiar scrawl.

They must be talking about what they’re going to do together at the Hogsmeade trip this weekend, you thought to yourself. 

A sinking feeling started to swirl within you. Why is it always me? Am I such a pathetic person - falling for people so deeply, and then never being loved back? I thought I was a decent person. I mean, I’ve always tried to treat others with respect, and with kindness. And I’ve always loved people whole-heartedly. So, why am I always the one being left behind? 

But McGonagall’s voice broke into your brooding thoughts when she said sharply, “Mr. Lestrange. I’ve been biting my tongue, but no longer. You have had the audacity to come to my class for two weeks now without a textbook. Explain yourself.” 

“I’m sorry, Professor. I’ve lost mine, it seems,” Cyrille said quietly, not meeting her eyes. “I’ve ordered a new textbook.” 

“Mr. Lestrange. You are a seventh-year N.E.W.T student. I expect better from you. Ten points from Slytherin.” 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Cyrille repeated formally.

Besides you, Emmeline snickered into her hands. You paused. You gave her a confused look, but she determinedly ignored your look. Suddenly, you remembered that you’d seen her with two Transfiguration textbooks exactly two weeks before. Wait a minute...

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As soon as class ended, you sprinted back to your dormitory, with Emmeline right at your heels.

“No!” she shouted. “It’s not what you think! You’ve got it all wrong!” 

You threw open your dormitory door and searched madly for the extra Transfiguration textbook - and you found it under a stack of other books on Emmeline’s desk. 

“No!” Emmeline yelled. She made a grab for it. Both of you went tumbling to the floor. But despite Emmeline’s grabbing hands, you managed to hold the book up. A piece of parchment fell out and landed on Emmeline’s face, obscuring her vision for a moment. That gave you time to wrench open the book - and sure enough, in blue ink, the name “Cyrille Lestrange” was written inside the front cover.

Sputtering, Emmeline tried to rip the paper off her face. She grabbed it and threw it on the floor. Then, she made another grab for the textbook in your hand. You leapt to your feet lightly, drawing it away from her. 

But Emmeline followed you, shouting, “Give it back!”

“Em, this is Lestrange’s textbook. Why on earth do you have it?” you asked her, exasperated.

“It was a - a honest mistake,” she said, totally unconvincing.

“Em...” you said, still holding the book out of her reach and backing away to your dormitory door. “You have to give this back to him.” 

“Why should I?” Emmeline asked defiantly. “He’s an arsehole. He did something to you, didn’t he? He hurt you.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“I see the way you look at him in class,” Emmeline said, and her voice dropped into a softer tone. “He did something to you, I know it.” 

You finally lowered your arm and slowly hugged the textbook. For a moment, you were both completely silent. Finally, you said quietly, “Still. We should give him his textbook back...” 

“Come on, Em.” You held out your hand to her. “Let’s go down to lunch together. I’m sure he’ll be there, too.”

Emmeline wanted to argue, but seeing your face, she knew that the best thing that she could do was let you control the situation. She nodded and took your hand.

Though you didn’t say anything out loud, you squeezed her hand tightly in gratitude for sticking by your side and going out of her way to get what she thought was “revenge” for you.

As you both left your dormitory room together to head down for lunch, Emmeline told you, “It wasn’t just me, you know. Amelia came too. And she brought a frog.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You spotted Cyrille Lestrange across the Great Hall, sitting at the Slytherin table between Yaxley and Goyle. He didn’t seem to be eating anything. 

Do I really have to do this? you wondered to yourself. 

But the righteous voice in your head said sternly, Yes, you do.

You groaned internally. 

Emmeline shot you a knowing look. “Just don’t give it back. I’m certainly not going to.”

You sighed. 

Then, you got up from the Gryffindor table and walked over to the Slytherin table. People pointed at you and whispered, as it wasn’t often that a Gryffindor approached the Slytherin table, and certainly not alone. 

You kept your eyes down until - you stood across the table from Cyrille. 

“I came to return something,” you said, speaking before someone could make an idiotic comment that was sure to get your blood boiling. 

“Here.” You gently tossed the book onto the table, in front of Cyrille. Though you tossed it gently, it still landed a bit heavily, with a dull ‘thud.’ 

Cyrille, who had been determinedly keeping his head down and refrained from looking you, finally looked up.

Now, it was your turn to try to keep yourself from looking at him.

But then, Cyrille spoke, asking, “Where did you find this?”

At his voice, you couldn’t help but look up at him. You hesitated. From up close, you could spot the bruises peeking out from underneath his shirt collar. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were pale and cracked... 

Your breath caught slightly. Is he all right? 

Your eyes met his. But once again, they were completely unreadable: an elusive silver, shifting between light and dark in a way that made it impossible to guess his thoughts... 

“He asked you a question, Mudblood,” Yaxley butted in. “Where’d you find this?”

“In your mother’s hellhole, Yaxley,” you snapped back, irritated at being interrupted. “Where you came from.”

A few Ravenclaws sitting nearby laughed at your insult. Even Crabbe let out a quiet snort. Yaxley glared at him. 

“Anyways, there’s your book back,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, trying not to show any hurt in your voice or expression. 

You waited for Cyrille to say something, anything... but he didn’t. He just looked at you with a perfectly neutral expression, as though you really were simply a stranger who was randomly returning his textbook. As if you’d never shared a conversation, let alone made love and promised yourself to each other only two weeks ago... 

You murmured quietly, “And... that’s that.” 

You turned around and quickly made your way back to the Gryffindor, fists clenched. I really meant nothing to him. Nothing... at all. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You went straight back to your dormitory, not really caring about lunch. Everyone else was still down at the Great Hall. 

You started to make for your bed, to bury yourself in your blankets for the remainder of lunch break and try to get a handle on yourself.

But as you headed towards your bed, you noticed a sheet of parchment on the floor. Oh, you realized, that must be the paper that fell from Lestrange’s textbook. Oh, no, I hope it wasn’t important, or I’ll have to go back and give it to him.

You sighed as you picked it up. You scanned it quickly to see if it was an important document. No, just a letter from his brothers...

Wait. Just hold on a moment.

You re-read the letter. 

By the end, your hands were shaking. The last two lines of the letter said: “Remember, we are your family. As such, we will be sure to remind you of where your loyalties lie at our next meeting, and if that does not suffice, we will see to it that such a negative threat to your life is altogether eliminated, should that course of action become necessary.”

You let out a deep, shaky breath.

Is this it...? Is this why he’s been avoiding me? Because his family threatened him to stay away from me, since they clearly think that I would bring dishonor to the Lestrange family’s reputation? 

You bit your lower lip as you suddenly realized, Those bruises I saw on him today... He must have been subjected to their torture for being with me. 

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door. You quickly shoved the letter under your pillow.

Emmeline appeared at the doorway. “You all right? I saw you take off.”

A part of you wanted to tell Emmeline about everything that had happened, everything that was happening, but Cyrille’s letter made you realize the harsh reality: it wasn’t safe for people to know about the two of you. 

You nodded. “Yes... I’m fine.”

Emmeline didn’t seem to quite believe you, but she nodded back. 

“Em,” you said to her. “Will you be spending this upcoming Hogsmeade trip with Jonathan?”

Emmeline replied, “Yep. Since it’s the weekend before Christmas and all. Jonathan’s going home to family, the prat.”

Then, Emmeline asked you, “You’re going to stay for Christmas break this year, too, right?”

"I’ll definitely be here,” you said truthfully. You’d spent all your holidays at Hogwarts since you’d left your family. And you’d spent your summers at the Potters.

Emmeline smiled and said, “I’ll be here, too. The Yule Ball this year sounds exciting, don’t you think? It being a masquerade and all.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *  

You were at Hogsmeade. You’d just split ways with Emmeline, who had met up with her boyfriend, Jonathan. Amelia and Hestia had also made their way to a coffee shop. You and Emmeline both suspected that they were fast becoming more than friends, which was lovely. It had always been there, Amelia and Hestia’s flirtiness. But when Amelia gave Hestia that dare to kiss her at the party in the Hufflepuff common room, and Hestia had followed through on it, it had unlocked something in them both, amplifying what they had always felt and accelerating their relationship to finally accept that they were a perfect romantic and sexual match for each other, too.

Unlike everyone else, you headed away from the coffee shops and tea shops and made your way to the Apothecary. 

“How may I help you?” the witch behind the counter asked.

“One Healing Balm, please,” you said. 

“Dittany?”

“Um, whatever heals bruises quickest,” you replied.

“That’ll be Sana Livorum,” the witch muttered. “Apply it every few hours.”

You paid for the Balm, thanked the witch, and left.

You wondered where to go, and finally settled on the Three Broomsticks. It was packed, as it always was around this time of year. Nothing took the chill away from the bones like a packed pub, roaring fire, ale and whiskey, and good company.

To your relief, you spotted the group of Slytherins there. Thank Merlin, I don’t have to go traipsing everywhere to find Cyrille, you thought. 

You took a deep breath and then, you made your way up to the table of Slytherins. Half of them looked very unimpressed by you, and the other half just seemed very confused.

“Um.” You cleared your throat. “Lestrange. May I speak with you?”

Cyrille hesitated. His eyes, almost imperceptibly, flickered over to Yaxley. Yaxley crossed his arms and gave him a smug smile. 

“Can’t you see I’m a little busy?” Cyrille asked you thinly.

“It’s important,” you said, not backing down.

“I said I’m busy.” 

“Oh, really? Does downing Butterbeer always require such serious intent, or are you-?” 

Laughter had begun to spring up in the group at your mocking tone. Cyrille suddenly stood up, and he growled, “Fine. Fine.”

The table instantly silenced. A few students even looked away from Cyrille, frightened of him. 

You turned away from the table. Cyrille ran his hand through his hair before letting out a long sigh. Then, he followed after you.

You took him to an empty corner of the pub, a corner seat built for two. You sat in one seat, and waited for Cyrille to take the other.

He did. His eyes glimmered with fury at you. Don’t you realize what you’ve just done? Cyrille thought in his mind. I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. Why are you forcing my hand? In front of all those Slytherins... I’d have thought you had the sense not to put yourself out there like that in front of all of my peers.  

“Have you lost your mind?” Cyrille hissed at you. 

You ignored him and coating your fingers with the balm, you reached out to him.

Cyrille started when you reached over and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. 

“What the hell do you think you’re -?” he began.

But he fell silent when he felt your fingers press against his neck, and a soft, cooling and mending sensation began to blossom over his dark purple bruises.

He paused, confused. In a still-cold, but slightly softer and confused voice, he asked you, “What are you doing?” 

“Healing your bruises,” you answered. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

You looked at him, unable to quite hide your sadness. Cyrille’s brow furrowed when he saw your expression. You drew your hand away from him and capping the balm, you brought it out from underneath the table (it had been on your lap) and slid it over to him. 

“The witch at the Apothecary said it was Sana Livorum. You should apply it every- ”

“- every few hours,” Cyrille finished for you, quietly.

You nodded. 

You both fell silent for a long moment.

“Well, that’s all I have to offer,” you said, a bit abruptly and briskly. “I don’t want to - uh, keep you from your friends. I’ll be off.”

You started to turn away, but you felt Cyrille’s hand suddenly grasp your wrist under the table.

“Don’t you... Don’t you hate me?” he asked you, whispering. His voice was so haunted. He’d been tormented by this question for the past two weeks. Every day in Transfiguration and every meal at the Great Hall, when his eyes found you, he thought miserably, I know you hate me. You must think I’m the lowest scum of the earth. To you, I just tricked you and abandoned you, didn’t I? You’re never going to forgive me.

Still half-turned away from him, you answered truthfully, “I did. I thought you used me.”

Speaking in a low murmur, you relayed to him all the thoughts that had been running in your mind for the past couple weeks. “I thought... Oh, it makes sense now. You never wanted to be seen with me. You never wanted to leave marks on me. Because I was a temporary thing, and maybe you didn’t want... someone else... to see us together. I was just some game to you. Once I’d shown you my vulnerabilities, once I’d let you in, you’d won. And you had no problem throwing me away, as if I were trash.”

“Angel.” Cyrille’s voice came out in a gruff, pained whisper. “Stop, please. None of those things are true. I never want to hear you say those things again.”

You let out a soft breath. “Yeah. Well. I guess I don’t really think those things... as much, anymore. When I did have those thoughts, when I did hate you, it was because I didn’t realize what you were up against.”

Cyrille frowned. “What do you mean?” 

You hesitated. Then, you slowly pulled out the letter folded away in your inside cloak pocket.

Cyrille’s eyes flashed. “Where did you get that?”

“It fell out of your Transfiguration textbook, but I only saw it after I’d returned your book to you,” you explained. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t mean to look at your personal letter. I just thought I had to make sure it wasn’t an important letter, because then, I had to give it back to you...” 

Cyrille paused. He gazed at the letter in your hands, and then his eyes slowly traveled up to your face. “If you read it, you know what you’re risking right now. You know that to be together with me is to risk your safety. If you understand that, then you should go.” He let go of your wrist. 

“I’m not afraid of your family,” you told him firmly.

“You should be,” Cyrille replied. 

“I’m not,” you repeated. 

“Well,” Cyrille responded, “I am. I’ve seen what they’re capable of far too many times to let them anywhere near you. I don’t even want you on their radar for any reason.”

“I’ve been resisting their attempts to see into my head,” Cyrille told you in a very quiet murmur, “but now, Yaxley has broken through that. I can’t protect you or care for you the way I thought I could, the way I meant to.”

“Cyrille...”

“Perhaps you still feel like I’ve betrayed you somehow,” Cyrille said, still in that low, murmuring voice. “And maybe I can’t change that perception. But please, at least believe me when I tell you that it was never a ‘game.’ It was very real to me, angel.” 

Cyrille started to get up from the table, but this time, you were one grasping his wrist. 

“Cyrille, wait,” you said. “Please, listen to me. I have something to say, too.” 

You tugged gently at his wrist, and Cyrille slowly sat back down. 

“As noble as your intentions are, I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me,” you told him straightforwardly. “I’m not weak.” 

Cyrille shook his head. “I’m not acting this way because I think you’re weak. I know you’re not. But even if you were the strongest person in the world, I would still do this. It’s not just about being safe, it’s about not having you be at risk in the first place. I can’t have my brothers and Bellatrix fixated on you, angel. Nothing good can come of it, even if you do best them all.” 

“There will always be risk- “ you began, but just then, a soft crackling sound interrupted your argument.

The two of you frowned at each other, confused as to what the sound was or where it was coming from. Then, you both looked up at the same time. Growing above you, from the ceiling of the Three Broomstick’s, was a sprig of magical wintertime mistletoe, complete with fresh green leaves, white berries, and a small red ribbon. Around Christmastime, Madam Rosmerta charmed her tables so that mistletoe would spring up whenever two people touched each other physically (with the latter returning the touch). 

“Mistletoe...” you murmured softly, recognizing it after a moment of looking up.

Cyrille only glanced at it for a split second before looking back down at you. He watched you gazing up at it, and he wondered if you could feel his very palpable desire for you. 

Why can’t we be like everyone else? Cyrille thought desperately. I only want to hold you without you getting hurt. Why does that have to feel like such an impossibility?

Suddenly, you looked back down. Cyrille paused. He hadn’t even realized he was staring at you. 

You hesitated, too, unsure of what to make of his gazing at you that. Then, you suddenly blurted out the question that had been bothering you, “Are you betrothed to Selene Selwyn?”

As soon as the question came out, you immediately regretted it. Embarrassment flooded your conscience, and it was all you could do not to bang your head against the table.  

Cyrille’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Where did you hear that from?” he asked you.

“Uh... Yaxley told me.”

Cyrille cursed under his breath, “Damn Yaxley to hell.”

Then, he sighed and said, “I am betrothed to her... officially.”

Your heart dropped. So, it’s true. They’re engaged to be married. 

Seeing your expression, Cyrille quickly explained, “But it’s meaningless. It won’t happen. Our parents arranged it when we were five years old. Neither of us have any intention on following through with it. If I’m not wrong, she’s eyeing Avery as her potential... suitor.” 

“Why haven’t you broke it off, then?” you questioned, trying very hard not to sound accusing in any way. “I mean, if neither of you want to be with each other.” 

“Because it keeps our families off of our backs. Well, did,” Cyrille amended wryly. 

“And what about you?” you asked him, a bit nervously. “Are you... eyeing anyone up?”

You waited patiently, keeping your eyes on the table between the two of you, although your grip on his wrist was a bit tight. 

“Don’t you know?” Cyrille asked you in a very quiet voice.

Your eyes flickered up to him and you said, almost hurt, “I can never be sure with you...”

Cyrille sighed softly. “It’s you, angel.” 

“And it’s not so much ‘eyeing you up’ as it is ‘I’ve got my heart set on you, if you’ll have me,’” he murmured quietly. 

You felt an indescribable emotion arise within you - relief, perhaps, but also anxiety. Warmth, yet sadness. A desire to protect yourself, and yet, overwhelmingly, a desire to be with him. 

Yes, be with him - that phrase lodged itself in your heart. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered, before you even realized what you were saying.

Cyrille’s eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. He wavered for a moment. Then, he breathed out, “I can’t. What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care about anyone else,” you said bluntly. You quickly added, “Well, I mean, of course I don’t want you to get hurt. But... But if we truly want each other, can’t we....?” Your voice faded away, as you struggled to find the right words to say. 

But Cyrille knew what you meant. In a worried voice, he said softly, “Angel... You’ll get hurt.” 

“Then, you can just heal me,” you pushed back. “I trust you.” 

Cyrille didn’t reply right away.

Suddenly embarrassed at how straightforward and demanding you were being, you suddenly looked down at the table. What’s gotten into me? This is not what I meant to say today. I just wanted to heal him, and to tell him that I understood. Now, I’m doing the opposite and demanding that he be with me without pretense... 

What you couldn’t see was that parallel to your own sudden deluge of self-doubt, Cyrille’s emotional barriers were also collapsing before you. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to give into you so badly - no, not just give into you, but to take you further, to remind you how much he desired you, to have you feel his body against yours again, to claim you as his again, and to become yours in return. He wanted to close his eyes and blind himself to his family legacy, ignore the threats putting his safety and - Merlin forbid - your safety at risk, and to forget about the darkness and danger that might erupt should he acknowledge you as the one he wanted to devote himself too... 

Slowly, Cyrille leaned forward. You were looking down at the table, so he had to hold onto the edge of the table and bend his head down slightly before looking up to catch your lips in his.

You didn’t see him coming. A soft noise of surprise left your lips as he suddenly, and very softly, kissed you.

Your hands flew up in surprise, and found his shoulders. You held onto him as his lips pressed against yours. Slowly, your lips parted to return the kiss. You felt him smile for the briefest moment. Then, he quickly drew away from you, ending the kiss before it could even begin. 

The mistletoe shed itself as the kiss was completed. The only thing that remained was the red ribbon, which floated down and unbeknownst to you, landed lightly on top of your head. 

Cyrille smiled, but the moment of levity passed quickly. Because it became very clear to both of you that the kiss had not resolved anything. In fact, it had only stoked the fire. You were now clenching your hands under the table, gripping at the fabric over your knees so hard that it was a wonder the pants didn’t rip.

Cyrille, too, was almost shivering with energy. He let out a short, curt breath. Then, he said, “I should go back to my table.”

“Mhm,” you told him, responding immediately, almost jerkily. 

“If I’m away for much longer, they’ll, uh, they’ll come looking for me,” Cyrille tried to explain to you. His voice was quick and clipped. “If they see me with you, it might lead to... something bad happening to you.”

“Right. Yeah, you - you should go,” you said, barely thinking straight. 

Neither of you wanted to part. You both determinedly looked away from each other, but almost as though drawn by magnetic forces, your eyes found each other’s, anyways. And once you saw each other, your need to stay together was undeniable - indeed, almost unbearable. 

“What about you?” Cyrille asked you suddenly. “Who are you with?”

“Oh, no one,” you replied. “I came here by myself... um, looking for you.” 

Cyrille abrutply raised his hand. A nearby waiter nodded over at him. 

“Whiskey, on the rocks,” Cyrille ordered.

“You don’t look old enough, boy- ”

Cyrille tossed the man a Galleon. “Keep the change, sir.”

“All right, whiskey on the rocks.” 

The waiter came back in a hurry. “There you go, lad.”

“Thank you,” Cyrille said. He downed it in one go, letting out another short breath after finishing it off.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” you asked skeptically. 

Cyrille reached up and removed the silk ribbon from the top of your head and pocketed it. “No. But, it’s a better idea than the one I’m about to follow through with.”

“And what idea would that be?” you asked, lifting your eyebrow at him.

In reply, Cyrille grabbed your hand and quickly pulled you out of the corner booth. Then, keeping towards the very back of the pub, he hastily led you out. The pair of you stumbled out of the Three Broomsticks together.

Once outside, Cyrille, intertwining your fingers tightly with his, led you away from the Hogsmeade village altogether. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Cyrille led you deep into the forest, in the mountains overlooking Hogsmeade. This high up in the mountains, everything was covered in glittering snow and ice. The trees were mantled with gorgeous icicles and piles of powdery white snow. Everything was so bright and reflective. You had never seen a more perfect image of winter. 

“Cyrille, there’s nothing up here,” you breathed out, tired out from basically running through the snow up a mountainside with him. 

“Exactly.” 

That was the last word you heard before you felt his hands on your waist in an unforgiving grip. Cyrille grabbed you and pushed you up roughly against the tree. Your back slammed against the tree hard enough to shake its lower branches. Powdery snow fell over you both as he kissed you heatedly. Snowflakes rained down and caught on both his silvery long hair and your airier curls. 

As the frosty snowflakes that had fallen down the back of your sweater melted on your neck and upper back, you shivered a little. For a moment, Cyrille pulled away to watch you, trying to be aware of and respond to every little reaction you gave. You looked up at him, too, only to find yourself stopping short to look at him. Here, where everything was lit up by ice and sunlight, Cyrille, too, seemed to be carved out of silver frost. You paused and just gazed at him, captivated by his incredible aura.

Then, faster than you could blink, Cyrille kissed you again. You could taste the pleasantly woodsy, if not a bit spicy, flavor of whiskey when his tongue slipped past your lips. You both fought for dominance, tongues pushing against each other and lacing together. Already panting, you passionately kissed each other with no shame and no holding back, letting every bit of neediness show and trying to address, fervently, the incredible tension suffocating you both.

You felt a wonderful sense of relief as he kissed you this way - addressing that intense, barely stifled tension that had suddenly risen between the two of you when Cyrille had given you such a chaste kiss back in the pub. 

The kiss under the mistletoe had been very, very soft and sweet, and you could honestly live in that feathery, soft world of chaste kisses and shy eyes- except for the fact that you’d spent the last two weeks dreaming of Cyrille Lestrange and imagining all the carnal ways in which he could re-claim you. 

And then, sitting there, in a bar surrounded by people, many of whom did not at all like the idea of the two of you together, and having to pretend as if neither of you wanted each other, when in reality you were both struggling to contain the near-animalistic want that had ravaged all of your nights for the past two weeks, was pure torture.

So now, alone in the deep, snowy woods, with no one to bear witness to your love, the two of you finally were able to give into your fantasies and intertwine with one another again. 

“Princess,” Cyrille moaned into your mouth, as his body pressed yours up against the tree so firmly that you couldn’t budge a single inch. His hands were roaming all over you, not even able to keep still long enough to take anything off, just desperately trying to feel you through your heavy clothes. Cyrille groaned with want. He wanted to tear your clothes apart right here and right now. He needed to have you and ravish your naked body with sweet, sweet kisses all over. “Tell me you want this, too,” he breathed out raggedly. Before you could respond, he murmured, “Before I lose my fucking mind.” 

Cyrille knew you had to use your mouth to answer him, but he couldn’t help except to take away your breath again with another demanding kiss, pushing his mouth greedily against yours. 

“I - ah, I- ” You couldn’t quite speak as your lips were captured over and over again by his. “Uh...” Your brain melted as you felt his mouth on yours, coaxing moans out of you already. His hands had finally returned to your waist and his grip on you was so tight that you could feel his hands through all of your layers - your thick cloak, white cashmere sweater, and your lacy blouse. 

Then, his hands slipped back and he had you arch your back for him, so that you were leaning back against the tree, your breasts pushed out and tummy straining under all of your clothes. Your cloak fell open, revealing the soft white sweater that you were wearing underneath. 

Cyrille’s hands slipped over your back and he hugged you around your middle, deepening the curve of your back so that you were pressing your tummy against his abs as Cyrille ardently kissed your jaw and throat and then hungrily kissed the top of your breasts through your sweater. 

As you squirmed a little in response at feeling his mouth press up your sweater and bra against you, he squeezed you tightly in his embrace, pushing the breath out of you. 

“Ah, Cyrille,” you murmured softly, reaching up to slip your fingers in his silky hair.

“Mmm, angel... I can taste you already,” he moaned, his warm breath passing through the soft fabric so that soft patches of warmth bled through your fabric to your sensitive skin. “I’ve missed this...” 

“Cyrille....” you breathed out again. 

Finally, as you felt Cyrille continue to kiss you hotly through your sweater, you managed to moan out, in a barely audible voice, “Take me. Now.” 

Cyrille needed no further encouragement. Raising his head, but still pressed up against you, he murmured into your ear in a velvet-like voice, “On your knees, princess.” 

As he stepped back a little, you fell forward into the snow. A soft crunch rang out as the snow underneath you slowly flattened and melted a little under your knees.

Cyrille reached into his pocket and pulled out the red ribbon. He gently reached over your head and tied your hair back for you.

You tried to be very still as he patiently tied back your hair, but you couldn’t quite contain yourself. Sitting on your knees with your hands gathered in your lap, you shifted back and forth, wanting his cock in your pussy already. 

Cyrille hadn’t finished tying the ribbon when you reached up and gently pushed his arms away from your hair.

“Cyrille, I don’t care,” you told him trying to keep your voice appreciative of his taking care of you, but you couldn’t hide the impatience taking over your tone and demeanor. 

Can’t he tell, you wondered, how I’m aching for him? Doesn’t he know that I’m all wet already? That he could fuck me in the snow, right now, and even then, I would only begin to feel a sense of release? 

Well, if he doesn’t know, I can give him a little sign, can’t I? You slid your hands up his legs and gazed at him through your lashes, your head dropping back so that your curls tumbled down your back. “Fuck my mouth,” you pleaded in a soft whine, looking up at him. 

Cyrille reached down and gently ran his fingers over your blushing, ice-kissed cheeks. “So beautiful,” he murmured. 

Taking his praise as approval, you quickly went to work. Your hands grasped at his expensive belt buckle carelessly, even impatiently.

Cyrille let you unbelt and unbutton his pants. While you did, he unfastened his heavy cloak, which fell into the snow behind him. 

Pulling out his cock, you immediately brought your lips to his cock, leaning forward a little and getting up on your knees. As he watched you, you kissed his cock and swiped your little tongue across the tip.

Cyrille let out a tight breath as he felt your tongue gently lick at his cock. She looks like such a good girl, on her knees for me, Cyrille thought. But I know better. I know she’s wanting more. 

Cyrille reached down and gripping your hair tightly, he dragged you forward onto your cock abruptly. You barely opened your lips in time to receive him. 

As his cock entered your mouth, you moaned in your head. Mm, the taste of his cock... Ah... And he’s already a little hard... 

Cyrille, too, closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let out a long breath as he felt your lips squeeze around his cock.

But when you reached up and started to stroke his cock in your hands, Cyrille shook his head at you and said sharply, “No hands, angel. It'll let you think you can get away without me using your little throat all the way. And besides, that mouth of yours is just so pretty... I want to see my cock fucking your mouth.”

Cyrille simultaneously shifted forward to push his cock deeper into you and guided your head forward. You obediently relaxed your throat, letting him hit up against it and then slide in almost immediately.

“Yes. Just like that. Good girl,” Cyrille told you, watching his long cock disappear between your pretty lips. 

“Mm -Mm - Ah, mm- !” Little, stuttering moans escaped from your lips, cut short each time by Cyrille’s thrusting his hips forward, pushing his cock greedily into your mouth.

Cyrille moaned appreciatively. Your small, melodic moans sounded heavenly to him, and he knew that he’d be hearing them later in his head tonight, whether he wanted to or not. And what was more, you were relaxing your throat much quicker than last time, in the library. Fuck, she is a fast learner, isn't she? Mm, good girl, letting me fuck her throat so deep. Can she take more of me now? 

“Mmpfh - ah!” You accidentally inhaled as he abruptly shoved his cock into your mouth harder than you expected. You choked a little, but Cyrille kept fucking your mouth, keeping a tight grip on your hair to hold you in place. His cock, pushing in and out of your mouth, was relentless. 

You closed your eyes and let him use you, secretly loving the messiness of this situation. The last two weeks, filled with so much doubt and such strange, haunting tension had heightened your need for each other, turning it into something insatiable. Now, with the promise of release so palpable and so tangible, somewhere deep in each other’s bodies, your secret longing for him had come to the forefront of all of your thoughts and feelings. All you needed to unlock that fervent lust and affection for the man before you was to see a hint of his own vulnerability, to see him wanting you at least a little, in exchange for your unappeasable desire for him. 

Cyrille more than delivered in showing you how much he, too, desired you. For, as if in response to your secret desires, Cyrille bit down on his lower lip just as a soft moan escaped him. And you knew that the fact that he was moaning so quickly was a testament to how badly he had wanted this, wanted you, over the past weeks as well. 

You melted a little inside when you heard his soft moan. Your favorite sounds were his whispers in your ears, promising you things you didn’t even know were possibilities, and then, this - his high, soft moan, decoding his enigmatic persona for just a moment, breaking his dominant façade for a brief breath, to showing you that he was also affected by you, that he also wanted you, and was laid vulnerable by you. 

But just as Cyrille’s soft whispers were more threatening than his outright warnings, so his softer moans indicated his increasing aggression, even more so than his grunts. True, Cyrille was always trying to hold himself back. He wanted to be a Healer. He wanted to be gentle, to save people, and to learn how to be kind and compassionate. But his nature was not so, and he had been trained, since day one, to be aggressive, dominant, and selfish.

Other people are born for you to use them. That was what his father had always told him.

And so when he moaned softly, it meant that he was losing control, and his carefully controlled darkness was beginning to slip out. 

Right after that soft moan had slipped out, Cyrille began to fuck your mouth harder and faster, thrusting his hips forward much roughly than he normally would. 

But you didn’t mind it one bit. Because to you, this was all a pretense. Sure, you could suck Cyrille’s cock all day long, and you would enjoy it. Likewise, if Cyrille asked to go down on you and eat you out until you came all over his face, you would be more than happy to open your thighs and have him press his lips against you. But today, such acts felt like annoying chores you had to get through in order to reach what you both craved so badly. You needed him inside you, and you were sure that he needed to be inside you. 

Of course, you would be as patient as you needed to be for Cyrille to be properly hard, but to feel him lose control and start to fuck your mouth a bit harder of his accord made you so excited and so, so wet. It meant that you were that much closer to having his cock buried inside you. 

His cock repeatedly claimed your throat, roughly pushing your head back over and over again until your little hands had to scramble to find a place to hold. Cyrille loved feeling your fingers against him, struggling to find a proper hold, but very much needing it as he made you take his now hard cock quite deep in that pretty little mouth of yours . Finally, panting a little, you managed to reach up and grip onto the pockets at the front of his jacket, tugging at the lining of the pockets hard enough to almost break them. 

As Cyrille felt your pull on his pockets, he looked down at you. To his great pleasure, he saw that your reaching up like that, almost like you were stretching or praying, created the prettiest little arch in your back. Your lips, constantly being pushed open a little wider as you took his cock from tip to base, were already bright red from the cold and from being fucked so harshly, and your cheeks were flushed a pale pink. 

Holding onto his pockets, you could feel Cyrille’s lower abs tensing as he used your mouth to make his cock stiff and hard. And he’s already getting there, you thought. His cock was swelling up in your mouth, now stuffing your mouth and cramming down your throat, eliciting soft, muffled whimpers from you.

As Cyrille continued to move his hips back and forth in sharp and quick thrusts, his hand was guiding you by the back of your head. Your lips slid up and down his cock quickly as you took him in to his satisfaction. As you worked hard to take him, the bright red ribbon, tied loosely in your hair, was also bobbing up and down very prettily in your messy curls. It made for a very pretty sight. 

Stunning, Cyrille thought to himself. She’s so stunning. 

Sloppy sounds filled the air as he fucked your wet mouth, and you stayed pressed to him as much as you could, letting him use your mouth to ready his cock to fill you up. Your mouth was very wet today. You hadn’t had anything to drink at the pub, and now your mouth was overfilling with your happiness at tasting him again and your desire to have him fully aroused as quickly as possible, so that he could satisfy your other little wetness between your pretty thighs... 

“That’s enough,” he said curtly. He stepped away, and the sudden, almost harsh sounds of your breathing, filled the sharp winter air. “Get up.” 

That was quick. The snow hasn’t even soaked through the knees of my pants yet, you thought, as he reached down to your arms and yanked you up to him. But you weren’t going to complain. If he needs to be inside of me just as bad as I need him, then we’ve already dragged this out for long enough. He could have fucked me in the alleyway behind the pub, and I’d have been pleased as a saint. 

A dazed expression floated onto your face as you imagined him fucking you in the alleyway behind the pub, with only a brick wall to separate the two of you from all of the other Slytherins, including his betrothed, Selene Selwyn. Seeing your mind float off into some mental fantasy, Cyrille grabbed your face a bit harshly, his cold fingers sinking into your cheeks, as he attempted to bring you back to reality.

But you vaguely stayed in your own world, blinking at Cyrille. Out of nowhere, you asked him, through pursed lips as he held your face, “Mine?” 

Cyrille’s brow furrowed. “What?” he said, a bit impatiently. 

"Or Selene’s?” you asked him. You were a bit surprised at your own bravery and vulnerability in asking something like this outright to him. 

“What?” Cyrille repeated, almost angrily. 

But you heard yourself continue to ask, in a neutral and almost pleasant voice, “Do you make love to her, too?” 

He paused. Realizing that you were serious about this and recognizing the soft hurt that was blossoming inside of you under your flippant façade, Cyrille tampered down the intense lust flooding his veins and instead, he spoke slowly and deliberately, “Angel. Let’s make this very clear.” 

Staring directly into your eyes, Cyrille’s own eyes seemed to flicker with some ethereal fire as he told you, “You are mine, and I am yours. Do you understand me? There is no other. Ever.” 

You blinked. The next moment, a very happy, soft blush appeared across your cheeks. Cyrille watched with a devoted, mesmerized gaze as he watched his angel’s cheek painted a lovely pink. 

“And I will tell you over and over again until you believe me, angel,” Cyrille whispered, his voice becoming slightly hoarse as he promised himself to you. “But if you ever doubt me again after this, with each reminder, I will have to punish you.”

In a clear and imposing voice, Cyrille repeated, “Do you understand me?” 

You nodded, your flushed cheeks shifting a little against his cold fingers as he held your face in his hand. 

“Good,” Cyrille said, softening a little. He pulled your face forward and placed a soft, wet kiss on your mouth. 

“Whose lips are these?” he asked you.

"Yours?” you breathed out hopefully, though a bit confused.

“Yes, angel,” he said, and he was deadly serious, not smirking as he normally did at your cute expressions. He let go of your face and pressed his long, cold fingers possessively over your throat. He asked you in a slow, drawling whisper, “And whose throat is this?”

“Yours,” you told him.

“That’s right. Good girl.” 

Having made his feelings for you quite clear, Cyrille abruptly yanked you to him, as his animalistic need of you returned in full force. As you fell forward against his chest, he crushed you in a tight embrace. 

Only a moment later, Cyrille reached down and plunged his hand into your pants. His mouth hovering just above your ear, he asked you, “And whose pussy is this, hm? Who’s the only one who gets to fuck this tight little pussy?”

You shivered suddenly as his ice-cold hand pressed against your warmth. “Y-You,” you stuttered. You shifted a little, your thighs pressing together as Cyrille pressed his fingers against your wet panties. 

“Fuck, all wet and warm already?” Cyrille cursed.

“Only a little,” you told him, biting your lower lip as you shifted uncertainly against him. You gripped the front of his jacket with one hand and held onto his arm with the other. His hand felt so cold between your legs, and you were trying to keep your thighs together to keep your warmth. But Cyrille’s hand insistently and impatiently pushed your thighs apart. 

“A little? Princess, your panties are soaked,” Cyrille told you. 

“N-No,” you said in a little voice. “I don’t think so...” 

“Well, no need to deny it. I love how wet you get, princess,” Cyrille breathed out, reassuring you that you shouldn’t be embarrassed about how quickly you got wet. To him, your pussy was so pretty, and when it was wet, it was just begging to be filled up all the way.

“Your hand is cold,” you told him in a soft whisper.

“Mm, yes, it is, and you’re going to warm it up for me,” Cyrille whispered right back. “Now, keep those pretty little thighs of yours open, princess. I want to feel how wet you are in that little pussy of yours. I want to feel my angel... And the way she cums.” 

You felt Cyrille push aside your panties. Then, he shoved his index finger inside of you, all the way to the ring on his knuckle.

Your eyes widened and you gasped as his freezing cold finger penetrated your warm, wet pussy.

"Yes, your pussy’s so warm... Oh, princess... Mmm, so soft and warm,” Cyrille’s commanding voice fell away in a soft moan as he felt you up. “Open those thighs. Don’t make me say it again, angel. I want you to take my fingers deep. I want to feel how hot you are deep inside this soft little pussy... Oh, fuck, you are wet, princess.” 

“N-Nngh...” A soft, tight sound left you as Cyrille’s cold, exacting fingers plunged deep inside of you. Your pussy was warmer and warmer the deeper he went, encouraging him to make you take as much of his fingers as you could. Cyrille quickly pulled out his index finger, and switching to his longer middle finger, he abruptly shoved his finger all the way inside of you.

“Ah!” you cried out, feeling both the coldness and depth of his finger ripping through you. Immediately, you gripped his jacket and arm harder. His freezing cold ring sank into you, too, stretching out your pussyhole right at the entrance, and you moaned loudly. “Uhnn... Cy-Cyrille... S-So cold...” 

“Oh, princess, you wanted this so badly, didn’t you?” Cyrille murmured, feeling your fingers scrunching up the fabric against his chest and arm. “Look at you, angel, moaning and tensing from just one finger...” 

“Mm, I’ve been wanting to hear you moan, angel,” Cyrille confessed to you. “Moan more for me.”

But as your thighs and abs tensed from the sudden cold and heat simultaneously flaring up deep in your pussy, you could only let out soft gasps. You didn’t have enough air in your lungs to obey him and moan. 

“I said, moan,” Cyrille abruptly snapped at you. With that, Cyrille suddenly pushed both his index and middle fingers inside of you. 

You whimpered and shook your head as you felt his fingers thrusting inside of you. 

“Oh, I see,” Cyrille hissed at you. “Won’t moan until I make you cum, will you? You’re such a fucking princess. Then, fine. Cum.” 

He thrust three fingers into you roughly. Your thighs quivered slightly as he felt you forcing his fingers into your pussy quite hard and deep.

“C-Cy,” you breathed out.

“Cum,” he told you coldly. “I said fucking cum.” 

By now, Cyrille was finger-fucking your pussyhole hard enough that his wrist was yanking your pants down bit by bit. “Oh, p-please,” you stuttered out. 

Cyrille smirked. “That’s it, princess. Mmm, yes.” He leaned over and gave you a quick kiss against your cheek. 

Mindlessly, you turned your head to kiss him back, but Cyrille drew back from you, not allowing you to kiss him back. 

You couldn’t quite focus on what you were doing, as you were focused on just taking his punishing fingers as best as you could at the moment, and you sort-of softly, but quickly turned your head back and forth, wondering hazily where his lips had disappeared to, and why he wasn’t letting you kiss him.

You let out a soft, needy whine, when you couldn’t find him, and your head dropped onto his shoulder. 

Cyrille smiled as he saw you searching for him, but not quite able to keep it together as his fingers made you wetter and wetter until - 

“O-Oh God,” you choked out. “I’m going to- to- ” 

You cut off and your fingers squeezed Cyrille’s jacket hard as your thighs shook. You turned your face and buried your face against Cyrille’s chest and let out a soft, desperate sob as you came all over his hand. “Ah!” 

“Uhn,” Cyrille moaned with you, so turned on by how prettily you came all over his fingers. A dull ache passed through his body as you pressing your face against his chest put pressure on the many bruises that his brothers had given him, but Cyrille barely noticed. He was distracted by you - your delicate figure clutching to him made him feel so trusted and your little, stuttering moans sent his mind into dizzying spirals of pleasure. He would never get over how very beautiful you were in his arms or how lovely you sounded. The way your body responded to his touch made him both want to treat you as delicately as a glass rose and ravage your body until you lost your mind to sensation and bliss. 

As it was, the latter part was winning out at the moment. Your sweet cum still drenching his hand, Cyrille suddenly yanked your pants and your panties down to your thighs. 

You gasped as the cold winter air washed over your bare thighs. The fact that you had just cum and were very wet between your thighs amplified the sharpness of the icy air making your exposed skin sting. 

Cyrille, who was still holding you with his other arm, felt you jolt a little. 

“Cyrille, it’s so c-cold,” you told him, pressing your thighs together. You curled up against him even more, standing up on tiptoe and wrapping your arms tightly around him. 

Cyrille began to push you away ever so slightly because he needed to guide his cock to your pussy, but when he pushed you gently back down on your feet, your hands were still on his shoulders. Lifting your arms made your sweater rise up, and your chin sank down into your soft sweater neck for a moment. You blinked up at him, your face half hidden by the soft fabric that you wearing. You looked so endearing to Cyrille, all pressed up against his chest and looking up at him like that.

Cyrille smiled softly, once again distracted from his need to fuck you, as he wanted to enjoy this moment of you being with him like this. With a low groan, Cyrille surrendered to you, once again pushing down his lust to pull you back to him in order to hold you tightly. 

Cyrille felt your breasts press up against his chest, and before he fully realized what he was doing, his hand roamed up and slipped under your sweater and shirt, pressing his cold hand into your warm tummy and then, lightly groping your soft, beautiful breasts.

You twisted a little in his embrace, as his other arm was still holding you firmly to him.

“Cyrille...” you whimpered, not liking the fact that his hand was so cold against your body or that he seemed to be getting distracted from what you both needed right now. 

“What...?” he mumbled, exhaling in gentle satisfaction as he grasped your breasts to his heart’s desire. 

“Please,” you whispered, burying your head against his shoulder. “I need you now...”

“Need me? But I’m right here, angel,” Cyrille whispered to you.

“But, you know...” You let out a little groan of impatience.

Cyrille smiled a little. “Can’t imagine what you could possibly want in this moment, angel...” He squeezed your breast in your hand. 

“Mm,” you exhaled softly. “Please...”  

“Ask for it like a good girl,” Cyrille told you, and he pressed his thumb against your nipple and moved his thumb in quick little circles.

“A-Ah,” you breathed out against his shoulder. But you made yourself follow through with your ask. “Please,” you moaned again. Then, finally finding a moment of solace and clear thought in that split second where Cyrille moved his hand to your other breast to pleasure you again, you finished in a hurried tone, “Oh please, won’t you fuck me? I’m all wet for you...” 

At your words, Cyrille swallowed, trying to keep his reaction to your pleas discrete, but he could not ignore how your needy words made his cock throb. In a slightly raspy voice, he ordered you, “Turn around.”

The way he said it reminded you of that first night you’d been alone with him, up on the Astronomy Tower. Then, too, he’d said to you - “turn around.”

You did as he asked, but you weren’t sure what to do next. There weren’t any mirrors around here... Then, Cyrille grasped your hands and guided them up to the nearby tree trunk. He firmly pressed his hands over yours, effectively pinning you to the tree. In this position, with your hands out in front of you, you were leaning forward, bending at the hip, with your ass and legs out. With your pants and panties already yanked down to your thighs, you were in the perfect position to be fucked.

Feeling the frost melt under your hands, you shivered. Everything’s so cold, you thought. 

“The snow... Cy, I’m- I’m cold,” you blurted out softly. You shifted a little, but Cyrille kept your hands firmly under his. 

Leaning over you a little, Cyrille said unsympathetically, almost flippantly, “Are you still?” 

How does he act so warm one moment, and then so cold the next? you wondered. Pushing back a little at his teasing, you said stubbornly, “Yes.” 

Cyrille leaned down to you and whispered coaxingly, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, angel. You’ll be very, very warm soon.”

Cyrille reached down with one hand and pressed his palm against your pussy, cupping it, and rubbing his broad palm against you for a few seconds, to make sure you were wet enough to take him.

Your breath hitched as you felt his palm simultaneously massaging your clit and pushing at your pussyhole, both of which were covered with your slick, glossy cum. Then, Cyrille ran his hand over his cock a few times, making sure to cover it with your cum.

"Just wait, angel. I’ll make sure you’re sweating while you take me,” Cyrille promised you, nearly growling.

You shivered again at his voice. Warm and cold. Everything about Cyrille is like that, isn’t it? His voice. His persona. And his body, too. His hands are so cold, but... slowly, they’re making mine feel... so warm... 

And I know he will make me warm. I just need him to fuck me. I need his cock inside of me so badly. I’m aching for him... Please... 

You breathed out a little as your head dropped forward. You pushed your ass against him a little, shifting your hips slightly to entice him to fuck you.

“Aren’t you impatient today?” Cyrille teased you. But he was barely holding back himself as his cock pulsed hard with need. He needed you. 

“Cy, come on,” you begged breathlessly.

“Already out of breath,” Cyrille chuckled softly. “Oh, angel, you’re going to have to practice your poker face a little better... Your need for cock is so clear. In fact, your pussy is just dripping and I haven’t even entered you yet.” 

“But I’ll change that, just as you wish,” Cyrille told you, before you could retort. His voice dropped to a whisper as he reminded you, “Because your wish is my command.”

Cyrille reached down with his hand to guide his cock, already wet with precum to your waiting pussy. He paused one last time, trying to steel himself not to go too fast. He remembered how tight you had been, and how it’d been hard for you to take his cock at first.

You shut your eyes tightly. You felt Cyrille start to push forward - and the tip of his cock began to push at your wet pussyhole, about to push through - your abs tensed to receive him - 

Just then, the village clock below rang out eight times. Evening was upon the world already, which meant that students would be heading back now to be able to make castle curfew.

“Fuck,” Cyrille cursed, stopping.

“Cyrille, don’t stop,” you whined. “Please, I need to be fucked. I need you. Please.” 

“I know, angel. I know,” he told you, trying to soothe you, but his own frustration leaked out of his voice. 

And yet - there was a part of him that rather appreciated this situation. He had always wanted to give you a rough, hard fucking, to pound you like there was no tomorrow, to use you as his cumdump, and here was a perfect opportunity for that. 

Cyrille’s voice was tinged with a warning as he whispered to you, “Oh, angel, don’t whine so pitifully. Not yet, anyways. Because I am going to make you a mess.” 

Before you could fully comprehend what he meant by that, Cyrille suddenly ripped your cloak off, yanking it off your neck hard enough to make you gasp. He threw it carelessly into the snow, and then, grasping your shoulders quite tightly - almost painfully so - in his hands, he suddenly slammed his cock inside of your tight pussy. 

“Ah! Ah, G-God, ah, ah...!” Your loud cries rang out desperately in the air, wringing the sharp winter air of any semblance of calmness in one breathless moment, as Cyrille’s long, hard cock punishingly ripped through you. 

Your legs shook immediately, as your mind numbly registered the sensation of being so abruptly taken. Your fingernails dug into the cold bark that you were holding onto. You no longer cared that it was cold - that you were cold. In response, Cyrille reached back out to have his arms extend over you and his hands found yours again, pressing them against the tree once more. When he felt your hands digging into the bark as you struggled to take his cock, Cyrille’s hands clenched tightly around yours, too. 

Cyrille moaned softly as his mind was flooded with an overwhelming feeling of relief at finally being inside of you. However, it only satisfied him for a moment before he knew he needed to take you harder.

Without giving you much time to adjust, he began to piston his hips forward, pushing his cock repeatedly into your raw, tight pussy.

“Ah!” Your cries were half-gasps, half-moans as you struggled to take him. He was forcing himself balls-deep inside of you all at once, and it was just too much for your tight little pussy to take.

I can only - only take s-so much cock, ah... you moaned in your head. Ah, fuck, that’s so much and so deep. I- I can’t - ! 

“Angel,”  Cyrille growled, his voice vibrating in a low, almost animalistic pitch. “Your body was just meant to be devoured. And I will take it. I will take you.” 

Then, his voice suddenly became very, very light and pleasant, as he confirmed, “You do want me, don’t you?”

When you were unable to answer from want of oxygen, as you’d use every last bit of air in your body to gasp in quick, short breaths as he slammed his cock in you, he repeated slowly, “Don’t you, princess?”

You managed a weak nod.

“Good,” Cyrille said, and his voice was back to being cruel, harsh, and commanding. “Then, take what’s yours. Take it all, princess.”

He began to fuck you hard and fast and rough, pounding his cock into you, not so much coaxing your pussy open as ripping your walls apart thrust by thrust - followed by another, even harder thrust. 

Eyes tightly shut, your head fell back and against Cyrille’s shoulder, lolling a little. Cyrille reached up and held you tightly by the throat and pressed a hard kiss against the side of your neck.

“Ah, ah, ah, ahhh! Ahh...” You gasped out, not even hearing yourself. Your mind had gone totally blank, even emptier than the wide grey sky above you in this isolated forest clearing. 

And before you knew it, your body had given out completely. You fell forward against the tree trunk, your body flattening against it so that the rough bark was pressed up from your forehead to your toes. Your hands finally slipped out from under Cyrille’s. With whatever bit of consciousness you had left, you attempted to hold onto the sides of the tree to anchor your body a little, because the rough fucking that Cyrille was giving you was causing your body to slam against the tree with each brutal thrust. 

Subconsciously, you had hoped that by pressing yourself flat against the tree, you would create some distance between your cunt and his cock, but Cyrille stayed right with you, stepping closer to keep himself buried inside of you. He even bent his knees slightly to hit up inside of you even deeper.

“Uh-Uh.... Uhhnnn...!” you gasped out in trembling moans, as you felt your thighs and hips slamming into the tree repeatedly as Cyrille took you savagely.

You began to slide down the tree a little. Cyrille recognized that your legs were liable to give out at any moment now. He quickly grabbed you, anchoring his arm across your waist to hold you up against the tree.

“Ah, ah, a-ah!” Your gasps became higher and higher pitched as Cyrille, now that he had you stable, began to fuck you faster, though just as deeply and roughly.

Your pussy was now burning hot between your thighs, flaring up each time Cyrille’s cock penetrated you, hard enough to create an almost unbearable friction, especially with your tightness, and fast enough to keep that friction rising towards a promising, if not overwhelming, climax. 

“Oh princess, look at you,” Cyrille whispered, feeling you shaking all over. But he, too, was struggling to keep it together, and his own voice wavered as he spoke to you. 

Eyes shut tightly, you mindlessly shook your head in response to his words. “Hah... Ah-h... Ah, ah, ah, a-ahh...!” Your moans gripped at the air, begging for breath and for release. If this was how Cyrille was going to fuck you, then you needed to cum. You needed it so badly. Your whole body was humming with the desperate need to feel release... Because fuck, you were so full right now. Your little tight pussy was crammed with hard, swollen cock. What was more, you were incredibly stretched open because Cyrille was fucking you so  mercilessly that your pussy was having to stay open for the widest part of his cock the entire time. There was no moment of rest, no moment where your pussy could relax, even for half a second as he pulled out to the tip of his cock before pushing back into you again. No, it was relentless pounding, and your pussy had to keep stretched out as wide as it could to take the base of his cock, right up to his balls. But you couldn’t take it, no, not unless you were going to- going to cum. 

Oh please, you moaned desperately in your head, let me cum. I need to be wetter. Because ah - fuck! Nngh, it - it hurts a little. Ah... Ah, fuck, he’s so deep inside of me... He’s taking me so h-hard. Oh God, please... 

Cyrille had never heard such soft, strangled, and high-pitched moans from any of his lovers, even the ones he had dominated most viciously. He wanted to praise you, but words were beyond him at the moment. Your pussy was throbbing hotly as it worked to take him in so roughly, and as your thighs slowly caved in, your pussy clenched too. Your tight, warm walls were already squeezing his cock for all it was worth, and Cyrille was already fighting to resist cumming inside of you. 

Holding back from cumming in you, Cyrille growled as he fucked you harder to release his aggression from holding back, increasing his speed to spread your pussy open not just at your pussyhole, but also deep inside of you. 

“Nngh!” You gasped out through gritted teeth, as you felt his cock unsparingly delving in and out of your soaking wet cunt. 

Cyrille growled at you as best as he could, “You like that, angel? You like your pussy being pounded into like this?”

Altogether incapable of words now, you simply whimpered. 

Upon hearing your little whimper, Cyrille groaned out, “Fuck, can’t even speak, can you?” 

Cyrille felt you about to give out. Your body was barely holding on, and your mind was spinning out, disoriented and half-conscious as his cock greedily and mercilessly plunged deep into your pussy. 

Cyrille briskly slid his feet inside of yours and pushed your feet apart a little to help stabilize you. In doing so, he returned you to your original position - hands up, legs out. Although, your arms weren’t able to hold you up at the moment, and you simply fell forward until your chest hit the tree. 

You moaned weakly as Cyrille pushed his cock back inside of you. You were moaning against the tree, causing the snow on its trunk to melt off in little rivulets that ran down your jaw and neck and made you shiver. 

Forcing you back into this position may have stabilized you a little, but it also opened your pussy right back up, allowing Cyrille to ram his cock deeper inside of you - and he did. He thrust his hips forward, claiming you yet again. 

“Uhn, uhn, uhn!” Your breath was being pushed out of you with every punishing and hard thrust. Cyrille’s abs were tight with strain as he jerked his hips back and forward in tight, controlled, and aggressive thrusts, hitting right up against you as he liked. He knew exactly how to dominate you, knew exactly how to make that little pussy of yours wetter than it had ever been... 

And Cyrille could feel you responding to his intentions. He could feel how sensitive you were becoming. Your little pussy was pulsing and leaking all over his cock already. And Cyrille wanted to both reward and punish you for that. Fortunately, in this instance, they were the same thing - his long, hard cock, stuffed in your pussy, pressing into you hard enough and deep enough to make you cry and cum at the same time. That was what he wanted for his princess. And he gave it to you, slamming his cock into you over and over again. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” You were half-moaning and half-sobbing by now. He was so deep inside of you, and your pussy was overflowing with wetness and yet so fucking tight.

And Cyrille knew it. You felt amazing to him. He could not believe how wet your pussy was, but it was so beautifully and tightly wrapped around his cock, with your soft walls feeling every ridge of his cock.

“Ah! C-Cy.... Ah....” You cried out weakly. Your voice broke off once more into soundless moans of because of how hard he was fucking you, making your body jerk and spreading you open so good. 

Yes, you thought blearily, ah, ah, ah -! It hurts, but it hurts so good, so good. Cy... 

Cyrille moaned, too. He grasped your hips and tugged on them, trying to pull you to him as he fucked you. Your body jerked as he thrust into you, with your back arching a little and your thighs being pushed forward every time he slammed his cock into you. 

Cyrille’s cock was pulsing. He was already close. Your sweet, sweet pussy was squeezing him so tightly that his swollen cock barely fit anymore. 

And yet, if Cyrille was rough enough to push his cock through you, your tight pussy would still accept his cock gratefully, getting so sloppy-wet to be able to take him in all the way, and you would flinch a little as his cock continuously slammed into your cervix, but still you would take it, and take it well. 

In fact, Cyrille marveled at how well you were taking him, even if you were turning into a bit of a mess, just as he promised. Cyrille hadn’t been sure if you, his delicate little princess, could take his cock in this fashion - that is, being relentlessly, almost brutally, fucked. But, in fact, you held up quite well for yourself. Yes, Cyrille was physically holding you up, and yes, your whimpers were more desperate than he’d ever heard you before, but that was all part of it, all part of the loveliness that was you. 

Cyrille used to hate when his other lovers collapsed on him, all sweaty and moaning and pitiful, but with you - you were his angel, his princess, and his love, and he’d gladly hold you for the rest of his life. He’d gladly fuck your pussy hard and rough for the rest of his life, too. 

And the hot, wet, squelching sides that sounded out as his cock plunged again and again into your pussy was proof of how well you were taking this. The rougher he became, the wetter you became, and for that, Cyrille knew you deserved all the praise that you could get. 

But, it would be a mistake to think that you were alone in your breathlessness and helplessness. Cyrille, too, was panting quite heavily. He was gritting his teeth and holding his breath from time to time as he fucked you was because he was struggling intensely to keep himself from cumming. Not to mention that his body, particularly his lower abs and thighs, was burning under his heavy jacket, as he’d been quite forceful in pushing into you and used his brute physical strength to take you. 

Receiving all of this intense physical force, especially from Cyrille, whose body sharp, cut, and built to control, your entire body was tensing and quivering with each passing moment. Cyrille was fucking you so needily, so roughly, with his cock both worshipping and ravaging your pussy, that it took everything you had to withstand him. And he was gripping you so hard, pushing you back on himself, despite your own slipping feet, unable to get a grip on the snow underneath your feet, and ignoring your quivering, weak legs. As Cyrille made you fuck yourself on his cock, in time with his fucking you, the loosely wrapped ribbon in your curls was slipping further and further down. You didn’t notice it slipping down your hair, but Cyrille did, and he loved seeing the physical indication of your coming undone. It spurred him on, as it was a marker of how your entire body was being quite roughly handled by Cyrille, being absolutely pounded into until you were reduced to a sobbing, gasping mess.

And yet, throughout all this, there was an incredible feeling of liberation. There was no doubt in your mind that you wanted this. Despite how hard your body was being worked, and how raw your pussy felt, you actually wanted Cyrille deeper inside of you. Because in so many ways, it wasn’t about sex. It was about wanting him. 

However, the simple fact was that your body couldn’t keep up. Your legs were starting to slip lower and lower - a sign of you slowly but surely giving up on this standing, leaning-forward position. But Cyrille needed you to keep your ass up, to let him keep fucking your pussy hard. 

In a husky voice, he growled at you threateningly, “Don’t you dare give up on me, princess.” 

He cruelly yanked your hair back, forcing you to arch your back. A loud, exhausted cry tore from your throat as you felt your head being jerked back. 

“P-Please!” you gasped out, not even knowing what you were begging for. 

As though hearing your prayers, the ribbon in your hair finally came loose in Cyrille’s hands, releasing your hair from his grasp. 

However, the relief was only temporary. Cyrille pulled the ribbon over your throat and with both hands, he yanked it back, pushing it hard against your neck. 

“Ah!” You reached up for a moment, scrabbling at the silk digging into your throat and forcing your head back, but Cyrille had already begun to ram his cock into you hard and deep again.

“U-Uhnn... Nngh, ah, ah, uhhh...” Garbled, breathless little moans spilled from your lips. You forgot that you were trying to pull away the ribbon and ended up holding onto it for support. Your fingers did manage to slide between the ribbon and your neck, which effectively functioned to keep you from choking. 

A long run of loud, hard slapping sounds rang out into the air as Cyrille, pulling hard on the ribbon around your neck, leaned back slightly. He then thrust his hips forward and up, pounding his cock at you at an even sharper angle. 

With your head yanked back, your chest and breasts were pushed out, and every time he rammed into you, your breasts, luckily still contained in that white sweater of yours, hit up against the rough tree bark in front of you. Your nipples were beginning to feel raw, but you hardly noticed as your mind could not focus on anything other than Cyrille insatiably fucking your poor, wet little pussy, that was being used and used and used...

“Uhn! C-Cy! Ow, ah!” You gritted your teeth as you felt him pounding roughly into you, his cock almost raping your pussy now. He was so rough that his hips slammed hard into your ass each time he rammed his cock up into you, fucking you hard and deep at an almost mindless pace. 

“Fuck!” Cyrille hissed out. His cock was plunging viciously into you again, and again, and again - 

Oh God...! Let me cum, let me cum, please let me cum! Your prayers came out in a string of whimpers in your head. Yes, you needed Cyrille to touch you, to fuck you, to cum in you, and to make you cum, but it was also all too much, too hard, and too deep. 

Cyrille seemed to realize that it was starting to hurt too much, hurt in a non-pleasurable way. He hastily loosened his grip and straightened up again, so that he was no longer thrusting into you at an angle, but leaning forward over you just a bit, softening his thrusts into you. 

But now, not feeling like he was able to release himself completely, Cyrille made up for his softer angle by fucking you more fervently - at a rougher pace and with very unforgiving thrusts. 

You whimpered as he continued to take your pussy, ramming his cock into you. And even though he was now moving at a slightly gentler pace, his bout of near-violent fucking had left your ass and the back of your thighs a fiery pink, and made your pussy very, very wet. Here, in the middle of the snowy forest, the icy winter air made everything feel like a stinging slap. And so, not only were you still were being intensely fucked, but now it felt like your ass and pussy were being whipped by something extremely sharp. The sensation was simultaneously uncomfortable and exhilarating, harsh and sensual, overwhelming and not enough.

But throughout all this, your mind kept reminding you that this was Cyrille, the man who, in an important way, seemed to know more about yourself than you did, and the man who had asked you to trust him with your heart. And to have him inside you like this, and to become completely lost in bliss together, meant the world to you. 

Cyrille was gripping your hips, so you reached down and put your hands over his. As your body was being rocked forward and backwards rather roughly, your hands slid over his a little, but you managed to hold onto him after a little while. You clung onto his hands with yours, wanting to touch more of him, wanting to hold his hands. 

 Cyrille instinctively seemed to know what you wanted, and how to take care of you. Without pausing in his fucking you, he slid his hands out from under yours and then put his hands over yours, so that he was gripping your hips again, but this time, your hands were pressed warmly under his. 

You moaned softly, loving that he knew just what to do, and how he didn’t even need to think twice about it.

“C-Cyrille,” you gasped out softly, between taking rough, deep thrusts of his cock. “Uhn, C-Cy... Ah... Hah... A-Ah! Cyrille, I - ah! I...” 

You almost wanted to tell him that you cared for him, that you’d dreamed of him - but was it too much? Was it too much? Just like the way he was brutally fucking you - would it be too much to bear?

“Angel...” Cyrille murmured back hoarsely, speaking in that quick moment between his pulling out of you to the very tip of his cock, and then pushing hard and fast all the way back inside of you, until his balls slammed up against your now aching pussyhole. 

You were both panting animalistically, and sweating all over. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard, and your pussy was burning and feeling very, very raw. Both of your bodies were straining from giving and taking force and pleasure, but even so, you both continued to push your limits, to keep going. Because you were each other’s, and this was what both you and Cyrille needed right now. 

Unable to continuously take the overwhelming punishing and pleasurable tension building up between your thighs and in your tummy, your eyes rolled back in your head. Your heart was pounding so fast you could feel and hear it in your head. You almost felt like you were underwater with him once again, just like that time he’d asked you to drown with him. 

“Princess,” Cyrille managed to say to you in-between his own pants, “a-arch your back for me like a - uhn - like a good girl. It’ll help you to - uh... s-stay upright...” 

You listened to him, pushing your breasts and ass out to let your tummy stretch and your back cave in. It did actually help, because you weren’t just trying to withstand Cyrille’s hardcore fucking with the strength in your legs, but you were actually giving yourself some flexibility and spring in your core as you took him. 

Your moans sounded out synchronously with the arch in your back deepening thrust by thrust as his cock rammed into you. It went in little patterns of release and stress, over and over again, like, “Ah, ah, ah! Uhn.... Ah, ah, ah!”

“G-good girl,” Cyrille managed to breath out. “Fuck, look at how pretty you are... hah... arching your back f-for me...”

But Cyrille dissolved, too, murmuring in an almost frustrated voice at you, “Uhn, angel, how are you s-still so fucking tight?” 

You whimpered, though even your whimper broke and became nothing more than a soundless gasp as Cyrille insisted on his merciless fucking, pounding so intensely into your sex. 

“Fuck,” Cyrille spat out harshly, as he held himself back from cumming for the umpteenth time. “Angel, you better not fucking forget who you belong to after this,” he growled at you.

Clearly, this was not the time to explain the intensity or complexity of your emotions towards Cyrille, but you still felt that you had to defend yourself. You tried to give yourself a succinct defense by telling Cyrille, “Y-You were m-mean - ah...!” 

“I was mean?” Cyrille repeated. 

“You- uhn, fuck -  l-left me,” you accused him, barely getting the words out of your lips as Cyrille continued to ravage your pussy with his cock.  

With everything in your head still a bit foggy and like you were submerged, you heard Cyrille ask you, through gritted teeth, “Did you think we were over when you walked away from - ah, fuck, angel - from the Slytherin table? You know you - you threw down my textbook so coldly, angel. And you wouldn’t even spare me a - uhn - a fucking glance.” 

“N-No,” you breathed out. Your voice was barely audible, but Cyrille caught your defiance nonethless. 

“How long did it take you to figure out - uhn, fuck, yes, princess, take it, fucking take it - How long before you realized your stupid little friend stole my textbook, hm?” Cyrille asked you, his growling, aggressive voice punctuated by soft, high moans. 

As Cyrille, too, began to bring his own claims against you, his frustration over the past two weeks began to make itself known. He was driven now, not only by his desire for you and his tension at being unable to have you, but also the complete, and at times, overwhelming, frustration that he had felt towards you. 

Over the past two weeks, he’d noticed the way you’d avoided him at all costs, practically running from him if you saw him in the hallways, or hiding your face behind your tumbling curls to deprive him of seeing your expression. It frustrated him to no end that you would not give him any opportunity to catch a glimpse of your face. Even if I can’t love you, angel, do you have to be so cruel as to deprive me of the necessity of knowing that you’re at least all right? Cyrille had thought to himself, beyond irritated. Yet, he felt too deeply apologetic about his own behavior to manipulate any situation to see your face. He thought about bumping into you or dropping something near your desk, but he felt that he didn’t have the right to do that to you. After all, you had promised yourself to him and now, it must seem to you like he’d just turned his back on you. Cyrille sighed heavily. 

To make matters worse, the one time that Cyrille was able to catch your expression was when you’d peered over to look at James Potter. You saw him flirting with his girlfriend, Lily, and upon realizing that they were flirting, your face had fallen into sadness. That, too, had angered Cyrille to no end. 

Well, why wouldn’t she just go back to him? he’d thought to himself savagely, more as an insult to himself than to you. But it certainly sparked his possessiveness aflame, and fed his frustration towards you. She wouldn’t choose to be mine. No, she doesn’t want to be mine. She still prefers him - James Potter. It’s written all over her face.

She - doesn’t - want - to - fucking - be - mine! 

“Cy- Ah!” you cried out pitifully. “Ow, Cy, it- it hurts! Cy, it’s t-too d-deep. Ah, please!” 

But she is now, Cyrille argued back with himself. She promised. To be mine, and I’ll be hers. God, she asked if I was interested in someone else... She has no idea what she does to me... She has no idea. She only starts to understand when I take her like this - roughly and possessively. This way, she’ll learn to be mine... and she’ll learn never to question that I am hers. I’ve never wanted to be anyone else’s. The same can’t be said for her... I bet she still dreams of that ignorant Potter boy.

Cyrille growled in your ear, “Do you want me to stop? Huh? You want me to fucking stop?” 

You gasped aloud, your voice ripping through the air, as his cock violated your pussy so intensely. No amount of cum would ever be enough to make you wet enough, to accommodate the fervent and passionate way in which he was taking you. 

And yet - “N-No,” you whimpered, hanging your head a little. You didn’t want him to stop. Whatever this was, this intense, heated, feverish passion between the two of you - you didn’t care what the consequences were anymore, you wanted it. You would drown with him - willingly. 

It was this thought that suddenly made your body give in, and finally release. 

Yes, I would drown for him. I remember thinking that. Maybe that was the very first sign that I... I could love him. Yes, I could love him. And we could be together... We could live our lives together.  

“O-Oh...” you moaned softly. Your sweet liquid was flowing out of you already, drenching both of your thighs.

“No,” Cyrille growled at you. “Don’t cum yet, or I’ll cum.”

He slapped your ass sharply, and you felt the bite of metal on your plush ass.

“Hold it,” he snarled at you. 

“Uhn... Ah, I can’t!” you cried out, refusing him. You needed to cum now. You could not take this anymore. It was too much pain and too much pleasure for your little body - for anyone, you would wager. 

Cyrille reached up and gripped your neck quite tightly. At the same time, he slapped your ass again, even harder, so that a sharp, clean sound of his palm smacking your ass sounded out loudly.

Smack!

“Ah!” you cried out as you felt his hand come down quite brutally on your soft, vulnerable ass. 

Before your cry had faded out, Cyrille hissed at you unforgivingly, “I said, hold it.’”  

“N-No, I- I can’t!” you babbled senselessly as your entire body quivered with the intense, almost painful need to cum. “Ple- Please don’t make me h-hold it. No, Cy, please - ! I need to - to c-cum!” 

“You can hold it, angel,” Cyrille growled at you harshly, as he himself strained to resist your pussy hotly squeezing at his cock, begging for both you and him to cum at that very moment. But he needed you to hold on just a little longer. He wanted to fuck your little pussy for just a little longer, before the two of you had to go back to pretending like you were total strangers - again.

“Cy- Cy! Ah! Please!” you begged him. 

“Angel- ” Cyrille tried to command you, but he broke - and his voice turned into a husky moan. 

Besides, you had already started to cut him off again with a loud whimper of, “Please!” 

But in the middle of begging, you felt yourself coming loose, coming completely undone on his cock, coming - cumming... cumming, cumming, cumming - oh fuck, I’m really gonna- gonna - Ah! 

“I really c-can’t- I - c-cum! “ you gasped, as you felt your pussy clench. 

One gasp later, and you cried out desperately with your head thrown back, “I-I’m cumming! Ah! Ah, ah, ah, ahhh!” 

Your pussy clenched so tightly on his cock. With your shivering walls pushing feverishly against his swollen cock, Cyrille barely, barely kept from exploding right there and then. Cyrille groaned in an almost pained voice. “Fuck, angel, you’re cumming so hard, and shit, you are just so unbearably tight on my cock...”

“U-Uhn...! Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You moaned as you came hard, unable to help yourself despite Cyrille’s command to hold on. You couldn’t obey him anymore. No, to hell with his orders, you were cumming, and cumming so very hard. 

This, you thought blearily, this is what I needed. This is what I’ve been chasing for the past two weeks... This... sweet, unbearable release... Uhn... 

Your legs collapsed, thighs caving in, and you fell forward. Your hands slipped off the tree trunk once and for all, for you momentarily blanked out as his cock slammed into your deepest spot.

You slumped down and Cyrille tried to pull you up and press you against the tree to keep you upright. He grasped your hips and leaned forward, his chest pressing into your back to pin you up against the tree as you slowly came back to your sense. 

Unfortunately, when Cyrille leaned forward, his cock hit up against you all the way again. You flinched; your pussy throbbed heavily all wet and tight on his cock- and that was game over for Cyrille, too.

“Uhn, fuck, a-angel,” he groaned sweetly, and his low, tight voice threatened to break into a full-out whimper.

“C-cum inside of me,” you whispered to him.

Hurriedly, Cyrille asked you, “Are y-you sure, angel?”

You nodded fervently. 

“Angel, I r-really - I’m gonna - If you don’t tell me now, I- ” Cyrille stuttered.

You wearily reached back with your hand and finding his, you squeezed his hand hard as you promised him, “I... I want it. Every l-last drop of your cum... I want it inside of me. As deep inside of me as you can, Cy.” Your voice dropped to a breathy whisper as you begged at last, “Please, give it to me.” 

Hearing your request, Cyrille pushed up against you hard, pressing you against the tree even harder. And finally, with his low groan breaking into beautiful, sharp moans, Cyrille, with his pulsing, swollen cock buried deep inside of you, came inside of you.

His hands slipped up your body and grasping your head, he forced you to look over your shoulder and he surprised you with a hard, rough kiss, as his cock shot his heavy, intense load of hot, white cum inside of your pussy. 

You gasped against his mouth, though your breathing was very restricted, what was being pinned between Cyrille and the tree, and having to look over your shoulder. But you tried your best to stay upright as you took his cum. 

You couldn’t quite believe what was happening, you thought, as his hot mouth pressed against yours, catching all of your desperate little gasps and broken whimpers.

He’s cumming in me. Cyrille Lestrange is cumming in me. 

Oh God, he’s cumming so much. He’s... filling me up. 

You could feel his cum pooling deep in your pussy, and the tip of his cock was still pressed up against your cervix. 

Mm, it feels so... so wonderful. I want him to do this to me over and over again. 

The mere fact that he was cumming in you sent you into a wonderfully blank stupor, let alone like this - in some snow-covered forest somewhere, with your panties stretched tight between your quivering, cum-soaked thighs, and Cyrille’s mouth on yours, insisting on taking your breath away right to the very end. 

Hearing his soft moans and feeling him collapse against my back as he finally cums in me, all spent from how savagely he just ruined me... Oh... I love it. I feel so good, being used this way... but only because it’s him. My Serpent Prince...

You wanted to ask if this was real or a dream, but you couldn’t find the breath to do so. You couldn’t even find the strength to stand up, and you finally fell down into the snow.

Cyrille stayed with you, leaning over you. His hands slipped under your sweater, finally, and he lovingly squeezed your little waist in his hands as he gently fucked you raw in the snow for the last few times, as he softened after cumming.

Dazed, you thought to yourself. My pussy is filled with Cyrille’s cum. I feel... so incredibly warm. His cum inside me... I finally feel a little more like I’m really his woman. You had never felt so satisfied. 

“Cyrille,” you breathed out.

“Oh, angel,” Cyrille said, pressing a slightly messy kiss against your cheek. “You did so well for me... so well.” 

“Better than all your other lovers?” you asked him. But this time, it was genuinely a joke, not borne of jealously, but to tease Cyrille.

And he knew it. He saw the clarity and warmth in your eyes. He smiled warmly at you, and placing another loving kiss on your forehead, he answered with no hesitation, “No one could even come close.” 

A playful smirk appeared on his face as he teased you back, saying, “You see, no one else has a halo to grab...”

You giggled. “Good,” you told him, happy. 

Then, as his cock finally slipped out of you, Cyrille pushed up your sweater and blouse to hungrily kiss and suck at your breasts. Your nipples perked up quickly from the cold, but they were also a bit sore from rubbing up against the tree the whole time, and so it hurt a little to suddenly feel Cyrille’s hot, needy mouth on you like that.

But still, you thought blearily, as you tiredly reached up to slide your fingers into Cyrille’s beautiful silver hair. This must be ecstasy. 

For a long moment, as Cyrille pleasured you with his mouth, pressing soft, wet, and warm kisses all over your breasts and even a few on your tummy. You stared up at the grey winter sky, with dark orange bleeding into the clouds above as the sun was beginning to set. You thought to yourself, Cyrille... Today, you were even better than in my dreams.

You should be cold, lying in the snow, but you were kept warm by your lover’s cum still deep inside of you, and with his mouth still sucking sweetly on your curvy little body. The way his lips grasped at your skin settled you down into a perfect, almost glittering pleasure. And when he traced his tongue down from between your breasts to your tummy, you shivered from a different pleasure than when you shivered from his cock making you come undone. No, with the latter, you were shivering because you wanted more, more, more until you came all over his cock, but with this, with feeling his soft tongue and lips on you, leaving wet trails all over body that invited the crisp winter air to kiss at your skin too, following Cyrille’s lips, well, you just felt happy in the moment. There was no overwhelming, rapacious appetite to fill. It was just enough. Now.  

You closed your eyes. What a strange path I’ve gone down... you thought hazily. Where Cyrille Lestrange is kissing my bare breasts so sweetly in a secret snowy field... And yet, this must be happiness. 

You felt his lips and tongue move on your breast, as Cyrille murmured to you, “Tell me who you belong to.”

You exhaled softly. “You.” 

“That’s right, angel. You’re mine.” Cyrille lifted himself up and shifted his weight onto his shift so that he was leaning over you a little, with all his weight on his right arm, which was mounted up besides you. 

“And you’re mine,” you told him.

Ha gazed down at you, with your curls pressed up in the snow, your face just beginning to lose its flushed, pink tinge, and your sweater and blouse pushed all the way up to your chest, to reveal your tight little tummy and soft, beautiful breasts. Your pants and panties were still caught around your thighs, and Cyrille’s cum was only just beginning to leak out of your pussy. He had filled you up so well, and with so much cum. You both felt like you could breathe again, finally having had each other in such a frenzied and intense way. 

“Yes, I’m yours, angel.” Cyrille reached down and grasping your hand in his, he brought it up to lips and kissed the back of your hand as he reassured you, “You’ve had me for so long. You don’t remember, but...” 

You gazed up at him. Snowflakes were nestled in his silver hair, and for once, his beautiful, sharp face had a slight blush to it. His eyelashes, too, had caught snowflakes, and when he blinked, the way the sunset light reflected off the ice particles caught in his long lashes gave a dancing gold gleam to his eyes. 

You whispered, slowly, “I want to remember you.”

Cyrille’s eyes widened at your words. “...What?” he said softly, not totally believing what he was hearing. 

“My memories... I want them back.”

Cyrille paused. Then, he swallowed and said, “Angel, I’m not sure if you do want them back. After all, you... had your reasons for having them taken away in the first place.”

“Taken away? By who?” you wondered.

Cyrille’s eyes faded into a dark grey, as he struggled internally. It’s her right to decide, of course. I would never want to pretend otherwise. But, she’s not in a position to know... how traumatic it all was for her. I remember. I was there with her. 

“Cyrille,” you said softly. You reached up and touched his beautiful face. “Please, tell me who it was. You know. I know you do.”

Cyrille was completely still for a long moment. Then, he said in a quiet voice, “Albus Dumbledore.”

You blinked in surprise. “The Headmaster?” 

“So... So, if I were to go see him, I could potentially get my memories back,” you thought out loud, trying to understand what was going on.

“Angel, please don’t... Don’t do that to yourself,” Cyrille told you. You had never heard him plead so softly. His voice ached for you. 

“It was a choice you made,” he said, as if to somehow remind the old you of the now-forgotten reasons of why you had done this, or acquiesced to do this in the first place. 

Cyrille’s voice was such that you couldn’t find it within yourself to drag him into another argument. Not now, anyways.

But you knew that this was your decision, and yours alone. And Cyrille knew that, too.

Therefore, there was nothing more to be said upon the matter.

You both got up, with Cyrille helping you, gently pulling your panties up and then your pants and buttoning them back up for you before taking care of himself. You performed Cleansing and Pregnancy Prevention Spells on yourself, though there was a nagging sensation as you remembered Cyrille’s words about your feelings coming into play with preventing pregnancy.

With James, neither of you had thought much further than an hour ahead. Everything was spontaneous, high-energy, and in the moment. Neither of you ever thought about kids or not having kids or anything of the sort.

But with Cyrille, underlying everything, there was this feeling of having lived some sort-of hidden life with him before, and of continuing that life forward with him, and so...

You shook your head firmly as you clasped your cloak fastening. You spotted the red ribbon from the mistletoe lying in the snow next to where you had just picked up your cloak. With a soft smile, you picked it up and tied it to one of the lower branches on the tree you’d just had sex against. 

Cyrille walked up behind you and held you as you finished tying it. Then, he leaned forward and kissed you on the cheek. 

“Angel, you were amazing,” he murmured.

His words triggered a sense of wonderful pleasure and happiness within you, but it also brought forth a certain amount of indignation as you told him, “You know, you were really rough today. I almost couldn’t take it at some points, you fiend.” 

Cyrille paused. “Did you just call me a ‘fiend’?”

You also paused. Did I...? Oh, yes, I guess so. “Erm...” you said, a bit awkwardly. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Cyrille whispered to you teasingly. Your tummy fluttered as he spoke. His whispering to you like this did strange things to your mind and tummy. “I call you ‘angel’ and ‘princess,’ and you call me - what was it? Fiend and gargoyle?”

Cyrille chuckled. “Even you have to admit that there’s an imbalance there.”

“Well, what should I call you, then?” you asked him, actually curious about his answer. 

Unbeknownst to you, Cyrille suddenly held Yaxley’s voice play out in his mind: “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...”

And then there was something else that Cyrille was thinking of. Because you had, in fact, had a nickname for him once... A couple, actually, that had made him melt... If you ever called him those sweet titles again... No, those days are long gone. Stop. Focus on the fact that angel is in front of you now, and protect her, Cyrille told himself harshly. Don’t you know what a miracle it is that angel came back to you at all? 

‘Nothing,” Cyrille said quickly. “Just call me my name. My first name, mind you.”

“Although,” Cyrille added thoughtfully, “from time to time, you do end up stuttering out some shortened version of my name, which I would hate, but coming from your adorable little mouth that can’t seem to stop from moaning when I fuck you... it’s not so bad.”

“I call you a shortened version of your name...?” you said, trying, and struggling, to think about what you might have possible blurted out as Cyrille fucked you to high heaven. 

“Oh, Cy?” you realized. 

“Mm, that’s it,” Cyrille said, smiling.

Just then, the clock rang out again. It was eight thirty in the evening.

“Oh no!” you said suddenly. “We’re not going to make it back in time for curfew!”

Cyrille could not be less bothered. He shrugged and said suggestively, “Well, I guess I’ll see you in detention, princess.” 

You glowered at him. 

Cyrille winked at you. Then, all of the playfulness faded from his face as he told you, a bit grimly, “You know, we shouldn’t head back together.”

“Oh.” Reality set in on you quickly. Right, we came up here so that we wouldn’t be seen... Cyrille’s already been taken to task once for being with me. 

“Mm, yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said.

“I’m sorry, angel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” 

You nodded. “I know, and I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

You looked up at him and brushing back his long hair, you touched his face and reminded him gently, “Use the healing balm, please. I know you have bruises everywhere.” 

Cyrille’s eyes held yours for a long moment. Then, he kissed you softly once more.

When you two finally parted, he murmured to you, “Go first. You should be able to make it back in time if you run.” 

"But what about you?”

“I don’t care about detention, angel. Besides, I want to follow after you. That way, I’ll know you’re safe.”

You nodded. Then, you gave him one last, passionate but brief kiss, pushing yourself to him and pressing tightly against him for one last, sweet moment, before ripping yourself away from him and running down the snowy mountainside. 

Cyrille watched you determinedly making your way back down to the village, despite how slippery the snow was and how wobbly you were because of your weak legs, and he allowed himself a soft smirk, the kind of expression which even you had never seen. Cyrille fell back against the tree, and his hand clutched at his chest, which was aching badly because of how fervently you’d pressed your face against his chest, against his bruises, as you came. And yet, Cyrille thought of himself, every moment of it with you had been worth it. 

As you disappeared deeper into the village, where you were safe and finally on your way back to the castle, Cyrille allowed himself a brief moment of respite. He stared up at the winter sky just as you had, and found comfort there. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the small red ribbon tied so affectionately to the tree branch. He reached out and gently touched it with his fingertips, remembering how all of this had started because of the mistletoe in the Three Broomsticks. You’d looked so sad, almost as though you were disappointed in yourself for having trusted him, and he couldn’t have that. Something had broken through to him and reached his heart, which, for him, was not a pleasant feeling, the way it was for you, but a dark and unsettling feeling. Still, he knew he had had to act, and so he did, giving in to your wishes and his wishes, to press his lips softly against yours despite being in a crowded pub. 

Is this difficult feeling of wanting to protect someone from sadness... love? Cyrille wondered vaguely. 

And watching you light up, a bit confused, but so very happy at that small act... Well, that is what it’s all about, Cyrille thought to himself. He finally turned away and headed down the mountainside himself, vaguely realizing that he was headed towards getting another detention from Filch. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

a/n: First of all, for anyone who has been following this story all this way, a huge thank you! Second, I just wanted to say that I noticed a couple discrepancies in my stories regarding the seasons (technically, they already had spring break but now I’m going back into winter) and Yaxley’s year/age (Yaxley’s said to be a fifth year, but he’s also Cyrille’s roommate), so if you noticed those and they bothered you in any way, I apologize. If you didn’t notice, but now realize my mistakes... sorry for that, too. Anyways, thank you everyone! 

#light and dark #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #cyrille lestrange #marauders #marauders era #fanfic #fanfiction #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x lily evans

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 17

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.] [Warning: Mention of Domestic Abuse.] 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) ❦

The next morning, you woke up with a dull ache in your cervix. Your legs also felt a bit weak. 

You peeked over at your clock. It was almost time for lunch. You sighed. Turning over in bed, you stretched gingerly. 

Emmeline wasn’t here. She must be in Ravenclaw Tower with her boyfriend, Jonathan, you thought.

You made yourself get up and take a shower. Then, you dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans and your favorite sweater, which was now a bit lopsided thanks to Remus’ enthusiasm in helping you to stuff your pocket with jam jars. 

You made it down for an “early lunch” and sat at the Gryffindor table. Amelia and Hestia were there, and you sat with them and chatted about finals and the upcoming Yule Ball.

“So, are you going to be each other’s dates, then?” you asked them. 

They smiled at each other. 

You paused. 

“All right, love birds,” you said wryly, as you realized they’d gotten lost in each other’s smiles and completely forgotten to answer your question.

Suddenly, Amelia blinked uncertainly at something - or rather, someone - behind you.

“What?” you asked her.

“Someone’s here to see you...” Amelia said quietly.

You turned around to see none other than James Potter standing behind you.

“Er - sorry to interrupt,” he said to all three of you. Then, turning to address you alone, he asked, “Can I talk to you?”

“Oh... all right.” 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

James led you away from the tables and towards an empty corner of the Great Hall. He seemed nervous - angry, almost - and lost in his own thought, as he always was. In truth, he was figuring out what to say and trying to control his own emotions. He was worried for you, and a bit angry, too, though he didn’t know why. He suddenly turned around to face you.

You barely avoided running into him. You stopped just short of running into his chest. You quickly stepped back, nervously clutching the ends of your too-long sleeves. But you kept your voice calm as you said, “James?”

You both paused. It felt so strange to hear his name coming from your lips again, as though you were speaking aloud the address of your childhood home that you’d long since moved away from. It had been such a long time... 

You tried to push through the sudden cloud of memory, tinged all over with a strange and complex sorrow. “What’s wrong?” you asked him. “Did something happen?”

“No... Well, yes.” James sighed. Then, he peered down at you through his glasses. “Listen, I’m not trying to - to overstep boundaries or anything. After what I - Well, anyways.” 

Thoughtlessly, he reached up and scuffed up the back of his hair, frustrated by how difficult it was to say what he wanted to say. 

More than a little confused, you simply waited. As it was, you had never minded being patient with him. He’d always had too much energy for one person, and sometimes, it got in his way - like now, when he was tripping over his own words. 

“Sorry,” James apologized. “I know I’m not making much sense here.”

“Any sense,” you quipped. 

“Right.” 

You gave him a small smile. 

James paused. He’d missed that smile. But he shook his head and soldiered on. “It’s just that I heard that you were with Cyrille Lestrange the other day in Hogsmeade, and I- ”

“What?” Your eyes widened. How did James hear about that? That table was full of Slytherins... Someone must have seen us at the other table. Who?

“Worm - I mean, Pete. Pete told me that he saw you with Lestrange at the Three Broomsticks.” 

“Oh, well, I just had to give him something,” you told James, playing it off. I mean, it is true. I did have to give him the Healing Balm.

But James was looking at you very skeptically, and his next words explained why: “I heard Lestrange kissed you.” 

Oh. Oh, bollocks, you thought. “That’s not...” You tried to come up with something reasonable to say “...any of your business.”

You flushed and gripped your sleeves harder. That hadn’t come out the way you meant it at all. 

“None of my business...?” James repeated heavily. “Maybe you think that way, and maybe you’re right, but... I still care about you. I may not think of you in - in that way anymore, but you’re always going to be someone I care about. I can’t help but feel protective over you. And Lestrange, he’s- ”

“He’s what?” Your head came up quickly, ready to defend Cyrille. 

“Well.” Seeing your defensiveness, James treaded more carefully, “You know. He’s one of them. One of those Slytherin purebloods who- ”

“James, you’re a pureblood, too,” you reminded him. “And so is Sirius. Anyhow, what’s so bad about Slytherin?”

“That’s not what I mean. Of course Slytherin isn’t bad in itself,” James said, frustrated again. “But you know what I’m getting at.”

“No,” you said pointedly. “I don’t.”

James was determined not to give up on you. “He’s a Lestrange... That’s a family of Dark Wizards, through and through. And unlike Sirius, Cyrille hasn’t shown himself to be any different from the rest of his family. He hangs out with that crowd of people, like Yaxley and Crabbe and Goyle.”

“So?”

“So Goyle tried to hex Lily just the other day, when we were on our shift, for no reason at all, except that he knows she’s a Muggle-born...” James gave you a skeptical look. “Do I need to say more?”

You scowled at him.

“I’m not trying to make you mad, you know,” James said, backing down. “But Lestrange is not good company. I mean, can you tell me, truly and honestly, that he’s a good guy?” 

You remained silent. You wanted to push back and tell James that you knew for a fact that Cyrille was different, that he’d never been that way, and that he would never join the Death Eaters. But the truth was that you weren’t sure. 

Cyrille didn’t seem to believe in any of the blood hierarchy ideology, nor did he seem to want to be violent towards anybody. After all, he wanted to be a Healer. At the same time, he did continue to go to those “recruit” meetings, and it seemed more likely than not that after graduation, he might join their ranks. 

You let out a long, slow breath. 

James was trying his utmost to read you. Finally, he said in a hesitant voice, “Are you... Are you actually seeing him?” 

“I...” You also hesitated, thinking. Maybe if it was just James, you would tell him, despite everything. Yes, James hurt you, but you still trusted him more than anyone. Because, to put it simply, he had a good heart. And you could understand why he might still feel protective over you. Had the situation been changed and you suddenly thought that James might be seeing some Slytherin pureblood with a reputation to equal Lestrange’s, of course you’d be concerned. 

But you knew that if you told James, it would be the same as telling the other Marauders and Lily. He was so close with his friends and his girlfriend that he didn’t seem to consider himself separate from them. 

You finally shook your head. “No, we’re just acquaintances. Classmates.” 

I can’t even say something like “we’re friends,” because that would be just as suspicious, since it’s Cyrille, you thought. 

James relaxed instantly. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good. Well, I mean, um, actually, maybe that’s none of my business, like you said. And like I said, I’m not trying to make things difficult for you. I just...”

He cut himself off and took a deep breath. 

Then, he stepped forward and put his warm hands on your shoulders. “I just want you to be happy, as you deserve,” he told you softly. Then, he stepped away and returned to his friends. 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

But you had no room in your head for either Cyrille or James as you buckled down for your final exams. I’m going to be an Auror. I’m going to get there, you told yourself. 

The last couple of weeks seemed to drag on, and yet, exams were upon you all too soon. You could not have made it through without Amelia, Hestia, and Emmeline. The four of you shared notes and snacks and took turns napping in the library.

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

Finally, you’d finished your last exam before winter break. Walking out of the room, you were a bit dazed. Your body was dealing with that terrible post-exam mixture of adrenaline and sleeplessness. Still clutching your quill, you accidentally bumped into someone’s back as you were trying to leave the classroom. In fact, almost everyone was running into each other to try to leave. Everyone was so entirely over exams and could not wait to celebrate or sleep. You were definitely headed for the latter.

As you bumped into the person’s back, you accidentally poked yourself in the waist with your quill. 

“Ow,” you mumbled, rubbing your waist with your hand. The person in front of you overhead you and turned around. 

It was none other than Cyrille. 

You blinked tiredly in surprise, still standing there and rubbing your waist through your sweater and school blouse as you realized who it was. 

Neither of you said anything, but Cyrille shot you a soft smile before he walked away from you. 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

You went straight to sleep after exams. Emmeline had to say good-bye to her boyfriend, who was leaving immediately after exams. 

Still in your school outfit, you collapsed onto your bed and snoozed away, reveling in being finished with exams. 

But you were woken up far too soon.

“Hey. Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up.” 

You grumbled incoherently.

“I said, wake up.” 

Recognizing Emmeline’s voice, you attempted to throw your pillow at her. Eyes closed, you threw it woefully short. In fact, it barely made it past the corner of your bed. 

Emmeline rolled her eyes. She picked it up and walking over to you, brought your pillow down soundly on your head. 

A fluffy smack to your head called you back to life.

“What?” you growled, finally sitting up. “What on earth could you possibly need from me? I am sleeping.” 

“Fine,” Emmeline said, shrugging. “Then, I’ll just open it myself.”

You paused. “Open what?” you said, completely confused.

“There’s a box for you. It was at our dormitory door. I brought it in for you to be nice, but I guess you don’t appreciate it. So, I’ll just open it, have a look for myself, and throw it back out there, shall I?” Emmeline teased you.

“Since when do we get mail by door delivery?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. 

Emmeline shrugged. “Maybe the owls have gotten real sneaky.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her joke. 

“So, are you going to open it?” Emmeline asked you.

“Fine, fine,” you told her. 

As Emmeline brought over the box, you asked her, “Why are you so curious about it anyways? It’s not your parcel.”

“Because,” Emmeline said, “it looks very fancy.” 

She laid a long box on your lap. 

You looked down at it. It did look very fancy. It was a long, slender box wrapped in shimmering emerald green paper and tied together with a dark red ribbon. 

“It’s for me?” you asked, surprised. “I don’t think I purchased anything...”

“Look.” Emmeline pointed to a small note tucked into the ribbon. 

You pulled it out. It had your name on it, written in very elegant script. 

You put aside the note, placing it on your pillow. Then, you gently tugged open the ribbon and unwrapped the box. Then, you lifted the lid to find - 

“Wow...” Emmeline breathed out.

Your eyes widened. Nestled among a dozen freshly cut white roses were an intricate silver mask, a note that said, “If you accept my asking you to the ball, please wear these,” and a very familiar necklace with a hanging raven pendant. 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

It was the night of the Yule Ball. You wore a long silk dress. It was a bold, yet bright crimson. It featured a halter neck, with two long strips of fashionably drawn silk down your front in a deep V neck ending just above your belly button. The back was comprised entirely of thin strips criss-crossing over each other. The complicated design made the dress very pretty, but it was quite difficult to put on properly. In fact, you got a bit stuck trying to pull it all together. Emmeline had to help you find your way through the dress. You returned the favor by helping Emmeline pin up her pretty blonde hair. 

Finally, the two of you donned your masks. Yours was completely made of silver and glass, almost like a sparkling mosaic covering the area around your eyes, nose, and a little of your forehead. At the edges, it had a subtle touch of real white swan feathers. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment. You looked more like your mother’s daughter than you’d ever done. You were even wearing her earrings for tonight. You weren’t sure why. They didn’t even really match your dress. It just felt... appropriate. You swallowed. Is this bad for me? Am I heading towards a direction I shouldn’t be? Slowly, your eyes rested on the velvet crimson ribbon on your neck for a minute before tracing down the long silver chain that ended in an elegant sapphire and silver raven pendant. 

“All right. Are we set?” Emmeline asked you. 

You let out a long breath. “Yes.” 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

Cyrille straightened out his robes. He was just about to put his mask on, when Regulus came bursting into his room. 

The others had already gone down to the Slytherin common room, where copious amounts of hard liquor were being consumed.

“Cyrille! Cyrille!”

Cyrille turned to see Regulus shouting for him.

“Reg? What is it?” 

“It’s Dromeda! She’s - She’s hurt!” Regulus explained breathlessly. “She sent me a Patronus!”

“What? Why?” Cyrille said sharply. 

“She finally told her parents that she’s going to marry Ted, and they lost it,” Regulus said. His dark blue eyes shimmered in fear. “Please! Can you help her?”

“Where is she?” Cyrille asked him.  

“She’s at the Tonks’ family house. But they’re all Muggles. They don’t know how to heal her wounds. Ted wants to call an ambulance, but the wounds are magical. And Dromeda’s too scared to call the Healers. She says it might lead her parents to the Tonks, and she can’t risk that.” 

Cyrille grabbed his wand, his mask, and a small bottle off of the counter. He nodded at Regulus and said quickly, “Take me to her.” 

They sprinted down through a secret tunnel in the dungeons that led them outside of the school grounds. Then, Regulus gripped Cyrille’s arm, and the two of them Apparated. 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

“Cyrille! Thank Merlin you’re here!” Ted groaned. “It’s Dromeda. She’s- ”

“Hurt. Yes, I heard. Where is she?” Cyrille said urgently. 

Ted gestured behind him. 

As Cyrille walked towards the living room, Ted said quickly, “I did the basic spells that I know of, but...” 

Cyrille’s eyes widened when he saw Andromeda Black, unconscious and lying on the couch. Purple streaks had been slashed across her face and chest. 

“Oh Merlin,” Regulus breathed out, upon seeing his favorite cousin in her wounded state. “Cyrille, can you heal her?” 

Cyrille didn’t respond. He didn’t know himself. He knelt besides Andromeda and softly ran his fingers over one of the violet streaks.

Even unconscious, it must have hurt, for Andromeda winced in pain and turned her face away from his hand. 

“It’s a burn,” Cyrille realized, feeling the heat on his fingers. “It’s a wound from the spell Astrid Vulnurus...” 

Cyrille pulled out his wand. Casting his wand over the streaks, he closed his eyes and focusing, he murmured, “Frigus sana... Frigus sana... Frigus sana...”

Then, Cyrille took out the small bottle and applied the remaining Healing Balm all over Andromeda’s scars. It’s really meant for bruising, but still, the cooling effect will stop the burning from going too deep into her skin... Between the spell and the balm, we’ll have prevented the worst. 

Then, Cyrille turned to Ted and said, “Ted, I need you to run and purchase nettle, bicorn horn, powdered moonstone, and fluxweed. You’ll mix these to create a Cooling Healing Potion. I’ll write down the instructions to brew it. It’s not complicated, and it shouldn’t take long.”

Ted nodded. Besides him, his family members, including his grandmother, mother, and father, all looked perplexed.

“You may also want to buy some bubotuber pus,” Cyrille suggested. “It helps to stop any scarring. And Ted - be careful. They may be looking for you. Keep your eyes open, and your head down. Wear a hooded cloak.”

“Oh, Ted,” Ted’s mother began anxiously. 

“I’ll be right back, Mum. I promise,” Ted said. “Look after Dromeda.” 

Ted left at once. 

“Do you - er, do you need anything from us, son?” Ted’s father asked Cyrille.

“Yes. Please bring me paper and a quill,” Cyrille replied. 

“Er - would paper and pen do?” Ted’s father said, scratching his head. 

“Uh... assuming it’s a writing instrument, yes,” Cyrille responded, just as confused.

Ted’s father nodded, and then he went away to grab paper and pen for Cyrille.

Ted’s grandmother piped up, “How about a damp rag? A cool, damp rag for Andromeda, hm? Would that help her?”

Cyrille paused. Then, he said softly, “Yes, I think that would be soothing. Thank you.”  

“Cyrille, is she going to be all right?” Regulus said worriedly. 

Cyrille nodded. “Yes, she’ll be all right. It may not be the most comfortable healing process, but this is all I can do for now. I don’t... I don’t know enough.” He sighed.

Regulus put his hand on Cyrille’s shoulder. “Cyrille, don’t think that. It’s such a relief that you’re here...” 

“Yes,” Ted’s mother said softly. “Thank you so much.” 

Meanwhile, Ted’s father had brought Cyrille a notepad and pen from the living room bookshelf nearby, and Ted’s grandmother had brought a soft rag and a bowl of cool water. 

Cyrille said, “Regulus, if I give you Potion instructions, will you write them down?"

“Sure.”

Cyrille began to recite the instructions for the Cooling Healing Potion as he dipped the washcloth in the water and wrung it out before gently pressing it against Andromeda’s cheek.

By the time Cyrille had finished giving Regulus instructions, Andromeda’s breathing was much calmer.

“She seems better,” Ted’s mother noted.

Cyrille nodded in relief. 

Just then, Andromeda’s eyes blinked open. “Cyrille...?” she said hoarsely. 

“Water! I’ll bring water!” Ted’s grandmother said, and immediately went off, half-hobbling and half-sprinting to the kitchen in an amazing display of athleticism. 

“Dromeda! How are you feeling?” Regulus said anxiously.

“I’m fine,” Andromeda said faintly. She coughed before immediately asking, “Where’s Ted?”

“He went to buy Potions ingredients,” Regulus answered. Then, he blurted out, “I was so nervous when I got your Patronus!” 

Andromeda tried her best to smile at them. “Thank you, Reg, for delivering my message. And thank you, Cyrille, for coming to my rescue.” 

“Andromeda.” Cyrille looked at her sternly. “You should have sent for me directly. I would have been here quicker.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Andromeda replied knowingly. “Someone could have seen my Patronus asking you for help. It could have blown your cover, and I can’t have that. I know how important you are, Cyrille.”

“I’m not important,” Cyrille disagreed.

“You are,” Andromeda pushed back. “I keep telling you. Without you pretending to appease your brothers while secretly shielding and healing everyone, Regulus wouldn’t be safe. Neither would Sirius, for that matter, though the idiot doesn’t know it. And Narcissa wouldn’t have been able to help me by secretly passing me money. Cyrille, you’re the guardian for those of us who disagree with our parents and their pureblood ideology. Without you, all of us would have been intimidated into following their footsteps and eventually, believing in what they believe in...”

“Don’t say things like that,” Cyrille said weakly. “It’s not true.”

“It is. And you saved me today, too,” Andromeda said. She reached out to grasp his arm. 

“Save your strength,” Cyrille whispered to her. “You don’t have to thank me. Besides...” His eyes dropped to the now-empty container of the Healing Balm. “It wasn’t like I did anything. You were saved today by the care of someone stronger and braver than me...” 

Ted returned at that moment. Ted’s family collectively let out a long sigh of relief. 

Regulus handed Ted the Potions instructions. 

Ted looked at it and nodded. “I should be able to do this on my own. Thank you, Cyrille.”

Cyrille nodded.

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” Ted’s mother offered Cyrille and Regulus. “We’re in your debt, and besides that - we’d be more than happy to accommodate you.”

“That’s a generous offer, but I’m afraid I have to go,” Cyrille said, quietly straightening out his robes. He felt his pocket to make sure his mask was still in there. Thankfully, it was. “There’s someone waiting for me.” 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

By the time you, Emmeline, Jonathan, Amelia, and Hestia arrived at the Great Hall, the Yule Ball was already in full force. The Great Hall looked spectacular. It had been transformed into a true winter wonderland. A dozen towering Christmas trees, crammed with colorful baubles and holding glimmering candles, dotted the Great Hall. Gorgeous Christmas wreaths hung everywhere, strung along with ribbons and enchanted to feature glittering icicles. Poinsettias and baby’s breath artfully put into silver vases, which were themselves etched with stenciling that depicted celestial and mythical stories of old, were placed besides every crackling fireplace. The champagne table was crowded with golden and translucent crystal glasses filled to the brim, and the champagne bubbled up brightly in anticipation of being drunk. The floor of the Great Hall had been Charmed to look like pure ice, and the magical sky above featured the true, wintery night sky. A half moon was visible amongst the sparkling winter stars. 

The doors of the Great Hall had been left wide open, for students could go outside and ride one of the many carriages that were being pulled by thestrals. Essentially, students could go on joy rides through the snowy fields of Hogwarts, and even soar high over the castle and lake. 

Jonathan, Emmeline, Amelia, and Hestia decided to take one of these carriages. Each carriage only seated four, with two small bench-like, cushioned seats facing each other.

You waved them forward. “Go,” you told them. “Don’t let me hold you back.”

Emmeline leaned into you and said, “If you find out who your mystery lover is, you have to tell me, all right?”

You smiled at her, amused. Then, Amelia pulled her away into the carriage.

You waved them off, and then you returned to the Great Hall alone. You made your way to the champagne table and downed a glass. Your eyes swept the crowd in front of you. It really was difficult to make out individual people amidst the swirling fabrics, glittering snowflakes, and sparkling champagne glasses. 

You started to put down your glass when you heard a voice say cheerfully behind you, “Excuse me. Mind if I get some bubbly myself?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I’m sorry,” you said, stepping to the side. 

The man who had just addressed you suddenly cocked his head at you as he saw your profile - or what he could make of it through your mask, anyways. 

Feeling his gaze, you instinctively looked up at him. It took only a moment for you to recognize James Potter, standing there in his gold mask, red and black robes, and still-messy hair. It didn’t matter that he was wearing a mask and not his glasses. It really didn’t matter that he’d tried to flatten the back of his hair - it still stood right up. 

But before either of you could say anything, Sirius’ annoyed voice broke out. “Oi! What’s the hold up?”

You slipped away just then. 

You wandered a bit aimlessly through the crowd, slowly drifting in and out of the dancing couples. You had never minded the feeling of getting lost in an anonymous crowd of people. However, some time later, a light touch at your wrist alerted you that someone’s fingers were grasping onto you.

An elegant voice said softly, “Miss? If I may, I believe you’re wearing something of mine.” 

You looked over your shoulder. Cyrille... His silver eyes glimmered beautifully behind his mask, which matched yours in color and design. Silver metal wrapped like ivy around his facial features, disguising his normally very recognizable features. His silver and white robes suited him so well, sitting proudly on his tall and slim statute. 

You paused. Tilting your head at the silver pin on his chest, you asked wonderingly, “Is that- ?”

“A panther? Yes.” Cyrille smiled at you. “I saw it only fitting that I wear your crest, if you were going to give me the honor of wearing mine.” 

He reached down and gently touched the raven pendant that you were wearing. 

“Seeing it on you, it’s the first time I don’t hate it...” he murmured. 

“I was very surprised when I saw it lying in the box,” you told him. 

“I was worried you’d be disgusted by my even asking you to wear it,” Cyrille admitted. “I was waiting for you to barge into the Slytherin common room and chuck it at my head.” 

You laughed. “Well, you did a good job of framing the ask,” you replied, “what with the white roses and all. My roommate was convinced I had a secret lover.” 

“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong now, would you?” Cyrille said. He reached down and ran his hand along your jawline. “Secret by necessity, but lover by choice.” 

Then, his fingers touched the edge of your mask. “It suits you.” 

“Do you like what I’ve worn with it?” you asked, gesturing down at your bright red dress. 

Instead of complimenting you, Cyrille sighed and said, “Of course you would wear this. You could not be more Gryffindor if you tried.” 

You smiled brightly, liking this better than a compliment. 

“I tried to be neutral,” Cyrille told you. “I purposefully refrained from wearing green, and look at you, not caring one whit about how obviously you’re flaunting your House to me.” 

You laughed lightly. “Why shouldn’t I?” you asked him. “I’m proud to be a Gryffindor.” 

Cyrille smiled wryly. “Clearly.” 

“Besides,” you told him, “it doesn’t have to be about house colors. In fact, I am wearing green somewhere. And besides, green simply doesn’t suit you as well as silver and white.”

“Well, that’s rather rude,” Cyrille replied. 

“I said ‘as well.’ Not that green doesn’t suit you. It’s just that... I like what you’re wearing now,” you said, placing your hands on his chest and playing with the front of his robes. “You look very handsome.” 

Cyrille lifted his eyebrow at you. You could just see it lifting over his mask. He thought you were teasing him. 

You weren’t. While Cyrille’s build wasn’t necessarily one that effortlessly filled up a shirt or sweater, in fitted robes or a formal suit, all of his sharp and cut features lended a sophisticated and elegant quality to his entire demeanor.

Cyrille offered you his hand. “Well, if you find me so handsome, may I please have this dance?”

Smiling, you took his hand, and the two of you swept off together. You’d both grown up learning very classical and formal dance, and though you hadn’t practiced in a while, Cyrille was an excellent lead, and you found it easy to find your footing again. 

Cyrille’s guiding hand held yours very lightly as he led you across the room, but his other hand was pressed to your back and because the entire back of your dress was composed of thin silk straps, you could feel his palm pressing softly against your skin.

You stiffened slightly as he slowly slid his fingers under your straps to feel more of your skin.

“On second thought, I’d like to compliment you on your dress choice,” Cyrille murmured, leaning down to speak into your ear. “I can see myself growing quite fond of this dress.”

“Excuse me, you sleaze, where is your hand going?” you teased him, laughing. 

“Yet another affectionate nickname,” Cyrille sighed, spinning you out and then back into his arms. As you spun out from him, he admired your elegant posture, and the way the silk dress spun around your waist in floating waves. He caught a glimpse of your beautiful, long legs, spinning gracefully. For just a second, Cyrille thought he caught something flash prettily on your thighs, but he didn’t quite see what it was. 

When you returned to his arms, he pressed his hand into your back a little harder, wanting you closer to him. 

Then, as the more operatic music slowed into softer, slower music, your right hand slid from his and traveled down his outstretched arm to his shoulder, matching where your left hand was already resting.

“Will you hold me?” you asked him. “I want to dance slowly with you.” 

“Yes, angel. Come closer,” he whispered, and he wrapped his arms around your waist tenderly as the both of you gently swayed to the calming music.

You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. You felt happy, happier than you had in a long time... You felt like a figurine dancing in one of those picturesque snow globes. That was what being with Cyrille felt like. His embrace didn’t immediately make you feel safe, but his aura, and the way it lured you into some fantastical version of the world, brought you into a sort-of fairytale world, where everything was soft, yet glamorous, and even though the world bore scars of violence, nothing hurt anymore. Everything could be healed if you were with Cyrille. And so, the dark fantasy inspired a purer reality - a reality guided by light and aspiration... 

After a moment, you asked him, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were always like this?” 

His arms tightened around you and he whispered, “Yes, it would.”

“Why can’t we have this?” you asked him quietly. You were almost afraid to bring this up, but you knew you needed to have your answers. “Can’t you leave your family, and come and be with me?”

Cyrille paused. He stopped swaying to the music.

You held your breath, suddenly afraid. 

Cyrille gazed down at you, and his silver eyes, framed in his mask, suddenly seemed so very tormented and weary. 

“I’d like to, but it’s not so simple,” he told you. His voice was like glass, and you knew he was deliberately hiding something. 

“I’ll help you,” you promised him. 

But Cyrille shook his head. “You gave up your memories to escape the darkness of your heritage. Don’t get drawn back in, angel. It’ll only hurt you.” 

“But I want to be with you,” you told him, suddenly confessing. “I’m never going back to that, but I can’t leave you there, either. Come away with me.” 

“Where?” Cyrille asked you.

“Anywhere,” you promised him. “Anywhere you want. And you could be a Healer, and I’ll be an Auror... We could save people together.” 

“You’re talking about the far future, aren’t you, angel? Not just right now...” Cyrille realized. In a quiet voice, he asked you, “So, do you... Do you mean that we would live together?” 

You stopped. Shit, I’ve said too much.

Cyrille’s arms were suddenly vicelike around you. He knew you were about to turn away from him, and he wasn’t going to let you slip away so easily.

“Angel...” he said softly. 

“Didn’t- Didn’t you say you had your heart set on me?” you whispered, suddenly shy. “I thought you...” 

You turned your face away, but Cyrille quickly caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I did say that,” he acknowledged. “I just didn’t know you returned those feelings.”

You hesitated. “Well, I...”  

Cyrille waited for you to finish speaking, but your voice trailed off.

Cyrille’s eyes dimmed. What is she thinking? Perhaps I spoke too quickly. I jumped to conclusions. She doesn’t reciprocate my feelings after all. At least, not in depth... 

Cyrille began to speak to you again, but at the moment, he noticed a figure, in black and green robes, facing the two of you. Dark, glimmering eyes sparkled out knowingly from under his heavy golden mask. 

Suddenly, Cyrille hissed, “Damn it. That’s Yaxley. He’s watching us. I think he suspects.”

“Come with me.” Cyrille took your hand and pulled you away, through the crowd and out of Great Hall. 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

Dusk had fallen into an inky black night while the two of you were dancing together. Now, the carriages lay scattered across the field immediately in front of the castle. Hagrid had taken the thestrals away. 

“In here.” Cyrille opened one of the carriage doors and beckoned you inside. He took your hand and helped you up the step before following in after you.

He closed the door and sat down opposite you. 

“Angel,” he said. He looked at you seriously. The silver mask accentuated his silver eyes, and made his gaze piercing. “You don’t trust me, do you?” 

You blinked. “What...?”

“You’re not asking me to live my life with you because that’s actually what you want, is it? You’re asking me to test me, to figure out my loyalties... You want to know that I would come with you, that I would never follow my family’s footsteps and join the Death Eaters." Cyrille paused. Then, looking directly into your eyes, he asked you, “Tell me the truth. Is that what you really want to know about me?”

“N-” You immediately began to refute him, but in all honesty, there was more than a speck of truth in what Cyrille had astutely pointed out. You were afraid to lose yourself completely to him because you couldn’t be sure of his allegiances. And you, after having been abandoned by your family for your refusal to follow their pureblood mania, you couldn’t let yourself fall for someone who justified them and allowed such mania to take root in this world. There was no excuse for such discrimination. 

And where did Cyrille stand in all this? 

You suddenly thought back to your conversation with James, only a few weeks ago: 

“He’s a Lestrange... That’s a family of Dark Wizards, through and through. And unlike Sirius, Cyrille hasn’t shown himself to be any different from the rest of his family. He hangs out with that crowd of people, like Yaxley and Crabbe and Goyle.”

“I just... I need to be sure that you’re not going to be someone who enables an ideology of complete violence,” you told Cyrille. “And sometimes, I feel like the more involved I become with you, the more I find myself returning to my pureblood heritage. I mean, I put on my mother’s earrings tonight because I thought... I thought you would like them.”

Cyrille shook his head. “No. Then, take them off, angel. That’s not what I wish for, ever.” 

“What do you wish for?” you asked him seriously. “If I asked you to come away with me, would you even want to? Or is there some part of you... that genuinely wants to remain where you are?” 

As you spoke, you slowly reached over and pulled off his mask, wanting to see his expression, and his eyes.

Cyrille, too, gently pulled off your mask. He gazed down at you. He cupped your face in his hand, and you couldn’t help but lean into it for a moment.

But then, you drew away and sat back against your seat. If he’s not going to choose to leave, could I truly be with him? you wondered. 

Gazing at you, Cyrille was reminded of the fact that his loyalties and desires were always split - for example, the desire to protect his younger siblings and cousins from the abuse and influence of his older siblings and cousins such as Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan versus his desire to run away from home altogether and re-align himself in accordance with his true beliefs. 

And it wasn’t just about protection, it was about loyalty, too. Because Cyrille genuinely believed that there were good people among the Death Eater ranks, trying to do what was necessary to survive, feeling helpless in finding a way out. Being born in a high-class, pure-blood family, Cyrille felt obligated to stay and help them. Yes, even though they were Death Eaters, he felt a loyalty to them. 

At the same time, he felt bitter towards them. Who were they to demand his protection? Why couldn’t they forge a path out for themselves - the way you had? That was why he respected and admired you so much. You were stronger than anyone he knew. Unlike Sirius Black, you did try to stay and work it out with your family. But unlike Regulus Black and everyone else who depended on Cyrille for help and protection, when it all became too much, you ultimately left of your own accord.  

But knowing that there were a rare few like you in the world who could tempt fate into their own hands, could that mere possibility of spectacular bravery ever justify Cyrille’s leaving everyone and abandoning them to their own fates? 

The answer that Cyrille had found inside of himself was a quiet, already hopeless, and yet absolute: No. 

“Cyrille...” you said finally, “come away with me. I mean it.” 

Cyrille sighed. “I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because... not everything is black and white,” Cyrille murmured quietly. “It’s all just shades of grey, an interplay of light and dark wherever you go. The best you can do is to take a stance wherever you’re born into, wherever you find yourself.” 

Cyrille stared at his hands, lying open on his lap, as he told you, “Angel, perhaps you hate me for this, but my place is to protect and to heal. I’m no hero. I’m no martyr. I’m no leader. My skills are trained in disguise. What I can be is a two-faced snake, telling my brothers I believe their pureblood mania, and then turning my back on them to tell Yaxley, Crabbe, Goyle, Regulus, Avery, and all of the rest of them that if they dare to use curses for any reason, they’ll have to face me. I pretend like I share Bellatrix’s bloodlust in front of everyone, and then, when her back is turned, I heal all of those that she has maimed and tortured.” 

“It’s why Yaxley despises me,” Cyrille told you. “He’s tired of my antics. He’s waiting for the day he can slit my throat. I hope he makes it quick. It would be one way to die...” 

Cyrille’s eyes darkened. “I don’t want to be there anymore. It’s hard to see people get hurt over and over again, and often, my Healing is too weak to save them. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. But if I’m not there, if Yaxley becomes our leader, if Bellatrix is allowed to hurt people and there’s no one around to heal them... Then, what happens? Can I turn away, knowing that I’m the only one who can help them? And I can help them, not because I’m any better or cleverer than anyone else, but simply by virtue of who I am. Because of what I’ve been born into. The others, they don’t dare to challenge me, because of my bloodline, because of my insane siblings... I try to use that to my advantage, but...” He let out a hollow breath. “Maybe you’re right, angel. Maybe it’s all unjustified. Maybe it’s all... worth nothing, in the end.”

Seeing Cyrille like this, you suddenly recalled what he had said to you many months ago, after you, James, Lily, and Emmeline had run into Yaxley attempting to use Dark Magic on a second-year Ravenclaw. Cyrille had disappeared with the student to get her to safety. You’d taunted him about it in Transfiguration class, and Cyrille had responded, “What, am I supposed to let the second year get hit by Dark Magic just so I get to look tough?”

This was what he meant. For him, it’s not about what other people think of him, it’s not even about what he appears to be. He doesn’t care if people think he’s a Death Eater, not if it enables him to save people who otherwise could not be saved.

You sighed out loud. That’s a truly difficult path that he’s chosen for himself, but he will definitely save people. 

You slid off of your seat. Then, taking his hands in yours, you clambered on top of him, sitting in his lap and facing him. 

Cyrille looked up at you, surprised. He had expected you to reject him and to demand that he leave you alone starting from this very moment.

Instead, you kissed his fingertips. Then, drawing your mouth down his long fingers, you pressed your soft lips against his knuckles, including his rings, even those bearing the Lestrange insignia. 

Cyrille hesitated, not quite believing what was happening. “Angel...?” he murmured.

With your mouth still pressed against his palm, you turned your head slightly to gaze into his eyes. You whispered hauntingly, “You truly have a serpent’s tongue.”

Leaning forward, you kissed him. 

Your hands slipped over his shoulders and into his cold, fine hair. You gripped his hair tightly in your fingers as you pressed yourself to him.

Cyrille was stunned. His eyes widened when he felt your lips on his.

He breathed out, realizing that you understood him and his mission, even if you could never fully accept it. 

Oh, angel, it seems that I didn’t have to be so afraid of you forgetting me. You’ve come to understand me all over again.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around you fervently, enveloping your whole torso in his long arms, and he kissed you passionately enough to take your breath away. He was letting himself kiss you for the first time as himself, not just what he imagined you wanted from your lover. 

You shut your eyes and responded to him. The two of you kissed intensely, moving your lips and bodies in sync, pressing up against each other in the semi-darkness.

The only light entering the carriage came from the open doors of the Great Hall. Golden light poured from the castle, but only a long strip of it made its way through the carriage window. 

As you and Cyrille kissed each other fiercely, taking turns giving and receiving kisses to each other, the light flashed over you one at a time. First, the long strip of light would lay on the side of your face, covering your blushing cheek and jaw as you would push Cyrille back against the seat. You pressed your lips against his ardently, wanting to taste him on your tongue. After letting you take control for a few moments, Cyrille would push back with his own kisses, claiming your lips as his, and you would be subtly pushed into the darkness. Then, Cyrille’s high cheekbone and sharp jaw would appear and catch the golden light in a manner not unlike glass.

Cyrille’s hands opened against your back and he pressed you against him. He held you so closely that you two were finally sharing the light, as it lay across your shoulder and the right side of your face, as well as across his chest and the left side of his face. You put your hand up against his cheek to touch and hold his face. For a moment, Cyrille gently sucked at your neck, but he quickly came back up, already missing your mouth. You responded just as quickly, turning your head towards your shoulder while Cyrille’s head was, to return his kisses. 

As you were sitting on his lap, Cyrille was tilting his head up slightly to kiss you. His sharp jaw glimmered in the dim light as he worked his mouth against you. The two of you traded kisses over and over again. Pressing your hand against his face, you felt his jaw move as he kissed. You thought numbly to yourself, It’s ironic that he strives to be a Healer at all costs, when he could cut someone with this jawline alone. 

The two of you kissed and kissed and kissed, becoming lost in each other’s pleasant warmth, lovely scents, and soft lips until Cyrille finally pulled you to him even tighter, causing your heads to slip over each other’s shoulders. 

Your breasts pressed up against his chest, and his chest pushed back in return as you two fought to draw breath into your lungs. The sounds of your loud panting filled the small space.

Neither of you rested, however, as you continued to shower each other’s cheeks, necks, and shoulders with kisses.

You felt his lashes brush up against your cheek as he pressed his lips all along your jaw. He gently bit at your ear, and then, when he bent down to kiss your bare shoulder, the side of his head pressed your earring against your cheek. You slid your hands in his hair, feeling the silky, thin strands slide gracefully between your fingers.

As Cyrille kissed your shoulder, you could no longer kiss his face, and you suddenly became aware of all of the sensations that was him against you. You had been so intent on kissing him, too, that you hadn’t quite realized how Cyrille’s hands were still pressing against your back. Through the thin straps, you could feel how large his hands were against you. 

Cyrille had rarely been able to hold you like this, and he savored feeling your lovely, soft skin, running his fingertips gently over your back before grasping at your skin hard enough to drag his nails over your back through your dress straps.

And this dress, with its cutout sides and strappy back, accentuated your bare back and gorgeous curves all the way down to your tight, slim waist.

Given your small size, Cyrille’s hands held you so easily, and when his hands felt up your curves, he groaned internally. He’d held your waist many times before as he fucked you, but this was different, being able to run his hands down your curves and to squeeze your waist. He discovered what James had discovered about you, too - that squeezing your waist, right where it met your hips, pushed a soft moan out of you, every time. 

“Uhn,” you breathed out, as you felt his hands press themselves against your beautiful curves. 

You shifted a little in his lap in response, and you felt Cyrille’s cock starting to rise underneath you. Cyrille felt your thighs squeeze the sides of his legs as you moved your body against his.

“Cyrille,” you whispered. Reaching down slightly to press your hands against his chest, on either side of the opening of his robes, you abruptly pushed him back against his seat. 

He blinked. For the first time, he was the one being handled, the one being pushed back and subject to your orders. He looked up at you, a bit hazily, as his mind and senses were still filled with the sensations of you. 

And for once, you saw it - a flash of pure light, of pure curiosity, present in his silver eyes. But strangely enough, the emotion that you recognized in Cyrille’s eyes was more, not less, mesmerizing than his mystery.

This isn’t just seduction anymore, you thought. We’re far past that. I want to get to know him. That, to me, is more satisfying than any twisted game of push-and-pull, no matter how exciting that type of game might feel in the moment. 

You reached up and touched his cheek warmly for a long moment. He turned his face slightly to kiss the palm of your hand, but his eyes never left yours. 

A serpent, tamed, not by submission, but by its own free will, was kissing your hand, you thought. 

“You’re so... beautiful.” Your words slipped out of your lips before you had even registered the thought.

Cyrille’s eyes widened. He didn’t make a cheeky remark or raise his eyebrow at you. He seemed genuinely stunned that you would think of him that way, in any capacity. Because you knew now, that it was all a lie - so how could you find it beautiful? You, who had rejected every form of pureblood markings - from the primed, ridiculously sleek hair to the practiced pose of looking down on people. You knew about all of it, and you had rejected it. Meanwhile, Cyrille had perfected it. So, how could you look at him and find him, in any way, attractive? 

Yet, you called him ‘beautiful.’  

He made to kiss you again, and you allowed him to, receiving it gratefully. But after only a few minutes, you pushed him back again, gently but firmly.

Cyrille looked at you, once again confused. 

“Let me pleasure you tonight,” you whispered to him. You put your hands on his shoulders and then, holding onto him, you began to slowly and sensually move your hips against him. You rode him in his lap very, very slowly - almost achingly slow - and used your hips to delve deeply into his lap. 

Cyrille appreciated just how sensual your body was. To be honest, other than that brief moment when the two of you had made love for the first time on the Astronomy Tower - specifically, that moment where you’d dropped his blazer to reveal your body, you hadn’t really had time to enjoy each other’s physiques. Everything between the two of you was always rushed and feverish: comprised solely of stolen moments, with clothes never fully off, kissing while fucking because there wasn’t time to properly do either of them, and moaning out curse words and affectionate phrases in the same breath to get all of your feelings for each other out. 

And now, though you were still fully wearing your dress, with the way you were sitting and slowly rotating your hips on his lap, your dress showed off your figure to perfection, and Cyrille appreciated that.

The backless and strapless design of the dress made it a bold choice, but it was certainly paying off very well, Cyrille thought, as he watched you shifting back and forth on top of him. He could see your abs peeking out just past the sides of the front of your dress fabric, appearing softly as your curves stretched and then deepened in time to your lovely, rhythmic movement.

Cyrille reached back and grasping your hair in his hand, he tugged your hair back slightly, just to hear you catch your breath a little and to see your tummy having to strain a bit more in this position, further showing off your gorgeous curves. 

And though they were hidden underneath your dress, Cyrille could feel your thighs moving against his, gliding back and forth on the sides of his legs. 

Cyrille could feel you beginning to sit down on him more and more heavily. You were clearly holding back from wanting to bounce up and down on him, and you were compensating by pressing yourself quite insistently against him.

Cyrille’s cock was painfully hard by now, and when he felt the outline of your pussy lips rubbing up on his cock, he groaned out loud.

In response, he subconsciously shifted his hips up slightly, so that you could suddenly feel a very clear outline of his bulge pressing up against you.

You gripped his shoulders quite a bit tighter and your abs tensed all at once. Cyrille felt your thighs shudder for a moment. 

“Angel, are you close to cumming?” Cyrille asked you. 

You shook your head. Forcing yourself not to stutter or moan, you replied in a careful voice, “No... This is about you.”

“Oh, really?” Cyrille said, and his eyes lit up at this opportunity to tease you. He reached forward and slightly pushed up the front of your dress between the two of you, just enough to slip his hand underneath the elegant silk skirt. Then, he ever so slowly pushed his hand inside of your panties. Tauntingly feeling you up, he pressed his fingers slowly against your... wet... clit.

You shivered. Then, before you could stop yourself, you mouth fell open and you began to stutter out, “A-Ah-

“Ah,” Cyrille finished for you, almost mocking you. He smirked at you. “Oh, princess... I’m starting to think that you’re always wet around me.” 

“Would you say that’s right?” he asked you innocently.

You flushed and put your head down on his shoulder, hiding your expression.

But the next minute, when Cyrille had brought up his other hand under your dress to rest it on your thigh, Cyrille paused, as the palm of his hand slid over unfamiliar material.

“Angel, what are you wearing under your dress?” he asked you. 

“Oh,” you murmured suddenly, feeling Cyrille’s hands quickly slip up and over your thighs to your waist, making out the outline of a belt-and-garter set.

“Wait!” you said. But Cyrille had already pushed away the front of your dress to find you wearing a lacy dark green garter set under your dress, complete with a belt around your middle, straps, thin lace garters on both of your thighs, and matching panties. 

Cyrille breathed out slowly.

You gave him about five seconds before you blurted out, “All right, I’m sorry. I’ve never worn this kind of stuff. I don’t know what you’re supposed to wear with it, or how you wear it. I tried to follow the instructions set on the tags, but... erm...”

Reaching down, you quickly tried to cover yourself back up with the skirt of your dress, but Cyrille impatiently pushed your hand away, to keep your dress up and let him continue to see you. 

Your beautiful, creamy thighs, spread open on either side of him, were graced in dark green garters with a elegant lacy design. It looked stunning against your smooth skin. The garters were held up by little black straps that ran up to your belt, which was a matching dark green. The belt was also made of thin, delicate lace, and it ran around your waist, hugging you perfectly and accentuating your curves deliciously. The belt had a fairly thin width, but fashionable little cut-outs of fabric came down in a very flowy, princess-y way, adding a little flounce and softness to the otherwise quite devilish piece. And then, of course, there were your matching panties, made of silk and lace with a pretty rose print. But the lace slit running down the middle left nothing to the imagination, as it laid bare your beautiful, glistening clit and pussyhole for him. When Cyrille had slipped his hand down the front of your panties before, he’d simply assumed that the cool feeling on the back of his fingers was from your soaking through your panties, but now, he realized that not only were you soaking wet, but you were also already bare for him. 

Cyrille marveled at how gorgeous it all looked on you. Besides, he hadn’t really pinned you down as an extravagant lingerie woman. Not that you wouldn’t look stunning in it, but to know that you had gone out of your way to pick this out and put it on for him made him feel proud and very grateful to have such a sexy little nymph as his woman.

He wished he had known earlier that you had this fancy get-up on so that he could have pinned your dress up to your skirt as you grinded on him, and he could have seen this gorgeous sight on his lap. 

You were still mumbling, half to yourself and half to Cyrille, “I’ve only tried to do this once before, and Emmeline died laughing, so I never ended up wearing it for Ja- for anyone.” 

“Emmeline can go straight to hell,” Cyrille retorted, but he wasn’t actually angry.

Still, you said softly, “Don’t. She’s my best friend.”

“She’s also a thief,” Cyrille told you matter-of-factly. As he spoke, he slowly slid his index fingers under the straps connecting the belt around your waist to the garters around your thighs. The garters were more like thin, lacy bands pressed tight to your thighs, and not the fancier, chunkier garters. However, the simplicity suited you so well, Cyrille thought, devouring you with his eyes. 

“She did that for me,” you replied.

Cyrille paused. “Does she...?”

“No,” you said quickly. “She doesn’t know about us, but... Well, she caught me looking at you, and she said I looked- Anyways, she did it with good intentions.”

Cyrille understood what you meant. Your friend had picked up on the fact that Cyrille had hurt you. “Well,” Cyrille said carefully in a light voice, “your other friend, whom I’m assuming Emmeline dragged along, did manage to give Yaxley a faceful of angry frog, so I am inclined to forgive Emmeline quicker than most.”

Cyrille ran his fingers down the length of the straps, sliding his fingers down between the straps and your skin. You shivered as you felt the back of his hands smoothly gliding over the insides of your thighs. 

Cyrille continued, “And the fact that you had to return my book let me see your face for the first time in weeks, so maybe I’ll send Emmeline flowers for that.” 

You frowned, confused. “Why would you send her flowers for that?”

“Because you never let me see your face otherwise,” Cyrille said, remembering.

“Oh...” You also remembered the lengths you had gone to not to run into Cyrille over the course of those two weeks. Not that your paths ever truly crossed naturally, but you were suddenly painfully aware of him anytime he was in the vicinity. For example, everyone ate at the Great Hall, but when Cyrille entered, you felt like there was a spotlight on him. Ignoring him felt like having to force yourself to look away into the darkness of the audience. It was much easier to simply leave, knowing that you were heading away from him. 

For the first time, you were glad that Cyrille was constantly surrounded by other Slytherins who saw him as their leader. It meant that you were safe from being followed, as Cyrille couldn’t just get up and come after you. There were too many people watching him and waiting to follow him, for him to act however he pleased.

“Why were you hiding so much from me, angel? Hm?” Cyrille asked you. “It killed me. I know I deserved whatever silence or coldness you decided to give me, but it still killed me.” 

“Cyrille, please,” you mumbled. “I’m not good with this kind of thing.”

“With ‘what kind of thing’?” he asked, teasing you a little by copying the way you said your words.

“Confessions and the like,” you replied, a bit shortly as you thought that he was teasing you to make you admit something you didn’t want to admit.

However, that hadn’t been what Cyrille was getting at, at all. He paused when he heard your reply. “I wasn’t aware I was asking for a confession,” Cyrille murmured, honestly taken back. “Were you going to give me a confession?”

You shook your head at him, and decided to distract him by reaching down and undoing his belt and pants. You slowly pulled out his cock. He was already quite hard.

“Oh,” you said, and then you smirked at him. “I guess you did like the lingerie set, after all. Well then, maybe you didn’t deserve it. “

“Hm?” Cyrille said, not understanding what you meant by that. “What did I do wrong, angel?” 

You ran your fingers all over him playfully as you explained, “I picked out something green for you, as a form of compromise for having a date in Gryffindor colors. But you were very, very mean about my dress, not even telling me I looked pretty, which - tip - you should do for your dates, Cyrille. And now look at you, all hard...”

The corner of your bright red lips pulled up in clear amusement as you teased him, “Mm, I should have slipped off my lingerie and thrown it out the window when you weren’t looking. You didn’t deserve this.”

“Fuck,” Cyrille groaned. “You had to wear this fancy lingerie set when we’re stuck in this tiny carriage, where I can’t even have you properly.”

“The carriage was your idea, not mine,” you pointed out. “You suggested we hide in here.”

Placing one hand on his abs to help steady yourself, you looked down and taking his cock in your other hand, you began to stroke his cock in your hand, drawing it out as your fingers formed into a little fist around his shaft. You felt his abs tense under your other hand. Feeling him tense, you paused and smiled mischievously at him. 

Cyrille sighed. “You said you would pleasure me, angel, not torture me.”

“No, no, no, no,” you replied, leaning forward slightly so that your lips were only a millimeter from his as you spoke to him. “After all that edging you put me through and your other million little games, you don’t get to complain, Lestrange.” 

Cyrille lifted his eyebrow at you when you said his last name, which you knew was “forbidden.” “Do you really want to go down that pathway, angel?” 

“Oh, should I be scared?” you asked lightly. 

“You’re a cheeky little thing,” Cyrille replied wryly. “For how sensitive you are with m- uhn...”

In the middle of his answer, you suddenly jerked your hand quickly up and down the length of his cock, causing his breath to hitch.

You smirked at him, pleased that your little tactic had worked.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” Cyrille said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

But you were fully genuine as you replied, “Yes, I do. I love seeing you...” You leaned forward the tiniest bit, so that your lips met his briefly. It was a quick kiss, before you sat back again, and finished “...vulnerable.”

“Mmm,” Cyrille said, eyes still closed as the feeling of your lips lingered on his mouth. He reached up and ran his fingers gently over his own lips before he replied to you, “Well, I don’t mind you seeing me like that, not after all we’ve been through, but...” - his eyes flashed open, first glimmering a sharp silver and then shifting to a warm and vibrant gold as the light caught his eyes again - “I will make you work for it.” 

“Let me try to change your mind,” you whispered to him.

Cyrille’s cock was now hard enough that it pointed up firmly, and shifting a bit closer to him, you sat directly on top of his cock and then, taking your time, you began to move your hips up and down, dragging your pussy over his cock. Through that slit in your panties, you could feel your pussy lips spreading open each time you pressed up against his cock. 

Cyrille slowly breathed out. 

In contrast, you inhaled a bit sharply as you felt yourself beginning to respond to the feeling of his long, hard cock pressing up against you this way. 

Your head fell forward a little as you became wetter and wetter. Ugh, you thought to yourself, Why do I get so easily wet with him? I just... I want him so bad. I love when he’s inside me. And I want him to cum in me, and all over me.

At the very thought of him cumming in you, you started to grind against him harder.   

A few curls slipped from your half-up, half down hairdo, and hid half of your face. Cyrille impatiently pushed back your front curls to look at you. Breathing out a little as you were still pressing your pussy up all over his cock, you instinctively looked up when you felt his hand in your hair. 

Your eyes met, and you paused. The golden light coming in through the carriage made his silver eyes so warm. You’d never seen his eyes so... peaceful before. So certain. So honest. 

Cyrille, noticing you gazing at him, cupped your cheek in his face. 

“What, angel?” he whispered. “You want something. I know it. Tell me what it is, so I can give it to you.”

You. That was what you wanted to say. Your heart. Your truth. Your body. All of it. 

But what would happen afterwards? you wondered to yourself. It’s not like with James, where I was afraid he didn’t feel for me the way I did for him. I’m not sure it’s love, but Cyrille does feel deeply for me. That, I’m sure of. Why else would he withstand such horrible treatment from his siblings and refuse to let them inside his mind? 

But there’s another complication with Cyrille - our clearly divergent futures. I understand him better now - admire him, even - for what he’s trying to do. But the truth is, I won’t be standing with him if he joins the Death Eaters - for whatever reason. I can’t give up my future for him. I’ve come too far down my own path, and beyond that, I know who I am, and I can’t stand for something else. 

Instead, you whispered to him, “Tell me what you’d do to me if we weren’t in this carriage... How would you have me?” 

“Well,” Cyrille said, leaning forward slightly to whisper back in your ear, “I would tie you up in red ribbons, princess. Have your stunning body stretched out before me, for me to use at my discretion, for my pleasure. I want to see your delicate wrists and your gorgeous little tummy straining at the ropes ever so slightly, giving your entire body a slight, but vibrant quiver all over... And that way, I could admire the way this lingerie graces your perfect body, princess. See, if you took the time to dress up for me, I want to make sure to properly appreciate it. I’d run my hands all over your thighs- “

“You’re already doing that,” you interrupted him snarkily. It was true. His hand had long since slipped away from your face and now both of his hands were greedily running up and down both of your thighs, gripping at your thighs whenever your pussy stuttered on his cock. 

“Well, then, I’d spank your ass to living hell instead, the way I would for interrupting me with snarky comments,” Cyrille continued, not missing a beat. 

You shivered a little as a note of true, unfiltered dominance entered his purring voice. 

“And then, princess, I would kiss your body all over before I went down on you... Mm, yes, I’d kiss your wet little pussy over and over again, and have you cum in my mouth and then on my face, and then on my fingers, too, for being such a good girl and wearing this for me...”

“That- that sounds nice,” you mumbled out. You subconsciously rolled your hips a little more fervently against him, pressing your pussy up harder against his cock, now glistening all over with your wetness.

Cyrille chuckled softly as he felt a definite increase in how wet your pussy was, sliding up and down the underside of his cock. 

"... And then, even when you begged me to stop making you cum, I’d keep going, even if you sobbed and pleaded for me to stop...”

“W-What? Why?” you said suddenly, pouting a little. You stopped moving your hips.

Cyrille grasped your hips and sat you down firmly on his cock, hard enough that the underside of his cock slipped up between your pussy lips and pressed up hard against your clit.

A shiver ran through your body, starting from your pussy up through your tummy and traveling up your spine all the way to your brain, where a little jolt of pleasure went off. 

“As a punishment for wearing such naughty lingerie around other men without my permission,” Cyrille told you. “You realized any one of the others in the castle could have glimpsed this under your dress, especially with how light the silk is. In fact, I saw your lingerie flash as you were dancing. And ‘I’ could have been anyone.”

“No, shut up,” you said indignantly, careful not to move so you wouldn’t be distracted by the delicious feeling of his cock pressing up all along your clit. “I’m not going to ask for your permission.” 

“I know,” Cyrille replied smoothly, smirking at you. He’d never meant it; he just wanted exactly this reaction from you. Because it allowed him to say, “That’s what the punishment is for.”

Cyrille expected you to retort sharply, to tell him to shut up again. Instead, he felt your thighs shudder for a moment. Your hand gripping the front of his robes, over his abs, tightened, and your pussy stuttered on his cock.

A moment later, a soft, warm gush of cum left you, spreading out of your pussy directly onto Cyrille’s cock.

“Uhn...” you breathed out. God, his cock is so long. It presses up against the entire length of my clit. I couldn’t hold it in. 

Cyrille’s eyes widened. Did she just cum all over my cock? She did. Fuck, princess... You like the idea of punishment, don’t you? You like thinking of challenging me, and having me fight you right back? Mmm, so wet, your sweet little pussy... I can almost hear you, begging for your pussy to be filled... 

Sure enough, when Cyrille looked up at you, he instantly saw, written all over your half-lidded gaze and parted, panting lips, your want for his cock inside you.

“Do as you wish, angel,” he whispered. “Take me inside you.” 

 You nodded. Lifting yourself up slightly, you reached down and positioned his swollen cock against your pussyhole.

You hesitated as you felt his length. He’s going to hit up against me so hard. You swallowed a bit nervously.

But slowly, with the both of you holding your breaths, you sank down on his cock.

“O-Oh,” you moaned lowly as you felt him enter you, and then quickly fill you.

Cyrille exhaled in a short, tight breath as he felt your tightness immediately squeezing the tip of his cock. 

“Angel, fuck,” he growled softly. “It never matters how wet you are, because you’re so fucking tight.”

Barely three-fourths of the way in, and you clenched your teeth and let out a soft whimper as he already hit up again you. Your hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder and you gripped his shoulder tightly enough that you just ended up with a fistful of his robes in your grasp.

“Fuck,” he cursed again. His hands flew to your waist to help hold you up and stabilize you. 

Your pussy throbbed hotly as it worked to take Cyrille’s cock in... 

“Go slow, princess,” Cyrille managed to tell you. He blew out a low breath. “Just... take it slow...” 

Eyes shut tightly and still gripping his robes, you nodded. 

But in trying to take more of him, you whimpered again. “Ah, Cy... You’re just... It’s too deep...” You breathed out heavily. 

“Do you want me to help, angel?” Cyrille asked you softly. 

You nodded, eyes still shut. Your other hand came to grip his other shoulder. You were trembling slightly, but all over. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” Cyrille whispered to you lovingly. Then, he slowly and softly, began to fuck his cock up into you, in gentle thrusts.

“Ah...” you breathed out. “Ah, ah, ah....” 

“Does it hurt?” Cyrille asked you, gripping your waist tightly to hold you up.

“It- It’s okay,” you told him. “I can - I can take it... Keep going.”

As he gently coaxed your pussy walls to take his cock, Cyrille felt your pussy gradually beginning to respond and open up for him deeper and deeper. Still, it continued to be extremely tight. He was quite swollen today, too, he had to admit. 

In the forest last time, he’d been rock hard with his need for you, but everything had happened so quickly that he hadn’t had time to coax his cock to be as stiff as it could be. 

Today, though things were still a bit rushed and cramped, your running your hand over him, along with the sight of your beautiful body, especially your gorgeous hips and thighs wrapped in lace and working your puffy pussy lips up and down his bare cock, had given him a bit more time to acknowledge his desire for you, and it showed.

So, it was no wonder you were struggling a bit more today. 

But you were trying very hard for him, giving him your very best, Cyrille thought, as he gradually felt you opening up for him. Such a good girl, letting me fuck open her pussy like this, little by little. Mmm, yeah, she’s so little, so tight, and yet - she can take me all the way, can’t she? I know she wants to. 

Just as he thought that, he finally managed to fuck you all the way up to his balls.

You pressed your torso against his tighter and moaned as you felt his balls gently push up against your pussyhole.

Your thighs trembled and falling back, you slid out of his hands. But that brought you right back on his long, hard cock. And suddenly, you found yourself sitting on his cock, taking him all the way in. 

“Ah!” you gasped loudly. Your thighs jolted and you pushed yourself up a little ways, off of his cock. 

In sitting down on him so suddenly, you’d felt his cock ram into your cervix, and it felt like a lightning bolt went through your tummy.

“Angel!” Cyrille called to you, worried. 

Head down, you shook your head back and forth, with your eyes still squeezed shut. 

“Angel...” Cyrille grasped your face in both of his hands, squeezing your cheeks slightly with his palms. “Angel, look at me. Please.”

You managed to open your eyes and return his gaze, blinking at him.  

“Breathe,” he reminded you, and even you had to smile softly at the reminder, for the two of you were forever telling each other to breathe.

“Can you do that for me?” he asked you.

You nodded softly.

“Good. Good girl,” Cyrille praised you. Still holding your face in his hands lovingly, he saw you return to yourself. Your eyes were still soft, the way your entire demeanor became soft when you made love with him, like a true angel... But beneath that softness, Cyrille recognized the utter clarity of personality and will in your eyes. At heart, you were a lionness who owned her own sun - too fierce to be tamed, but capable of loving over and over again, freely. 

“Are you all right?” Cyrille asked you, as his own eyes became warmer and softer in response to your beautiful spirit, and in response to you needing him in this moment. 

You nodded. “Yes...”

You sighed a little as you felt your pussy relax again, getting over the shock of suddenly being completely and roughly claimed.

“Kiss me?” you asked Cyrille hopefully, sliding your hands down from his shoulders to his chest.

Cyrille smiled. “Of course, angel. Your wish is my command.”

He leaned forward, though he was careful not to push his hips up into you at the moment, and he kissed you very, very sweetly. 

Closing your eyes again, you clung onto his kiss, following him forward a little even when he leaned back.

When you opened your eyes, you were surprised to find yourself so close to Cyrille, despite his sitting back against his seat. Suddenly realizing what had happened, you began to look away before your cheeks could light up, but Cyrille was holding your face firmly in his hands.

“Don’t turn away. You’re adorable when you follow me like that,” Cyrille whispered to you. “And you’re so lovely when you blush, princess.” 

He placed another soft kiss on your flushed cheek before he let your face go. 

Then, he asked you, “Do you think you can take me now, princess?”

“Yes,” you told him. “I think so.” 

Cyrille offered you his hands. You reached down to lightly lace your hands with his. Holding hands as you rode him, his steady palms supported your much smaller ones as you put your weight against him to move your hips more freely. And at first, your fingers were only lightly intertwined, barely slipping through each other’s fingers, but you both began to grip each other’s hands much tighter as you continued to take him in your pussy deeper and deeper, giving you both soft, gentle jolts of pleasure as he also felt you become tighter and tighter. 

You held your breath as you slowly sat back on his lap again, gradually sinking down on his cock inch by inch.

“Mm.” A short puff of air left your lips when you had taken him all the way in. 

Cyrille gently pushed up your dress skirt and pinned it to your waist, holding your figure in his waist and also admiring the view of your pretty little pussy, all stretched out and sitting on his cock, wrapped quite tight around it. 

Your thighs slowly began to shift as you, little by little, began to move back and forth on his cock, letting the base of his cock push up and rub gently against your pussyhole. 

Finally adjusting a little to his size, you began to roll your hips against him again - but this time, with his cock buried inside of you.

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” Cyrille breathed out, loving the way his cock felt nestled up deep inside of your warmth. “Princess...”

You looked down at him for a moment to kiss him. Then, you continued to softly move your hips against him. 

You have the creamiest thighs, Cyrille thought, as he watched you pleasuring yourself on his cock. And the prettiest little tummy, too. He could see exactly when your breath hitched by watching your tummy tense and relax. As it was, your tummy barely relaxed, and Cyrille could see very clearly, how intensely it was affecting you to have him buried inside you like this. 

Cyrille could also hear little breathy pants leave you each time your head came forward towards his shoulder, passing by his ear in little swipes. In fact, he could feel an errant curl of yours brushing past his cheek each time you shifted forward as you moved your hips back towards his knees, and then your head shifted backwards slightly as your brought your hips back towards his waist... 

Cyrille finally tore his eyes away from your beautiful thighs and hips and pussy, all beautifully displayed in your dark green lingerie set, which truly accentuated the beauty of your shape and skin, to look up at your even lovelier face. 

You were always lovely to Cyrille, but today, your red lipstick made you look very elegant, and made your blushed cheeks appear even brighter. Your long lashes framed your eyes so beautifully, making them both bright and sad at the same time. There was a light layer of gold on your eyelids, bringing out the inner sun in your sweet, luminous, and untrusting eyes. And the beautiful line of structure running down from your forehead, gliding down your nose, meeting with the slanted line coming in from your cheekbone, all the way down to your jaw, made Cyrille realize that despite your fierceness, seen most clearly in your bright eyes and untamable curls, your face was a soft, heart-shaped vision.

“Angel, you’re so lovely,” Cyrille whispered, almost as an observation rather than an assertion. 

A bit startled by the sudden compliment and the gentle bluntness with which he murmured to you, you looked up at him. Shaking your head a little, you said, “I’m just an - an in-between. Not groomed enough for a pureblood, not wild enough to be pretty in my own way... It’s all right, though. I guess I can’t escape being my mother’s daughter completely. I’ve made peace with- with it...” Your words stuttered softly as you continued to take his cock inside of you, riding him gently. 

You loved this - feeling completely full from his cock so deep inside of you, and yet, everything was soft, feathery, almost a little blurry... As you shifted on his lap, it felt like the tip of his cock was just kissing your center in gentle little touches. And that curve to his cock really did hit up perfectly against your sweet spot. You could ride him like this for hours. You felt so satisfied, and your pussy was stretched out and filled up perfectly by the man you had slowly come to respect, admire, and feel for.

And so, honest remarks spilled from your lips in beautiful, but heartbroken confessions as you told him one of your deepest insecurities: about being your “mother’s daughter.” Other girls stood in front of a mirror and judged themselves to be beautiful or not, but you could barely stand to look at yourself in the mirror at all. You had to pretend that you were a stranger to yourself. That was the only way you could check your image in the mirror. 

At the same time, you knew it was a waste. If you had been gifted with your mother’s looks in any other situation, you could have been happy about it - both to be somewhat beautiful, and to look like someone you were supposed to love, and be loved by... But that was not the narrative that had been handed to you. No, for you, no fairytale existed. In your story, your sweetheart boyfriend was going to fall in love with someone else. Your mother was not going to love you, let alone teach you how to come into your own and become a woman. And even the man you were with now, he fit you so perfectly, physically and emotionally, but he reminded you so deeply of the heritage that you had discarded that it hurt you deep inside... And it wounded you all over to know that he would follow that pathway into the future... 

You put your chin on his shoulder and hugged him as you continued to shift softly against him, feeling him so wonderfully buried inside of you, and letting him feel all of the warmth and wetness that was you... 

Cyrille felt the outline of your mother’s earring press gently into his cheek as you rested his head on his shoulder. 

“Take them off,” Cyrille whispered to you. 

“What?” you said, lifting your head.

Cyrille reached up with one hand and touched your mother’s earring. “Take them off,” he repeated. “If you don’t like your mother’s earrings, don’t wear them.”

Cyrille hesitated and then he said slowly, “You said... you thought I would like them on you. But I find you more beautiful without them.” 

He reached forward and gently removed them one by one from your ears. He held them out to you in his hand. 

You gazed at the gold earrings, shaped like panthers, and embedded with old and expensive amethyst jewels.

Reaching forward, you curled up your little hand outside his larger one, pressing his hand down until it closed over the earrings. You looked at Cyrille and asked him, in a voice full of muted emotion, “Will you keep them safe for me? Until I can wear them and be my mother’s daughter without falling into becoming her altogether.”

Cyrille hesitated. His eyes tightened, because he was suddenly painfully aware of how difficult this was for you even without your complete memories.

His heart thudded in his chest for a long, painful beat. Then, he nodded slowly. Reaching over without moving, Cyrille placed your mother’s earrings to the side, where both of your masks were sitting on the corner of the seat, intertwined in matching silver. He dropped the earrings in the center of the intertwined masks. 

“Thank you,” you whispered to him. 

Cyrille reached down and pushed your chin up. “You’re all right, angel,” he said heavily. “You’re all right with me.” 

You nodded, but Cyrille could tell that you didn’t quite believe him.

“Do you want me to make you forget?” Cyrille asked you softly. He almost didn’t want to ask you that, because this was such a personal thing. But shamefully, Cyrille realized that this was what he was best at - providing sexual favors for people who wanted to be distracted from the powerlessness of their own lives by asserting sexual dominance or assuming sexual submissiveness with him. 

You nodded softly, your chin slipping a little on the edge of his curled up finger. 

“All right,” Cyrille told you, with a little sigh. “Focus on being with me for tonight, angel. Nothing else. Will you do that for me?”

You nodded again and whispered, “Yes...” 

Cyrille hesitated. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do. But you lifted your soft, slightly wet eyes to him and looked at him expectantly, even gratefully.

Steeling himself, Cyrille kissed you passionately, suddenly taking away your breath with a hard kiss. 

You started a little and shifted backwards, but Cyrille stayed with you, dropping the skirt of your dress to grasp the back of your head with one hand and wrapping his other arm tightly around your torso. Holding you close to him, he claimed your lips in his, stealing your breath away lovingly, but quite aggressively.

At the same time, he began to move his hips into you, still gentle, but in much faster and rougher thrusts than your very gentle love-making. 

You whimpered against his mouth as you felt his cock begin to push in and out of you. You also couldn’t breathe with the fierce way he was kissing you. Your hands came up to his chest and you pressed against him a little.

Cyrille held you tightly for another few seconds, tasting your breathless whimpers on his tongue. You had just begun to start feeling light-headed when Cyrille suddenly pushed you so that you fell forward, your hands hitting up against his shoulders and your head slipping over his right shoulder. Then, gripping your waist tightly in his possessive hands, he fucked his cock up into you hard and fast, making your wet little pussy suddenly take a rather rough pounding.

“Ah!” You felt your body being pushed up from how hard you were suddenly being pounded into, and your face pressed up against the seat over Cyrille’s shoulder. 

“Cy-Cyrille,” you gasped out. “Ah...” 

You felt his cock milking your pussy, thrusting in and out at a fast pace from under you. 

He held you down against him, so that you had to stay sitting low on him and take his cock.

“Uhn,” Cyrille breathed out, pressing you down quite tightly in his arms as he fucked your tight pussy hard and deep. 

“A-Ah,” you stuttered out. With the way your face was pressed against the seat behind Cyrille, and his thrusting into you pushing you forward every second, the rocking motion made what was left of your red lipstick, which had already become mostly lost in the midst of your deep, passionate kissing with Cyrille, smear slightly onto your cheek. 

“Does it feel good?” Cyrille murmured to you. “Is this what you wanted, angel? Your little pussy pounded like this?” 

“Y-Yes,” you moaned out. “Uhn... Cyrille...” 

“Good girl,” Cyrille whispered to you admiringly. “Taking me so well.”

Your soft gasps traveled along the satin-covered seats and into Cyrille’s ears. His hold on your hips tightened even more, until he was slamming you back down on his cock as he thrust up. 

“Ah... Ah, ah,” you breathed out.

Cyrille felt your soft pussy becoming quite wet for his cock. Soft, sloppy noises of his cock pushing deep into your wetness sounded out inside the carriage. 

“Oh, angel,” he breathed out, “you’re such a soft thing, aren’t you? You just bleed softness everywhere...”

Your gasps turned into long, drawn-out moans as you felt him repeatedly slam up inside of you, the veins and ridges of his swollen cock pressing up and running up and down deep inside of you. 

“C-Cyrille...” 

“Angel,” he moaned back, his head falling back, too. 

He turned his head to find you already pressed up on the seat. 

“Come here,” he whispered to you. 

You managed to push yourself sideways on the seat, and come towards him enough to press your lips softly against his.

As he pounded into you, your lips broke apart with every thrust as your lips were barely grazing each other, but they also met gently over and over again, pressing softly like a gently cresting ocean wave washing up over and over again on a dreamer’s beach somewhere. 

In fact, the entire ambience of tonight, of being hidden away in this one blue and gold carriage out of at least fifty of them all sprawled out over the quiet, snowy castle grounds, gave everything such a deep and dreamlike quality. 

And yes, you were being taken roughly, your tight pussy being spread out quite punishingly by Cyrille’s long, hard cock, but it all felt... different, somehow - all moon-glazed and secretly hushed and suffocating under glittering diamonds.  

Tonight, even though you were deep in the middle of fucking each other, it felt like both of you were, strangely, doing your utmost to hold back.

Last time, the intense, savage fucking had been a release from all of the pent-up frustration of not being able to see each other for over two weeks - almost three, by the time of the Hogsmeade trip. So, to have each other in that way, in the middle of some random forest, clothes not even close to being fully off, yet hands all over each other, mouths locked, fucking each other hard enough to make each other’s body temperatures rise to the point that snow melted at your touch - that was a much-needed, wonderful release. 

But today, having such rough sex was simply a disguise for something deeper. You both knew, though it was left unspoken, that making love - genuinely making sweet, sensual love - would leave both of you far too fragile tonight. If you let yourself become swept up in that type of fairytale sex, full of gentle emotion, neither you nor Cyrille would be able to go back to the castle and play your roles. No, you could not risk letting yourself get lost any deeper in the truth of your emotions, no matter how much you wished for it - and for him. 

It was easier, and safer, though incredibly defensive and roundabout, to get lost in your physical lust for one other. And for better or for worse, it was always so easy to slip into your desire - pure, unfiltered and nearly unhinged want - for each other. In truth, you had wanted Cyrille ever since he’d took hold of your ribbon down at the Slytherin common room. Then, that lust had blossomed into something quite powerful when he let you suck on his fingers and when he kissed you deeply with his hand on your throat...

Now, in this moment, to have come so far and still not be able to say the things that needed to be said, you both felt like you were suffocating. Even though everything was beautiful, all of it was fragile. And the fragility was soft (more like feathers than glass), but all the more overwhelming because of its gentleness.  

Thus, it was only appropriate that you make each other gasp, tug each other’s hair, and unravel into senseless lust together - pressing your mouths and bodies together over and over, having his cock constantly burying itself deep in your wet, tight pussy, taking you to such a high point of pleasure that coming down felt like physically falling and left you dizzy for a long time afterwards...

Why not? Yes, why not? you thought to yourself. Why not make love like the world was ending?

It was the best, and perhaps the only, way to ignore the fact that you wanted to make love to each other like you were going to spend all of your lives together, all tangled up soft and warm in each other’s arms, patiently and gently holding each other’s hands as you waited for each other to find a way to heal your own deep, internal scars that no one else could take responsibility for. 

Yes, you told yourself repeatedly, ignore the fact that Cyrille Lestrange was able to make you realize that you were capable of opening your heart again, right after you thought you could never, ever love again, not after having given your heart so entirely to James... Ignore the fact that Cyrille Lestrange has the strength that you want - the strength to put yourself on the line not knowing if you’re going to receive anything back, the strength to know who you are even in the midst of what is both light and dark... 

And so, it was not a far cry at all to imagine that you were on this dreamer’s beach together, pleasuring each other in some form of paradise that was part-earth, part-heaven, and part-hell all at once. 

But there was a different kind of cresting occurring deep inside of you, one that was not gentle at all, but intense, and so... so.... 

“U-Uhn- ” you half-breathed out and half-choked out.

“Angel, you cumming?” Cyrille whispered to you, watching you with half-shut eyes.

“A-Ah, y-yes, C-Cy, it feels s-so good...” you moaned, breathing heavily as you felt your ass slamming down on his thighs and his cock rutting up into your pussy. In this position, every time he fucked you, your pussy lips rubbed up against and were spread open by the base of his cock, so that it felt like you were being fingered as you were also being fucked. 

Cyrille felt your pussy clench. With a low, deep growl, he thrust up into you harder, making your moans leap up into a higher pitch, almost mewls. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” you cried out. “C-Cy!” 

“Cum, angel, I want to taste it,” Cyrille whispered harshly to you, as he pounded you to your climax.

You bit down hard on your lower lip and a high-pitched whimper left you as your pussy spasmed hard on his cock.

Cyrille groaned loudly as he felt your pussy squeeze all around his shaft in warm, throbbing waves. Fuck, angel, Cyrille moaned out in his head. God, I want to taste her. It’s been too long since I’ve had her cum in my mouth.

With that thought loud and clear in his head, Cyrille abruptly shoved you off of him. You gasped as you were thrown back, but Cyrille caught you before you could actually fall.

Cyrille turned you around and pushed you down onto the opposite seat in one quick motion.

You suddenly found yourself face down, head pushed up against the seat, and knees also up, pressing into the very edge of the seat, meaning that your body was folded and crammed into this very narrow seat. 

Cyrille quickly grasped your arms and pulled them back so that they ran down tight to your sides all the way down to your feet. 

Then, kneeling down quite low, Cyrille hungrily pushed his mouth against your pussy. 

Your mind was still whirling from being shoved face-down so abruptly on the carriage seat, and you’d barely realized that he’d yanked your arms back, rendering you immobile, when you suddenly felt his hot mouth on your wet pussy.

“Ah! No, I’m a-all wet! Cy, no, d-don’t kiss me t-there!” you stuttered out, trying to warn him that you were already soaking, thinking that he wouldn’t like that and possibly find it gross. You didn’t realize that that was exactly what he wanted. Cyrille had dreamed of having you sit on his face and cum in his mouth too many times to pass this opportunity up.

And just look at her, all gorgeous, Cyrille thought. 

Cyrille took advantage of the slit in your panties to run his tongue all the way up between your ass cheeks, just to have a look at you (but not wanting to take his mouth off of you for even a moment). 

When you felt him doing that, your eyes widened in embarrassment. You flushed crimson, suddenly grateful that your hair was covering some of your face. 

Cyrille caught a glimpse of you, your curls pressed up against the seat, but also falling over your face. He could only see your lips, which had mostly returned to their natural pink color, though there was a hazy red smudge fading onto you cheek. Cyrille watched as your lips sweetly parted as you gasped for breath. 

Cyrille wished he could see your face as you came, but he couldn’t give up the wonderful privilege to hold your arms back against your sides because the straight lines of your arms accentuated just how curvy you really were. Even the back of your neck had such a beautiful line, including that scar that you had. And then, there were your beautiful shoulders and back, straining both because Cyrille pinned your arms to your sides and because you weren’t too far from climaxing. 

The ratio between your shoulders, waist, and hips was truly beautiful. Even with just one brief glance up at you, Cyrille could instantly recognize the beautiful dips of your waists and the complementing curving out of your hips. Also, being face-down as you were, the tops of your breasts were pressing up against the seat, adding yet another line of deeply lovely curves to your incredible silhouette. Your soft nipples were pressing up against the satin seat, making them harden quickly from the soft, yet incessant rubbing. 

Mmm, angel, Cyrille thought to himself. Look at you. Just fucking look at you. 

 And even all of this beauty only added up to a part of you, because Cyrille was busying himself with enjoying what was directly in front of him - well, and around him, he thought wryly, as the back of your heels dug into his back harshly as you started to cum. He could feel your stilettos shaking against his back as you tried to fight your orgasm. 

But Cyrille was going to take you there - and take you well. Because fuck, you were completely irresistible, with your pussy and ass framed so gorgeously in your lingerie. Honestly, you look like royalty. The dark green color with the lace truly suits you in an almost regal manner, Cyrille thought. He appreciated the way the lace framed your ass in a very pretty and alluring package. The straps running from your belt to the garters stretched tight over your beautiful ass, digging deep into your plush skin. Cyrille very much wanted to spank you in this outfit. He made a mental note of it to ask you if he could someday. And the very thought of having you tied up in his bedroom or having you lying on his lap, where he could run his hands all over you at a leisurely, though no less intense, pace, and fuck you over and over again - fuck your pussy through this delicate little slit first with his long fingers, then with his wet tongue, and finally with his hard cock, uninterrupted for hours, made him moan into your wet pussy. You moaned back in response, and Cyrille’s grip on your wrists tightened. 

“C-Cy, ah,” you breathed out. “S-Stop. You have to stop now. You have t-to let me cum... Please...” 

“Cum for me just like this, princess,” Cyrille replied. You felt his lips move against you as he spoke to you, and his deep voice sent vibrations through to your core. “That’s what I want. Cum all over my face.”

“I - I can’t,” you moaned out pitifully.

“Why not? Too shy? Princess, I told you,” Cyrille growled a little, and you shivered when you felt him bite your clit lightly. “I told you I want you to come all undone on me. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Don’t you - Don’t you think it’s -? Nngh!” You couldn’t complete your sentence as your long-awaited, now-absolutely-pressing orgasm was overtaking you. You couldn’t hold back. Not anymore. You’d been needing to cum since he’d fucked you on his cock, holding you down in his lap. 

The lace garters on your pretty thighs shivered as your thighs began to tremble. Cyrille growled again, frustrated that he couldn’t stand up and fuck you doggystyle in this exact position, because your pussy was just begging to be taken hard in this beautiful position. But Cyrille was simply too tall and the carriage ceiling too low. Cyrille made another mental note in his mind, but for now, he made himself content with enjoying the thin slit in the panties running all the way up your ass, because it meant that your beautiful pink and puffy pussy lips were squeezed together into the slit in the fabric to be even pinker and puffier. 

Cyrille would have teased you about how “princess-like” it all was to present yourself before him in lace and rose print, but his mouth was rather busy tasting you very thoroughly. 

Cyrille ran his tongue up and down your pussy lips, and you felt the width of his tongue spreading against you, and your pussy spreading open in response. You felt his hot breath as he inhaled quickly - then his lips grasping at your pussy lips as he kissed you wetly, sucking a little on your sweet clit. 

“C-Cy...” you moaned out. You clenched your teeth together, pushing back against your orgasm. But it was building up so intensely inside of you, threatening to burst and surge forward.

Cyrille buried his face between your thighs. He wished he could take his hands and spread your ass open so that he could tongue fuck you even deeper, but again, he couldn’t quite make himself let go of your arms. As long as you were enjoying it, you were very, very pretty when you were restrained, mostly because you were so determined to put up a fight, and it was rather adorable to see you whimper and squirm in his unbreakable grasp.

You were on the very brink of cumming, and Cyrille delving his tongue into your wet folds, fucking your spasming pussy with his tongue, did nothing to calm you down. It only heightened your need to cum to an incredible height that made your eyes roll back and your breath stop short entirely for a few beats. 

Oh God... I’m going to - Oh!

As your hips jolted, Cyrille pulled harder on your arms.

Your hands turned into tight little fists, curling away from your body at the wrists, while the rest of your arms was pulled back and pinned straight down against your body by Cyrille’s unforgiving grip on your wrists. 

With his stringent grip on you, Cyrille had effectively anchored you down onto the seat. He made the most of this fact, for at the moment where you had finally begun to release, Cyrille saw fit to push his tongue hard into your pussyhole and shake his head back and forth, making your mind go numb and your thighs quiver uncontrollably. 

Your long, undulating moans wavered in time to Cyrille shaking his head with his mouth hotly pressed against your pussy, and his tongue tasting your wet, wet folds.

You knew what was coming. You were going to squirt all over his face. 

“N-No,” you whispered, mortified. “Cy- Cyri - Ah!”

Nails digging deep into your palms, your wrenching cry rang out piercingly loud as you came hard. 

“Ah! Ah! Ah...! I’m- I’m c-cumm - Ah!” you gasped out.

Sweet, milky cum squirted from your pussy as you came all over Cyrille’s mouth. 

Without giving you a break, he lapped you all up, tasting exactly how pretty you were. 

Uhn... His tongue is still... on my pussy, you thought hazily, as you finished cumming all over Cyrille’s waiting mouth. 

“Mmm,” he moaned out hotly, as he licked you up until you were clean. Fuck, that was a lot of cum, Cyrille thought, and still, not enough to satisfy me. She’ll have to cum again on my face sometime. Well, multiple times, before I’m even close to satisfied with her sweet pussy.

But as Cyrille finished lapping up all your cum, he slid his tongue inside of you one last time, just to taste you where you were sweetest, and when he felt, even with just his tongue, how warm and tight you were, he knew he had to have you again - right then, right there. God help him, he was going to fuck you senseless. 

“Princess,” he growled. “On your back. Lay down.”

“Cy...” You tiredly fell over onto the seat and reached for him. 

Seeing you reach for him, Cyrille instantly softened. “Come here, princess.”

Grasping you easily in his hands, he lifted you up gently and helped you turn over so that you were half-lying against the shut carriage door and half-lying across the seat vertically. 

Cyrille did his best to lean over you, putting one hand on the seat above your head. With his other hand, he reached down and tangled his finger with the velvet crimson ribbon tied at your neck. Cyrille swirled his finger around the end of the ribbon. 

Recognizing the ribbon as part of the wrapping on the box that he had sent you, Cyrille asked you quietly, “So then, are you my present?” 

You smiled. “If you’ll have me.”

“Mm, yes, I could live with that offer,” Cyrille murmured. His fingertips grazed against your throat briefly as he grasped the ribbon and undid it. It slowly fell away. Cyrille leaned down to replace it with his lips.

“Ah, Cy,” you breathed out softly. Cyrille sank down lower onto you as he became lost in kissing your neck very sweetly, taking his time with you. Your legs gradually fell open to let his waist sink down between your thighs. 

You murmured happy little moans, loving his lips against your neck. Also, while the feeling of Cyrille’s weight gently covering your body didn’t immediately make you feel safe the way you had with James, there was nonetheless a very special and distinct pleasure in having Cyrille close to you. 

As you got your breath back, your own little hands got busy and went to work, undoing the buttons on the front of Cyrille’s elegant silver and white robes. You’d gotten the top half undone (as far as you could reach) when suddenly Cyrille reached up and grasped your hands. 

You paused, a bit startled as his head came back up from your neck. “Cyrille?”

“Princess...” he said softly. He kissed your hands all over and held them in his as if they were the most precious things in the world. “You may not want to undress me.”

You looked at him with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean? I’ve seen you naked before. You’re - um- ” You blushed and looked away a little as you said honestly, “you’re gorgeous.”

Cyrille appreciated your words, but he insisted, “It’s not a pretty sight tonight.” 

You frowned. What does he mean by that? 

Slowly, you looked back up at his eyes. You saw a darkness there, buried deep down, but flickering and very much alive.

You hesitated. Then, you said in a quiet voice, “Please let me see you.” 

“Princess,” he said again, sighing.

You gently pulled your hands away from his grasp. You moved very slowly, as you didn’t want to startle him. You also were very gentle, so that if he did want to stop you, he could say so or do so with the barest movement. But you wanted him to let you in, to let you see... 

Watching him for any sign of resistance, you very, very carefully pulled open his robes. They fluttered to the ground. 

Your eyes widened. His shoulders and chest were absolutely covered in scars. You realized instantly that while the bruises had healed, there must have been cuts, too. While they had mostly healed, they had left behind scars that would take a long time to fully go away. 

You closed your eyes. “I hate them,” you said, gritting your teeth. “I hate them for what they’ve done to you- what they’re doing to you.”

Cyrille’s voice was very gentle as he replied, “Don’t hate them, angel. Have pity for them. And then, have more pity for their victims who aren’t me...” 

Cyrille sighed. “Because I’m there by choice.”

You opened your eyes again and looked up at him with a misty, sad gaze. 

“I’m all right, angel,” Cyrille told you. But his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. 

You sat up. Cyrille was kneeling between your thighs, so you bent down and holding onto his shoulders, you dipped your head down low enough to all of kiss his scars softly, one by one. 

Cyrille held his breath, responding both to the pain of the pressure on his lesser healed scars, as well as the pleasure of feeling your little mouth working warm healing magic of its own across his chest. Heat sprouted up like crimson dahlia blossoms across his chest in response to your soft kisses.

Finally, pulling yourself back up, you found your way back to his lips, and the two of you kissed lovingly, with him holding your head very gently in his hands, and you slipping your arms over his shoulders carefully, so as not to touch any of his still-tender scars.

But all of a sudden, you pulled back. A steely glint entered your eyes as you told him stoutly, “I don’t care what you say. I’m going to become an Auror and lock them up so they can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

For a long moment, Cyrille seemed stunned. But then, his expression softened into an admiring smile. 

“Angel, you are something else,” he told you. His warm gaze told you that he had absolute faith in you.

Then, Cyrille asked feelingly, “Should we stop here for tonight? Or do you still want me, angel? Please be honest with me. I’m fine either way.”

“I want to make you feel good,” you replied. 

“Thank you,” Cyrille said gently. “But what about you? Do you want me?”

Your face scrunched up slightly as you asked, “What kind of question is that?”

Cyrille hesitated. Then, he said truthfully, “I just sense that tonight, we’re both feeling a bit... I don’t know... fragile, perhaps? 

As he said the word “fragile,” his cool breath blew across your face and you shivered. 

You didn’t want the night to end, not at all, but you couldn’t deny that what Cyrille was true. 

“Well, tonight, I...” You paused, trying to respond honestly without revealing how deep your vulnerabilities went. Finally, you said, “Sometimes, I get lost in my own thoughts.”

“Yes, angel, you do,” Cyrille responded knowingly. “I see it in you when it happens.” 

Your eyes flickered up to him. “You do?” you said, surprised.

“Yes. As I said, your halo pops out.” 

You smiled and shook your head at him gently. “You make it sound endearing, but I’m sure it’s not.” 

“What can I do, angel?” Cyrille asked you, and his voice was soft and pleading. He really wanted to be there for you, just as you wanted to be there for him. 

You wrapped your arms around him again. “Bring me back down to earth,” you breathed out, exhaling in a soft rush against his neck. “Make me feel every bit of you. Make me take you... and then cum in me. Fill me up with your cum. Then maybe, I'll remember I belong to the earth.” 

“No,” Cyrille corrected you, as he stroked your curls softly. “You’ll remember that you belong to me. And I to you. You’re mine, princess, mine. Engrave it on that pretty heart of yours.” 

He kissed you sweetly. 

It was too sweet. My walls are... starting to crumble, you realized. Suddenly, you were afraid. You swallowed and pulled away from his lips.

Cyrille paused. He frowned slightly when he realized that you were trembling in his arms. 

“Angel?” he asked.

You shook your head and without looking at him, you murmured, “And what - what should I do for you?”

In a slightly formal voice, you pressed, “How do you want me?”

Cyrille instantly saw through you. He recognized that this was exactly the fragility that he had picked up on from the very beginning. Now, he saw that you were starting to shatter and in response, you were trying to push him away with your words. But he wasn’t going to have that.

“Tell me your earlier confession,” Cyrille said, speaking calmly to you. “Admit to me what you were going to say earlier.” 

You immediately shook your head. “No. I’ll do anything for you, just don’t make me... say those things.” 

Starting to well up a little, you mumbled, “It feels... I don’t know. I can’t do it, Cyrille. It just makes me feel too- ”

“All right,” Cyrille said quickly. He pulled you forward into his arms so that you were still sitting on the seat, but you had been brought to the edge and was leaning forward into his tight embrace. “Don’t say anything, angel. Hush. You don’t have to say anything, and you don’t have to cry.” 

He waited for you to untangle yourself from that mess of emotions that had started to overcome you.

You slowly sat back and blinked back the tears. 

After a moment, you told him, “I’m all right. Really. I don’t know why that happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, angel.”

You took a quiet breath. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“Now...” Cyrille said quietly, “you did say that you’d do anything for me...”

You nodded. 

He thought about it for a long moment. Then, he asked in a whisper, “Would you beg for me?”

“Beg?” you said uncertainly. The connection of that word with James immediately made you anxious. 

Cyrille nodded. “It would be a compromise between words and actions, don’t you think?” he explained, though he felt foolish doing so. 

“So, tell me. Is that something you could do for me - and enjoy?” he asked, emphasizing the need for you to also enjoy it, too. 

You thought it over, reminding yourself that this was Cyrille and not James. Slowly, you nodded your agreement. 

“Good girl,” he said softly. “All right. Tell me ‘please.’”

You hesitated. 

Cyrille watched you patiently. 

Finally, you mumbled, “Um... Please.”

Cyrille smiled as he raised an eyebrow at you and asked matter-of-factly, “You didn’t mean that one bit, did you?” 

He chuckled lightly, and suddenly, the intense emotional atmosphere broke.

You smiled, too, suddenly relieved.

You tried again, and found it much easier this time: “Please.”

“Much better,” Cyrille said, now laughing as he stroked your hair. 

In that moment, you found yourself just watching Cyrille laughed. It was mesmerizing to see him so light-hearted and carefree. Your heart hurt as you wished once again that it could always be this way. 

Then, grasping your shoulders gently, Cyrille leaned forward to kiss you again. You accepted it gratefully, feeling your heart swell with gratitude for this thoughtful and patient man before you. 

The kiss began as a continuance of your conversation - gentle and understanding. But when Cyrille murmured against your lips, “Angel, now you know how sweet you taste,” you pulled back a little and asked, “Hm?”

Cyrille asked you, “You can taste yourself on me, can’t you?”

You paused. Returning to his mouth, you flicked your tongue curiously against his. 

He smiled, and then locking your mouths together deeply, he pressed his tongue against yours to fully satisfy your curiosity.

“Taste that?” he whispered. “Like citrus, and honey.” 

You nodded. 

“So sweet,” Cyrille breathed out. He put his hands against your back and drew you forward even more, so that you slid down from the seat into his lap.

Having you between his arms (with your back to the seat now behind you) and sitting in his lap, Cyrille kissed you fervently. You replied in kind, running your hands gently all over his scarred chest. 

As the kissing became quite heated between the two of you, Cyrille tucked you firmly into his shoulder to hold you closer. Then, he kissed you even harder, kissing you open-mouthed before biting gently on your lower lip. You moaned softly in response. The sounds of your mouths pressing hotly together sounded out in the tiny space of the carriage that the two of you had somehow ended up cramming yourselves in. Returning the favor in your own way, you sucked on his lower lip, too, and ran your tongue across his upper lip before sliding it into his mouth to tangle with his tongue. Cyrille groaned tenderly into your mouth, sending a hot wave of air into your open mouth. 

Cyrille whispered to you just then, “Touch yourself. Touch your breasts for me, princess.”

You complied, slipping your hands under the front strips of your dress.

The next moment, Cyrille saw your little hands working feverishly on yourself, grasping at your soft breasts under your dress. 

Cyrille sighed impatiently. You had made the same mistake again, he thought. First with the skirt, now with the dress. Princess, you need to take your clothes off for me to see you enjoying yourself. 

While Cyrille’s left arm was around you, his right hand was on your back. In an effort to tug your dress off of you, he had slowly but surely begun to tug impatiently at the complicated array of straps on your back. Unfortunately, the dress stubbornly stayed put. Cyrille had to fight back the urge to yank at your dress. 

“Angel,” Cyrille groaned, with his lips still on yours, “you’ve got to get this dress off, or I’m going to rip it into pieces.”

“Okay, just wait one second…” You tried to reach back and untie the complicated thing yourself, but you couldn’t quite see it.

Meanwhile, Cyrille kept kissing you and running his free hand all over you.

“Cyrille, I can’t,” you said, panting slightly as you felt Cyrille’s hand impatiently gripping your hip while he waited for you. “Can’t you - Can’t you just fuck me with it on?” you breathed out.

Cyrille moaned heavily at your words. Yes. Yes, I could fuck you with it on.

The dress was riding up your thighs anyways, what with the way you were sitting on his lap. He could see your cute little garters, which were high up on your pretty thighs, already. 

Cyrille reached down and pushed his fingers against your pussy again. He heard your sharp intake of breath as you felt his fingertips press against you. 

Cyrille smirked. “Still so sensitive,” he murmured. He gently shifted you so that you were leaning back against the seat to free up both of his hands so that he could finger your pussy and grope your breasts at the same time.

Cyrille touched you quite greedily, pushing his hands aggressively against you and molding the lovely softness of your body to his demanding hands. For example, your soft pussy was going to take his fingers again. Bringing his fingers up to his lips, he spit on them before reaching back down to touch you again. 

“Ah, I don’t think that’s - uhn - necessary,” you told him hastily. “I’ve already - already cum...”

“You’re going to have to cum again,” Cyrille told you matter-of-factly, as if it were a simple matter of course. “If you’re going to take my cock, which has been waiting very patiently for you this entire time, you’re going to need to be wetter than this. I cleaned you all up, princess. You’re not nearly wet enough.”

“I don’t - Oh,” you said, distracted, as Cyrille, with his other hand, pulled at the front of your dress just then. He yanked aside both of the long strips of silk covering your breasts, one at a time. 

“Mmm,” he said, when he saw your bare breasts softly bouncing as the fabric containing them was suddenly yanked away. “No bra?”

Before you could respond, Cyrille leaned forward and buried his face against your breasts, sucking and kissing them. Meanwhile, he was still pressing his long fingers against you, making the most of that little slit in your panties. 

You let out a soft, but long exhale as shook your head. “Couldn’t,” you tried to explain. “Um, deep V neck dress, you know? Have to - to go - uhn- ” you flinched slightly when Cyrille sucked your puffy nipple hard, grasping at it with his mouth. “ - bare,” you barely finished with a little gasp.

Cyrille pushed his fingers against you harder, moving his hand up and down more roughly. Since you were already a bit wet, especially inside of your pussy, it was easier to spread that wetness onto your pussy and have you take his fingers roughly more quickly, which then made you become even more wet. 

You moaned softly and wrapped your arms around his head. 

A moment later, you shuddered. “Cy-Cyrille,” you breathed out. “I- I’m really - I can take you. Just - I don’t - Please don’t make me cum again.” 

Knowing that you were protesting out of embarrassment, Cyrille ignored you and continued to finger you roughly, pumping two fingers in and out of your pussy, prepping you at least a little to take his cock again. 

“Uhn, I- I- ” you stuttered.

“You what, princess?” Cyrille whispered to you, his voice so low and gentle while his fingers thrust up into your pussy. “What? Are my fingers too much? Are you going to cum for me again?” 

“C-Cy!” You cried out suddenly, and your grip on his hair suddenly became vice-like. But you had to let him go as your thighs abruptly clamped around his hand, pushing Cyrille back from your breasts. He looked up at you, feeling your pussy pulsing on his fingers still deep inside you, and your thighs quivering all around his wrist. 

Cyrille reached up with his other hand and gripping the back of your neck, he pulled your face down to his in one hard tug and kissed you fervently.

“A-Ah...” A muffled moan escaped your lips and passed over to Cyrille’s lips as you came sweetly all over his fingers for a third time. 

With his hand, Cyrille slowly and firmly traced the back of your neck all the way down to the small of your back. Then, withdrawing his hand from your still weakly clamped-together thighs, Cyrille gripped your waist with his other hand and tried to pull you up to your feet. He didn’t want you sitting on the cramped, cold floor of this carriage for too long. 

Unfortunately, your legs were still recovering, and when he pulled you up so abruptly, you stumbled a little.

Feeling you falter, Cyrille held you against him. You tried to stop yourself from falling by putting your hands on Cyrille’s chest. However, you didn’t expect him to reach out and pull you to him, and your arms ended up slipping around him. 

Startled, you looked up as the two of you found yourselves in a very sweet, but completely unintended embrace.

“Well, hello, princess,” Cyrille quipped, smirking a little. “Aren’t you adorable tonight?”

Seeing his smirk, you complained, “You pulled me up too fa- mmpfh...” 

Cyrille had bent down and kissed you again. He made sure to part from you very slowly, leaving you breathless and wanting. 

You blinked in surprise. He smirked at you again, even more boldly than the last smirk.

Suddenly, it hit you. 

“Wait, you can’t just kiss me when I’m talking, you gargoyle,” you told him, pushing him away.

At your words, Cyrille fell onto his knees before you.

“What are you doing?” you asked him skeptically. 

“Begging for forgiveness,” he said succinctly. He grasped your waist tightly and then bent his head to lay kisses all down your chest. He sucked at your skin fervently, leaving marks on you from his mouth for the very first time.

“I - I don’t think counts as an apology,” you told him. You tried to grab onto his shoulders to push him away, but he’d just worked his way down the deep V neckline of your dress (as your dress had slipped back in place to cover your breasts again) and was now kissing your tummy right over your belly button. Cyrille sucked gently at your soft skin. 

“Oh...” you breathed out. 

Cyrille smiled when he saw your tummy rise and fall quickly under his touch. Then, Cyrille reached up to push your dress aside again to feel up your breasts. He moaned when he saw your breasts. They were perfect to him. 

“Cy- ” you began again, but he’d put his mouth on your breast and was tonguing your nipple hard.

“Uhn, fuck,” you whined, gripping at his shoulders.

“Y-You’re not begging for anything a-at all, are you?” you realized. “Least of all f-forgiveness...” 

You felt Cyrille smirk against your skin as he heard you figure him out. 

“Say sorry,” you insisted, holding back more moans.

Cyrille paused for less than half a second from tonguing your nipples to state, “Sorry,” before going right back to tasting you.

“You d-didn’t - ah, Cy - You didn’t mean it...” you protested softly. Your head tilted back as Cyrille’s soft kisses all over your tummy sent butterflies spiraling up your body and made your head feel wonderfully light.

Cyrille laughed lightly at seeing you slowly sliding into a blissful state of mind, forgetting everything else. 

Oh, fine, you gave in in your mind. I can’t think straight right now. He’s kissing and sucking at me all over. It feels so good, like little sunspots grazing all over my tummy and breasts... 

Cyrille was pushing his mouth harder and harder against you, taking more and more of your breasts in his mouth, and his grasp on your waist had become extremely hard as he pulled you towards him. 

“You taste so fucking good,” Cyrille growled. He reached up and yanked aggressively at the front of your dress, wanting to be able to kiss you all over your breasts and all down your curves. He wanted to leave a trail of kisses and bites all down your sides to celebrate how stunning your figure was.

However, your dress had had quite enough. The halter of your dress snapped, and the two straps in the front fell open, so that you were suddenly completely topless. 

As the dress fluttered down to your hips, you gasped and instinctively covered your breasts with your arms, wrapping your arms in an X over yourself and clutching onto your shoulders.

“Shit,” Cyrille cursed. 

Unfortunately, the design of the dress was such that the halter neck was connected to the back straps, which in turn had been holding together the tight waistline of the dress. In only a few seconds, the waistband slowly unraveled, and your dress slipped off of your body completely, falling down onto the floor all around you, like some disintegrated shower of bright red flower petals.

“Princess, I’m so sorry,” Cyrille said hurriedly. “Your dress- ”

You laughed a little breathlessly, as you teased him, “Great apology, Mr. Lestrange.” 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated sincerely, looking mortified. “I can’t believe I broke your dress...” 

“It’s all right,” you assured him. “I still have my... lingerie on?” 

You looked down at yourself and spread your legs a little to look down at your garters. 

Cyrille paused as your pretty pussy glistened in the low light entering the carriage, and the soft skirt-like part of your lingerie fluttered around your little waist. Then, he said, with clear want in his voice, “Yes, princess, you do.” 

“And uh...” You glanced down at your feet. Then, you bent one knee, lifting your heel up delicately behind you. “I still have my heels on.”

“So, not to worry,” you told Cyrille, giving him a bright smile. “The show can go on.” 

“Yes,” Cyrille agreed. “And I’m going to have you just like this, angel. You look so fucking beautiful. I have to have you.” 

Stepping closer to you, he asked you, “Will you let me have you?”

“Yes,” you told him. Then, you very quickly corrected yourself. “Yes, please.”

Cyrille smirked, pleased that you remembered and relieved that you weren’t too upset about your dress, although he made a mental note to try to fix it before you went back.

Then, you let out a soft shriek as Cyrille grabbed you and picked you up with incredible ease, and pushed you back down to your prior position of being half-up on the carriage door and half-lying across the satin seat. 

Cyrille immediately pressed his large palms against your beautiful thighs and pushed them apart. Then, he reached down and stroked his cock, groaning heavily as he did so. Precum was already glistening all over the tip of his cock. 

In truth, he was painfully swollen from how long he’d been hard now. And he’d been swollen to begin with. He knew he was going to cum quickly once he was inside you. He ran his hand impatiently up and down his cock a few times, trying to spread his precum to make it a little easier for you to take him.

Then, leaning over you, again with one hand by your head, Cyrille positioned himself so that the tip of his cock pressed against your pussy hole. 

“Princess,” Cyrille managed to give one last whisper. “Tell me if you need me to stop. Because I’m afraid I’m going to be a bit rough with you tonight, if that’s all right.”

You looked up at him, eyes shimmering with both excitement and trepidation at having him inside you again and at his promise of being fucked roughly. 

“O-Okay,” you said softly. 

Memories of how he had taken you in the forest replayed in your mind briefly, and you shivered, wiggling your hips slightly against his cock.

“Mm, angel, you don’t want to do that right now,” Cyrille said in a tightly controlled voice, quickly pressing his hand down against your soft tummy to stop you from moving. “If you move your hips against me... It might be more than you want from me. More than you can take.” 

You nodded and did your best to keep still. Suddenly, you found yourself remembering an old children’s game that purebloods used to play called “Glacius.” 

“Just... stay very still,” he whispered to you, closing his eyes. Then, still holding you down by your tummy, Cyrille slowly moved his hips forward, pushing his cock forward so that it slipped past your pussy lips.

You breathed in sharply and held your breath. Immediately, you felt Cyrille’s cock stretching you out. Oh God, you realized, his cock is so swollen. He’s usually not this broad. He’s usually not stretching me out this much. Oh, fuck, and he’s still so long... Fuck, this could be... You swallowed hard. 

You also realized, too late, that there was nothing to grab in here. Oh no, you heard yourself say in your head, I can’t hold onto him, either. He’s already hurt. Oh no, oh no, what am I going to do? What am I - Uhn! Fuck! Your eyes shut tightly as his cock claimed your little pussy so quickly. 

Cyrille’s cock was already throbbing as it delved deep inside of you. He was pushing your pussy walls apart so very forcefully, not because he was moving his hips at all, but just because his cock was so swollen already.

Your pussyhole felt like it was about to tear. “Oh, fuck,” you whispered in a tiny voice. Whimpering, you reached down and physically stretched out your pussyhole gently, trying to accommodate Cyrille’s cock. 

“Princess, should I - should I stop?” Cyrille asked you through gritted teeth. 

“N-No,” you told him. 

“Are you sure? You’re really fucking tight,” Cyrille replied in a heavy voice. He was forcing himself to control himself, even his breathing. “I’m barely inside of you and I feel you spasming all over...” 

What was more, Cyrille was feeling what you were feeling - that your pussyhole, too, was very tight for Cyrille’s cock today. Cyrille could feel your entrance having to stretch over the tiniest ridge or vein of his cock, forcing Cyrille to push it through, because you were already at your limit. Cyrille looked down to see you using your hands to spread open your pussyhole for him. But you were clenching your teeth in anticipation. 

“Angel, maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight,” Cyrille said, even as his cock was literally weeping with precum. 

But you shook your head. You reached up and put your hands on the back of Cyrille’s neck. You winced a little as you felt his cock pushing your pussyhole open wide as he leaned forward a little to let you hold onto his neck, but you dragged Cyrille down to you until his forehead was against yours.

“Princess? You - You all right?” Cyrille asked, his voice going hoarse with the need and want to be inside of you. 

You whispered in a breathless little voice, “Please. Just. Please.” 

In your head you completed the phrase and repeated it to yourself: Please fuck me. Please fuck me. Please, please, please. 

Cyrille understood that this was you giving your permission.

And that was the gunshot, the sharp pulling of the trigger finger, telling him to go.

His mind shut off completely, and he pushed his cock inside of you, all the fucking way. He had to use his hips quite a bit to force himself all the way inside of you, absolutely stuffing your poor pussy full of his needy cock, which was already spilling precum all over inside of you. 

Your teeth came together in a hard clench and you squirmed under him, hips moving frantically side to side under him as he plunged his cock deep inside of you, fucking you through layer by layer, deeper than he’d ever gone inside of you.

“Nnn...gh.... U-Uh-Uhhhh....” You moaned in tiny, weak moans, unable to quite comprehend how, if at all, he was fitting inside you. 

“Princess...” Cyrille moaned lowly, panting with the effort it’d taken for him to push his cock inside of you.

“Hah.... Ah... Ah...” You were breathing out only through your mouth, completely forgetting how to take a deep breath. You couldn’t. To take a deep breath required using your tummy, and you felt like your tummy was full - like he’d fucked you right through.

“Princess...” Cyrille said again, and without pulling out even a little, he thrust into you in a sharp, concentrated push, slamming his balls up into you.

Your body gave out, which was honestly no wonder. Your legs were already totally splayed out, as you were spasming all around his cock that had barely been squeezed into you. You had also already slid down the carriage door with your head tilted back, breathing shallowly and in little whimpers. The only parts of your body that were tensing with any strength were your tight abs, upon which the raven pendant lay glimmering, and your hands, which were pressed up hard against the seat and dragging against the fogged-up window, respectively.

“Princess,” Cyrille repeated yet again, but your name was slowly being transformed from one of concern to one of complete want. Cyrille was slowly but surely slipping into becoming totally lost in the sensation of being inside of you. You had the tightest pussy he’d ever been in. With every thrust, he felt your walls, in struggling to take him, wrapping tightly and throbbing hot on his cock. And down at the base of his cock, your pussy lips were gripping him so hard as he fucked you tight and hard. 

Then, when Cyrille finally began to take longer strokes, your pussy lips slid up and down the entire length of his cock in the most pleasurable way possible.

“Princess,” Cyrille groaned. ‘Oh fuck, princess, princess, princess....” 

He reached out and grasped both of your hands, covering your small hands with his and gripping them tightly. You weren’t holding hands so much as he was holding yours very possessively. In fact, with his arms stretched out over yours to hold your hands tightly in his, his entire body was arched possessively over yours, as though shielding you from the world. 

All that was visible of you was the top of your curls over his shoulder, your long legs splayed out and jerking up and down as Cyrille made you take his cock, and flashes of your pussy, still in your pretty lingerie, being brutally taken now. 

“Princess, beg for me,” Cyrille reminded you in a soft, tense voice as he took you, building up his rhythm, moving his hips faster and faster against you to slam his cock repeatedly into you. 

You couldn’t remember any words, though. B-Beg...? You thought hazily to yourself, but all you could vaguely take in was the way he was holding your arms open and by extension, holding you up against the carriage wall. Every other sensation and perception that you were capable of was fully dominated by the way his cock was plunging into your poor pussy. Somehow, you were dripping wet, though you couldn’t remember cumming. 

“Angel...” Cyrille slowed his pace a little. “Speak. I need to know you’re all right.”

You whimpered. “Y-You’re stretching me o-out s-so much. I don’t - You’re not - uhn, f-fitting...i-inside me - ”

“All right, princess,” Cyrille said, slowing down almost all the way. “Okay, we’ll take it slow until it feels good for you, all right?”

Cyrille’s cock throbbed impatiently, and you both felt it, but he ignored it. 

He gave you his cock slowly and sweetly, pulling out a little ways, too.

You slowly learned to breathe again. Then, little soft moans of pleasure began to work its way up your tummy and bubble up to your lips. You wiggled your hips in pleasure.

Cyrille smiled at you. “There you go, angel. That’s how it should feel.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked you, more than a little worried.

“I want - want you to c-cum,” you explained. 

“Angel, I appreciate that, but you can’t let me hurt you. Ever,” Cyrille said. He looked into your eyes and ordered, “Promise me.”

You paused.

“Promise,” he pressed.

“Promise,” you repeated back to him.

“Good girl,” he said softly. 

He fucked you sweet and slow for the next couple of minutes, letting you get used to his cock and easing you into it. 

“Mm, mm, mm...” Happy little moans flowed from your lips.

Cyrille leaned forward and kissing you, he caught them all. Then, after watching you for a moment, while you kept your eyes shut and focused on the lovely sensation of being fucked like this, Cyrille took a deep breath. Then, he said, bravely, “Angel, promise me something.”

“Hm?” You opened your eyes. “Promise you - uhn, w-what?”

“Promise me you’ll only think of me, and no one else, when you’re with me,” Cyrille said. He stopped moving his hips, focusing entirely on his request.

You looked at him, confused, wondering where this request was coming from all of a sudden. 

“I try not to talk about it,” Cyrille told you, “but seeing you with James... It was rough. And if he loved you whole-heartedly, maybe I could just forget about it... Because you’d be happy. So I stayed out of your way. And even if I hadn’t, I get the sense that you preferred him, anyways. Maybe you still do. But he wasn’t there for you, the way he should have been.” 

You looked away from Cyrille. It still hurt you to think about this. However, Cyrille was wrong about you still preferring James. And you, of all people, knew how much it hurt to love someone who you believed loved someone else. 

“And that night he left marks on you after...” Cyrille’s voice trailed off. Then, he said, in a gentle voice, “Angel, no matter how much control you give me over your body, I can’t control your mind, and that’s the most important part of it. Dominating your body... It’s just a substitute, and a poor one at that. I don’t care about physical domination, or whatever you want to call it, nearly as much as capturing your attention, your full attention.”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, suddenly ashamed. “I don’t mean to be overbearing or make you uncomfortable.” 

You shook your head. “No, it’s not that. I’m just curious...” 

“About what? Ask me anything. I’ll tell you, angel.”

You paused. Then, you asked him, “Why are you so possessive?” Your voice was genuinely curious. You didn’t see it as a bad thing. You knew how love made possession a natural and free thing, not this toxic and all-consuming thing that many people mistook it for. To say to your loved one, “I’m yours,” was the same thing as saying, “I’m free before the eyes of the world,” because your loved one was your safe harbor. With that person by your side, you could now go and chase your dreams in the real world with just that bit more of security of knowing you could come home to someone who would kiss your wounds and give you the strength to try again the next day.

Cyrille thought about your question. Slowly tracing your body with his hands, he said softly, “Why am I so possessive? Well, because of the things I’ve lost, angel...” 

Your heart softened at his answer. His response made sense, and you were grateful for his honestly. But it also made you sad. 

“You don’t have to be so afraid,” you whispered to him. “You are the angel - the Healer, and also the afterlife.”

Cyrille reached out and touched your cheek. 

You paused when you felt his fingers softly grazing your cheek.

“And you’re the sly one,” Cyrille told you, smiling a little. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You blushed, caught. 

Cyrille leaned over you and purposefully burying his head against your neck so that you didn’t have to look at him when you answered, he asked you, “Do you love me?”

Your eyes widened. 

Cyrille’s body was tense with anticipation, and his hips moved almost of their own accord, pushing his cock back deep inside you.

“Uhn,” you moaned out suddenly. 

“Does that feel good?” Cyrille murmured, kissing your neck, too.

“Uh...” you breathed out, as he moved his hips against you, pushing his cock into you a little harder with the second thrust. 

“Y-yes, it feels g-good,” you told him.

“Mm,” Cyrille said. He ran his hands over the side of your body, from your hip to your waist to your breast, which he grasped in his hand. “It feels good?”

“Yes,” you repeated again. “You f-feel s-so good, Cy.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah...”

“And you love me?” he asked, still softly fucking you. 

“Y-yes, Cyrille, I l-love you - uhn...” Your head fell to the side as you breathed out in soft gasps. Your bare body was being held and touched and fucked by Cyrille, and your expensive dress had been ripped up and lay on the floor uselessly.

But who cares? you thought blurrily. Who cares, when his arms around you were all you needed...? 

Your mind became both clouded and clear at the same time. Not remembering your past with him and knowing that your future would diverge from his, you felt too fragile to tell him the whole truth. Cyrille, I love you most. You’re the only one for me. When I’m alone, I only think about you now. I did love James, but time has passed, and I’ve also changed. What love is for me has changed. I want you now. I’m yours. So please, love me back. If I’m really your angel, love me back. Come and live with me. Please.

But you couldn’t say all this. At the same time, you knew that you could not allow Cyrille to suffer under the illusion of thinking that you still preferred James to him. After what you had been through with James, to inflict that pain onto someone else was unacceptable to you.

Finally, you managed to blurt out softly, “C-Cy, I dream of - uhn - of you. Ah... Only y-you.” 

Cyrille’s heart did not know how to take this news. He actually, even in his wildest dreams, did not imagine that you would say yes. 

“Angel,” he whispered in a completely disbelieving voice.

“Y-Yes?” you moaned, then whimpered as he was starting to fuck you harder. Cyrille wanted to solidify this dreamlike moment by feeling your lovely, wet warmth and by making you feel him, too. 

“I’m - uhn - I’m... going to keep you s-safe,” Cyrille promised you. It was the most fragile, but also the best version of himself that he could to you: himself, as both a Healer and as a lover - that is, as a guardian. He wasn’t there yet, and he knew it. But someday, he would become that for you. That was what he was promising. 

You smiled a little, in total bliss. “I k-know,” you told him softly, finally believing in him. 

Cyrille reached up and turned your head to the other side, to face him.

Your lips met. And you both kissed, minds spinning in fervent rapture and ecstasy. 

But your lips suddenly parted wider than his, as you suddenly felt butterflies taking flight in your tummy, their wings brushing up against you deep inside of you. 

“You’re close, angel?” Cyrille asked you, picking up on your smallest movements.

You whimpered and shook your head, but you were. You were so close.

“You are,” Cyrille said, feeling your telltale signals of your pussy tightening instantly.

“Cy- Cy, I can’t c-cum anymore.” Exhausted, the words spilled out of your mouth, almost running into each other. “I - Uhn, it’s- ‘s too much...”

“I know you can, angel,” Cyrille told you. “I know you’ve got one more in you. Come on.”

He thrust hard.

“Ah!” you cried out.

“Cum for me, yeah? Show me how good this little body is, hm? This tight little pussy...” Cyrille murmured huskily, coaxing you to cum with him. He knew he was close, too. “I know you can cum again, angel...”

“A-Ah, ah, p-please, I can’t!” you said, half-sobbing.

“You’re so fucking close,” Cyrille called you out, because he wanted you to let loose and feel as good as possible, and he knew you really were right at the edge of cumming. “Cum for me. One more time, angel. Cum all over for me, like a good girl.”

“C-Cy, please, p-please...”

“Do it for me. You can. I feel how close you are, princess. You’re fucking throbbing all over my cock. So, don't hold back. Don't be embarrassed. Cum all over my cock.”

“But I- I’ll cream,” you said, finally admitting why you didn’t want to cum for a fourth time. Or was it fifth? Sixth? you wondered blurrily. I really can’t count when Cyrille’s taking me like this. “It’s embara - ah!”

An extremely intense and tight jolt of pleasure ran up your tummy, even up your spine. Your entire body tensed, but especially your thighs, ass, and pussy. 

Cyrille felt it, too. “Uhn, fuck, angel. That’s what I want, angel. Please cum for me. Cream all pretty for me, yeah? I want it. I want that sweet little pussy to cream all over my cock, princess. Give it to me.”

“Uhhh!” Your moan was throatier than normal as your worn-out body dragged itself to yet another height.

“C’mon,” Cyrille growled at you fiercely as he continued to thrust into you over and over again, trying to coax or force that last orgasm out of you. He was gritting his teeth with holding back, too. “Give it to me,” he demanded. ��Cum for me the way you love me. Pretend you’re dreaming of me right now, angel.”

Pretend I’m dreaming of you? All of those endless nights I spent with you in my feverish imagination... where you would tell me you loved me and fill me up with your cum. You would leave me absolutely dripping with your cum... 

“A-ah- ah! Cy! F-fuck!” Your pussy gave in and clenched hard on his cock.

“Mmm princess, yes, there you go,” Cyrille groaned feelingly. 

Shit, he thought. That command definitely did something for her. She must have genuinely dreamed of me at some point. 

Driven by that beautiful knowledge, Cyrille drove his hips into you again, pushing his hard cock right up against your center. 

“Hah... Ah! Ah! Ah!” You gasped out as your body shook against his.

“Fuck,” Cyrille moaned. “Uhn, angel- ”

All at once, your back arched sharply off of the carriage door and seat. You threw back your head as a desperate gasp exploded from your lips, followed by a long, wavering moan that was almost a sob. Your legs jerked as you creamed heavily, all over Cyrille's cock, just as he had so wanted from you.

Cyrille fucked you gently as you came, wanting to see your cream spreading all over his shaft. 

“O-Oh God...” you stuttered as your eyes rolled back in your head.

She creams so pretty, my princess, Cyrille thought to himself, seeing your white, hot cum gradually cover the entire length of his cock. 

“Mm, so much cum,” Cyrille said. “So much cream. You came so hard, didn’t you, princess? You’ll have to tell me what I do to you in my dreams. Look at you, all spent in my arms. Dripping with cream. Fuck - and in that lingerie, too. You are so pretty, angel. So incredibly gorgeous...” Cyrille’s voice became throaty as he started to lose himself to wanting you again. Through the cum and cream, Cyrille pushed his cock back inside you. “All... All splayed out like that,” he breathed out. “Uhn... Angel...” 

“Y-you're gonna keep fucking me?” you murmured, amazed and exhausted. “You h-haven’t cum yet?”

Cyrille paused, with his cock still inside you, and covered in your cream. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, even as his cock begged him not to. “I can stop, princess. You know you already did so well for me tonight. You were such a sweet little girl for me tonight, weren’t you? Taking my cock over and over again until you creamed all over it, hm? We can stop here for tonight, angel. You can rest.”

But you shook your head and said, “Not until you cum, too. In me.” 

Cyrille hesitated. His cock pulsed heavily in your pussy.

You moaned softly. “Cy, you’re so big... especially today. I don’t think you’ve ever stretched me out this much.”

“It’s because... I need to fuck you rougher, harder, faster,” Cyrille finally confessed. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been holding back, angel.”

“You have?” you said softly, frowning a little. 

“Yes, but that’s because I want tonight, and every night, to be about you,” Cyrille told you. “To feel good for you, angel. It’s only what you deserve.”

You were exhausted, but you gave Cyrille a soft, genuine smile as you said, “I feel the same for you, you know.”

Cyrille blew out a short, hasty breath. Then, he said, “Well then, princess... I need to use your pussy. Can I do that?” Cyrille asked you. Even as he spoke, he thrust up into you hard enough to rock your body. 

Isn’t he already? you thought to yourself. Your head lolled against the window, moving up and down when he thrust up into you, and maybe it looked like you had nodded because Cyrille was suddenly pounding into you - absolutely ravaging you deep and hard. 

“Ah!” you cried out. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” Your voice became nothing more than a string of endless cries, almost tipping into moans at the end of each short outburst, but then picking back up again into an aggressive breath and higher pitch as you felt Cyrille’s cock slamming into you yet again. 

The way he was working his hips against you, pushing his cock relentlessly into your pussy, pounding you, made your body bounce slightly on the seat, which wasn’t even that springy. But your hips got pushed into the seat when he pushed his hips forward, and when he pulled back, your hips sprung forward, too. The rocking movement made your whole body jerk back and forth, especially your legs, one of which was awkwardly pushed up against the seat, and the other of which was flailing in the air as Cyrille brought that leg up over his shoulder to open you up even more, to fuck you even deeper. The heel on that foot in the air came off, clattering to the carriage floor. But even the other heel, as it moved up and down in a frenzied way against the side of the seat, was now barely hanging on to the tip of your toes. Also, your lace garter straps went from tight to loose to tight and back to loose as your thighs continuously tensed from receiving him. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” You were still crying out. Your face was flushed red, and your forehead glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Small flecks of mascara dotted just under your eyes from having shut your eyes so tightly. As the back of your head had been pressed up against the carriage door, your hairstyle had come completely undone, and your curls were a soft mess now, trapped between your head and the carriage door. 

Suddenly, without even realizing that you had been anywhere near cumming, you abruptly found yourself squirting your fresh, thick cum all over Cyrille’s cock and thighs. You stared down at yourself with wide, disbelieving eyes, as you saw your cum spatter all over the both of you. You gasped loudly. Why - Why am I cumming like that? I didn’t even... I didn’t even know I was c-close... 

As your cum drenched the seat underneath you, too, your ass and thighs became slick, and your body didn’t so much as bounce against the seat as it was shifted up and down roughly by Cyrille’s fucking you. It made the fucking feel even more intense, as you were being dragged a little ways up and down the seat, in your own wet cum, by how hard he was fucking you.

“A-Ah, ah, a- uhn! Uh, uh, uh, uhn....” You choked out your moans dutifully, not even really knowing what they meant anymore. I came for him. Like this, you said in disbelief. How could I cum for him when I’m being taken this way? I can’t even- I don’t even... Uhn! Oh God, I think - I think it feels good. Because Cyrille’s cock... God, he’s so good and thick today. So swollen. He was dripping precum before he was even inside me... And- And - Ohh, uhn it’s really starting to feel - to feel good... Mmm... C-Cy, yes... Fuck me.

Secretly, you had once dreamed of being punished by Cyrille, and you had woken up to find your sheets so thoroughly soaked that you had had to secretly change them before Emmeline woke up. But that was a secret, even to yourself. 

At that moment, Cyrille groaned loudly. “Princess,” he choked out through gritted teeth. “Beg.” 

It was the way he said that, the way he asked you to beg as though he were begging himself, that unlocked a little bit of that secret part within you. 

“Please, please, please, please,” you moaned, the words tumbling from your lips without a second thought, replacing the “ahs” you’d just been busily crying out for the past ten minutes since he’d started to fuck you again. Your pleas varied in desperation and sweetness, depending on how deep his cock inside of your pussy, but all of your pleas were so lovely and soft for Cyrille. 

Oh, fuck, angel sounds so sweet like that. Mmmm, Cyrille moaned in his head. God, how is she so perfect? And she’s just so tight. Fuck, let me ravage her. Let me just ruin this little pussy, make her all wet. I want her to squirt and cream and cum again and again on my cock. For me. And only for me. My angel.

“Cy...!” you cried out weakly. “Oh, p-please!” 

“Good fucking girl,” Cyrille growled. “Yes, you are.” 

“Yes.” - He thrust. - “Ah!” you cried. 

“You.” - Thrust. -“Uhn!”

“- Are.” - Thrust. - “A-Ah, f-fuck!” 

Getting close to cumming, Cyrille groaned and kissed you aggressively, locking your lips hard while still fucking your fervently. But after only a few seconds, you had to pull away from his lips.

“You have to - to let me kiss you,” Cyrille told you, panting hard. His abs were burning, and his cock hurt. He needed to cum so bad, but he needed to make love to you in these last few seconds, or he couldn’t cum. You had met him halfway for the first time tonight in actually showing him what was in his heart. You had thrown caution to the wind, and against your own need to protect your vulnerabilities, you had come out before Cyrille and confessed that you loved him. Now Cyrille needed to show you, to tell you, somehow, that he loved you as well. 

I love you.

But in your usual princess-like manner, you were not making it easy for him to express his love. In fact, in a somewhat hilarious and ironic turn of events, you were pulling away from him. 

But you had your reasons: between Cyrille’s kissing and fucking, your body was being pushed to its limits, and you were having trouble getting enough air in your lungs as he fucked you to that high point of senseless and mindless pleasure and exhaustion. 

“I- I can’t - ah, ah, ah! - C-Cy, I can’t b-breathe,” you told him, protesting. 

“Angel, you don’t need to when you’re with me,” Cyrille reminded you. His hands squeezed yours again. The back of your hand on the window was numb from the freezing cold glass, and you didn’t even notice. 

Cyrille captured his lips in yours again, muffling your pretty moans into strained murmurs that spilled out from your lips nonetheless. “Mm, Mm, Mm! Mmm...!” 

You felt like your lungs were going to explode from want of breath. Your heart was pounding so hard you were having an adrenaline rush. Finally, you pushed Cyrille away again and tried desperately to get air back into your lungs, which was quite a challenge, as Cyrille was still fucking you for all he was worth, fully using his tight, cut muscles to ruin your pussy, fucking it into its most vulnerable state, which was also the most appropriate state - or so Cyrille thought - for you to cum or be cummed in. 

Preferably both, but I can’t really cum in Angel, Cyrille thought to himself hazily between his thrusts and grunts and groans. My feelings for her distort the Spell. I can feel it. It’s not safe. And that’s even truer tonight. But I’ll fuck her as hard as I can, as much as she can take, until I do cum. Uhn, angel... You just don’t know what you do to me. I want to cum in you so bad. But I need you to be safe. So, if you can’t take my cum, take my cock. Take all of it, over and over again. Let me pound your little pussy, and use it, use it until it’s all wet and squirting all over my cock... Fuck, yes. Yes, take my cock, angel. You are such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Yes, you fucking are. And if you’ll do me the honor, you always will be. 

“U-Uhn, ah, ah, ah!” you cried out. Your moans were becoming hoarse, adding an extra dimension of raspy softness to your lovely voice. I can’t believe he’s still fucking me. 

“Please!” you suddenly burst out. “Oh, please! Cy!”  

“Fuck,” Cyrille spat out suddenly. “Oh fuck, I’m- I’m going to- ” His voice, husky and aggressive, abruptly broke off. Then, he suddenly squeezed your hands in his so tightly that it hurt. 

Cyrille started to pull out, but you suddenly found the strength to lock your legs around him, keeping him inside you.

“Wait, n-no, don’t! Stay inside me. C-Cum inside me,” you gasped out. 

Cyrille groaned. “Angel, it’s not safe. You felt it last time, didn’t you? Uhn... It’s not... We’re too-”

“Please,” you whispered fervently. “Please. Cum inside me. Please.”

Cyrille moaned. “I can’t - can’t hold it. Angel...”

“Please, I need you to cum inside me. It’s what I need. For me. Please. Please. Please.” You repeated your moans in a soft, but absolutely desperate voice. 

“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 final thrust drew a soft, high moan from him, and a strangled, wrenching cry from you. 

For one long, arching moment, all there was in that tiny, cramped space was the overwhelming scent of sex, the sound of both of you panting and moaning and fucking and begging, the heat of your bodies making love and all pressed up against each other and taking each other as his and hers - and then, Cyrille’s head fell forward against your shoulder. His mouth was open and he was moaning hotly against your bare shoulder, and gripping your hands tightly, squeezing them hard, he finally came hard deep inside of you. 

He lay on top of you for a moment, his hands slipping down your sides to gently hold your waist. You had your chin on your shoulder. You were staring up blearily at the ceiling of the carriage, with your arms around his shoulders and your legs still wrapped around his waist. 

Both of you were panting for a long while, feeling safe in this tiny, and now quite hot, space.

Cyrille finally murmured to you, a bit amused, “You can let me go now, angel. I think I’ve finished cumming.”

“No,” you said playfully, if not exhaustedly, as you refused to unlock your legs. “I’m keeping you here forever.” 

You felt Cyrille smile against your shoulder. “Please do.” 

“Angel,” he said, a moment later. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, exhausted. But just before he began to kiss you, you paused.

“What?” Cyrille asked. 

You slowly opened your thighs and looked down. Cyrille’s cum was just beginning to drip out of your filled pussy. 

“Oh, Cy,” you breathed out. “You came so much in me.”

“Mm, I did, angel,” Cyrille said, gazing down at his white cum slowly dripping out of you onto your gorgeous thighs, only to be caught by the garters around your thighs. 

“Thank you.”

Cyrille paused when he heard you say that. “You don’t have to say those phrases anymore, angel.” 

“Have to...?” you repeated, confused. Then, you suddenly realized that he’d once given you orders to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. “Oh, I forgot about that,” you said honestly, not fazed in the least. “It just came out.” 

Cyrille stared at you, wondering how in the world someone who matched him so perfectly could exist. 

Meanwhile, you were busy reaching down and rubbing your pussy a little, wanting to fuck the cum back inside of you. “Mmm,” you moaned. “I love your cum in me, Cyrille.” 

It’s my angel, filled with my cum. And that makes her so happy. Cyrille breathed out. 

Then, he suddenly leaned down and softly kissed you, claiming the kiss he’d gotten your permission for. The kiss was brief, and gentle, but full of love for you. This was all Cyrille wanted - to be able to hold you and stay with you after your long and torrid sessions, without fear of being the reason that someone hurt you. 

And it wasn’t just that, Cyrille thought guiltily and sorrowfully. It wasn’t just about others around him hurting you. It was about him hurting you too.

He sighed. 

That short, curt, and disappointed sound made you open your eyes. You’d been peacefully floating on a cloud of bliss when you heard his upset sound. 

You blinked up at him with wide eyes, wondering what could be wrong.

Seeing your soft eyes looking up at him in concern, Cyrille said to you, “Angel. I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“I... I should have been softer tonight. I should have made love to you...”

You did your best to cock your head at him. “You did make love to me, though... Isn’t that what we just did?” 

Cyrille gave you the soft smile you were trying to elicit from him, but it slid off his face quickly. “No,” he said. As he spoke, his eyes were downcast and heavy. “I should have treated you much more gently...”

Cyrille purposefully cut himself off there, not wanting to force you back into the mindset of thinking about your family all over again, or of potentially ruining the blissful mood created by your shy, shared confessions.

Instead, Cyrille focused on apologizing for his actions. He told you sincerely, “I’m sorry. I know I’m not good at this. The way I want to be with you... It’s a mystery to me as to how to show that to you sometimes. I’m so used to pretending with my lovers. I don’t know how to actually be there for you when you need me, and to show you my... Well, I suppose my love for you, angel.” 

Those last words made your heart leap. But in this moment, you focused on responding to Cyrille, gently shaking your head at him. “You gave me exactly what I wanted,” you reassured him. “And the rest... the rest we’ll figure out together, my love.”

Cyrille froze. My love. That’s what you had just called him. It was one of his old nicknames that you’d had for him... Cyrille swallowed hard.

“What?” you asked, suddenly nervous that you’d said something wrong.

“Nothing,” Cyrille said softly but his voice was slightly hoarse. He leaned down and claimed your lips passionately. 

“Angel,” he breathed out. “Angel, I’ve missed you so very much...” 

In his mind, he added, Thank you for deciding to love me again. 

You kissed him back lovingly. Reaching up, you brushed his long silver hair back from his face. And for once, you could read - completely and with no doubt in your heart what was written in his eyes, and in his heart - his love for you. 

And then, Cyrille asked you quietly, “Angel, you keep asking me to leave with you. Tell me, would you truly run away with me?”

“Yes,” you told him softly, with no hesitation.

Cyrille blinked quickly. Then, he reached out and switched places with you, so that instead of you lying back on the carriage seat, and having him on top of you, you were now the one on top of him. This way, he could cradle you and hug you tightly without being afraid of putting too much of his weight on you. 

He squeezed you tightly in his arms as he whispered in your ear, in a voice full of feeling, “Angel, you’re my everything.” 

Your eyes flashed wide open. He couldn’t see you, but you were suddenly about to cry. I’ve never been enough for anyone I loved... James... My mother... Now, he tells me I’m his everything. 

Cyrille felt your shoulders tremble a little in his embrace. “Are you crying?” he asked you softly.

“No,” you said, but your voice indicated otherwise. 

"You don’t need to hide anything you’re feeling from me,” Cyrille whispered to you. “I want to know you, angel.” 

Your curls shook slightly as you buried your face against his chest in response.

It suddenly occurred to Cyrille that you needed to be taken care of. Furthermore, you were both totally naked. Well, you were in your garter set, but still. Without displacing you on his chest, Cyrille was able to reach down to the floor and grab your wand and his long outer cloak. He handed you your wand, saying, “Here.” 

You performed the usual Cleansing and Prevention Spells on yourself. 

“I would... do it twice,” Cyrille suggested to you. “Just to make sure.”

Afterwards, Cyrille dragged his cloak over your body to cover you up and keep you warm. Then, he wrapped his arms around you again and gave you a kiss on the top of your head. 

You curled up on his chest. “Am I hurting you?” you asked him softly, worried about pressing up against his chest too much. “Your scars, I mean.”

“No, angel, you’re not hurting me. You’re just keeping me warm,” he told you.

You peeked out from under the cloak at him.

Cyrille smiled at you, but seeing your tired, though still adorable and bright eyes, he said, “We should get you to bed.”

“No,” you protested at once, popping your head out from underneath the cloak. “I want to stay with you.” 

You shook your head so fervently that the cloak nearly slipped off of you. Cyrille just managed to catch it before it fell. He brought it up around you again. 

He gazed down at you, and you were staring up at him with your fierce, defiant eyes.

“All right,” Cyrille gave in. “All right. Let’s stay together, then.” 

And you did. The two of you stayed together just like that, in that tiny bench in the carriage. You both wandered off to sleep, fading in and out of unconsciousness. Unaccustomed to sleeping in a carriage sitting in the outdoors and a little uncomfortable on that cramped bench, every so often, one of you would halfway wake up, and then you’d press soft kisses on the other that the other would respond to, but never remember. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Finally, a pale blue dawn broke over the horizon, and a long sweet night of breathless confessions, murmuring kisses, and unfinished dreams came to an end, as marked by the coming daylight. 

Cyrille, who had been trained to wake up at the slightest disturbance, opened his eyes tiredly. 

He looked down, and seeing you there, curled up on his chest, and holding the raven pendant loosely in your little hand, he couldn’t help but smile softly.

My dream has come true... To wake up with angel... 

But, Cyrille thought with a sigh, she must be uncomfortable like this. And I can’t have her showing up to the castle in a ripped dress in front of everyone, and with me at her side, can I? I should make sure she’s safe and comfortable before everyone else wakes up.

I know for a fact that Yaxley saw us last night, and I can’t have him confirming anything, Cyrille thought grimly. 

But Cyrille was so torn between not wanting to let you go and needing you to be safe and comfortable. 

Finally, after slipping out very slowly and carefully from under you, he managed to dress in his pants and inner button-up shirt. Then, he managed to wrap you up without waking you in his longer cloak. He stuffed your dress, the masks, and your earrings into the pocket of his cloak, too, magicking it all to fit. Then, he carefully took you up to the prefects’ bathroom, hoping that no one would be there at this hour, especially after the night of the Yule Ball. 

Cyrille had been a Slytherin prefect as a fifth-year, and as such, was still granted access to the bathrooms, even though he didn’t really have any duties anymore, between new prefects and the assignment of a seventh-year Head Boy. 

There was a long lounge bench that was as soft as a bed in the bathroom. He laid you down gently on it, still wrapped in your cloak. He slid a fluffy towel under your head as a pillow. Then, sitting on the floor next to you, he nodded off too. 

#fanfic #fanfiction #cyrille lestrange #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x lily evans #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #marauders #marauders era

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 11

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.] [Chapter-Specific Warning: Light Mention of Non-Sexual Physical Fighting] *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 were different from James. You took longer to break.

You’d always prided yourself on being strong. And now, it felt like you were being put to the test. 

Still, you thought you managed to carry yourself through with dignity on most days.��

It became tougher and tougher, though, as you saw what you’d always predicted - James and Lily slowly becoming closer.

And then it happened. After Transfiguration, on your way to the Great Hall for lunch, you saw them at the top of the staircase. Their hands brushed against each other, then their fingers caught, and slowly and shyly, Lily and James found themselves holding hands. 

You quickly turned around and started to make your way back into the classrooms when you bumped into someone. Though you meant to apologize, you didn’t stop to say anything as you hurriedly tried to make your way through the crowd.

Annoyed, a few people began yelling at you for shouldering into them. As the yells sounded out, James and Lily, both thinking of their Head Boy and Girl duties, looked down. James frowned. Then, he recognized your familiar curls and figure trying desperately to make your way through the crowd. 

Shit, James thought, did she just see...? He instinctively began to step forward when he felt a strong grasp come down on his shoulder.

“I’d say you had your chance.” 

James turned around to see Cyrille Lestrange gripping his shoulder. Cyrille wasn’t looking at James. Rather, he, too, was watching your figure struggle against the current of the crowd. 

“Get your hand off of me,” James snarled.

“James...” Lily called out to him. Her wand was already out.

Cyrille glanced over at her and scoffed. “If I was anything but a Slytherin, would you be so quick to draw your wand?”

He shook his head and let go of James’ shoulder.

“Now,” Cyrille said, “if you’d be so kind as not to hex me on my way out, Head Girl.” 

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

Guess you’re not as strong you thought you were, you taunted yourself bitterly as you cried into your hands, alone in one of the empty classrooms. It’s been nearly two months. What did you expect? You knew what was going to happen. That’s why you broke up with him in the first place. 

“Rough day?”

Startled, you leapt to your feet and then, nonsensically, you hiccupped.

Cyrille Lestrange laughed lightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” you said warily. 

“Mm, I came after the crying girl. What about you?” Cyrille said conversationally. 

You quickly wiped your face with your sleeve. Stoutly, you said, “I came to be alone.” 

“Of course you did,” Cyrille replied easily. “Because you’re used to it.” 

“What are you talking about?” you said coldly.

Cyrille cocked his head slightly. He bit his lower lip, as though debating what to say. Then, as his lip slipped back out from between his teeth, now glistening slightly, he murmured, “Well, not to put my finger too close to the wound, but he was never really there for you, was he?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “What would you know?” you said harshly. “You don’t know anything about me, or my relationships.”

“Maybe,” Cyrille replied quietly. “And it’s true that I haven’t any right to judge you. Still, even I knew that the two of you weren’t going to last.”

Your cheeks burned with anger and shame. 

“Yes, I know the whole school knew that my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend- ” you corrected yourself, “was in love with someone else. I know.” 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then, what did you mean?” you hissed at Cyrille. 

“I simply meant that...  there is a certain darkness in you,” Cyrille answered simply.  “And while people like James Potter and Lily Evans are born to live in the light, people like you and me are not.” 

You stepped up closer to Cyrille and staring up at him with defiant eyes, you told him clearly, “I am not like you.”

“You deny it so quickly,” Cyrille said, not backing down one bit. “Your defensiveness... Would you like to tell me where it comes from? Or shall I tell you where it comes from...?”

He tilted his head down and to the side to look at you. As he did so, his long, wispy front fringe hair slipped over his face for a moment, and the way the light reflected off of his hair and into his eyes seemed to make his silver eyes shine. 

“Because I could, you know,” he said quietly. 

You blinked, momentarily mesmerized by the soft glimmer of his usually sharp silver eyes. 

“I know,” Cyrille whispered to you. “I know who are you are.”

You hesitated. He knows? No, what could he possibly know about me? Who is Cyrille Lestrange, anyways, except one of them - those pureblood Slytherins who thought they were better than everyone else? You’d certainly already had enough of them to last you a lifetime. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” you growled. Step siding him, you hurriedly passed him, leaving Cyrille Lestrange behind in that empty classroom.

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

“Are you really all right? I mean, I know you aren’t. Because nobody would be entirely okay, but... I’m worried about you.”

“I’m all right, Em. Thanks,” you said, looking up at your friend. 

Emmeline sighed. She came and sat next to you on your bed. “Do you want to go out with me tonight? To a party.” 

“No, not re- ”

“Wait, at least pretend to think about it,” Emmeline said, laughing a little. 

“Fine. Whose party is it?”

“Bagman’s.”

“Who?”

“Ludo Bagman. You know what he’s like - always gloating that he’s going to be a Quidditch star.” Emmeline rolled her eyes. “But he does throw good parties. He goes all out.” 

“Of course,” Emmeline said. “We’d have to drink here or down in the Slytherin dungeons first. I heard the Hufflepuff prefect this year is really strict about drinking, so all the Hufflepuffs are drinking beforehand in their dorm rooms instead of sharing the drinks in the common room. We could go up to Ravenclaw Tower, but most of them are splitting between Gryffindor and Slytherin as is.”

“Em, this is starting to sound like battlefield strategy, not a fun night out,” you replied. 

She giggled. “Yeah, a bit. Still, it’ll keep your mind... off things. Things you’d probably rather not think about, right?”

You frowned a little at her comment. It was as if someone had said, “Don’t think about the elephant” - you immediately thought of an elephant.

“Right, that comment probably brought it all back,” Emmeline scolded herself as she realized the effect of her comment a step too late. “Sorry. I’m a terrible friend.”

You finally laughed, amused at her. “You’re not. You’re my best friend.”

“Then, what do you say, best friend?” Emmeline waggled her eyebrows playfully at you. “Want to come along tonight? Hestia and Amelia will be there too.”

“Oh, all right,” you gave in, but your grumpy tone was just an act to play along with Emmeline. You actually thought - or rather, hoped that - this was a good idea. It could help you to remember all of times you’d had fun before you’d loved - and lost - James Potter.

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

You looked through your wardrobe, finally having a reason to reach past your student robes. You did, in fact, have nice, dressy clothes. You’d like to dress up before, though you hadn’t in a long time. After starting to see James, you much preferred spending evenings curled up with him. 

Stop that, you told yourself. Stop that now.

You pulled on a dress you’d bought a few years back. Its design featured a halter top without any sleeves, but a silk ribbon tied at the back of your neck. It was slightly shorter than you remembered, but still fitting. 

"You should put your hair up,” Emmeline suggested. “The bow is all covered up by your curls.”

“Oh...” You smiled. “It’s all right. I’ll just keep it down for tonight.” 

You hesitated as you picked through your sparse jewelry. You had a bracelet Emmeline bought you for you birthday, a necklace James had gifted you with for your first anniversary - Nope, definitely not that one. When the memory of James putting the necklace on you before kissing you fervently suddenly rose up in your mind, you quickly slammed the drawer shut. 

“You all right?”

“Yes. I just - My hand slipped,” you told Emmeline.

“Oh,” she replied. “Well, you dropped something.”

“Hm?”

Emmeline nodded at the floor. A small black velvet bag had fallen out of the corner of the drawer when you’d slammed it shut.

You bent down and picked it up. What is this?

You carelessly dumped out the contents on the dresser in front of you. 

Your eyes widened. 

Two dangling earrings of pure gold, embedded with amethysts and shaped in hoops, each with a curved end coming out to indicate a tail, spilled out onto the dresser.

You recognized it immediately. The hoops were supposed to harken back to crouching panthers... 

Emmeline had spotted the jewelry. “I’ve never seen you wear that,” she said, surprised. “It’s really pretty. Looks expensive.”

“It is,” you murmured. “It’s... my mother’s jewelry.” 

“Oh, really? Is it symbolic?” Emmeline asked you. “I mean, is amethyst your birth stone or something?”

You stared down at them. I put them away for a reason. But... perhaps I should wear them tonight. It’ll remind me that... I come from somewhere. That I was someone before the past couple months happened to me. 

“No,” you said softly. “It’s not my birthstone.”

You slowly put them on. 

“Here.” 

You started a little when Emmeline gently grasped your wrist. You watched her as she tied a pretty dark red ribbon around your wrist. 

“It’s my good luck ribbon,” Emmeline told you, smiling. “I was wearing it in my hair when I met Jonathan.” Jonathan was her boyfriend. They’d been going steady for three years now. 

“It matches your dress color, anyways,” Emmeline said. 

“Thank you.” You held out your wrist for a moment, admiring the ribbon. 

“Ready?” Emmeline asked.

You nodded and reached your hand out to her. She took it, and the two of you walked down to the Gryffindor common room.

The party was already in full swing. The first thing you heard was Frank yelling, “No wonder Gryffindor’s going to shit. None of our Heads or prefects care about the rules anymore!” 

Emmeline looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened. You started to follow her line of sight, but she grabbed your shoulder.

“Em, what- ?” 

But at that moment, you realized exactly what. James was sitting on the couch, throwing a gobstone at cups of alcohol lined up in front of him. He did it while sitting because Lily was sitting in his lap, leaning happily against his shoulder and with her arms around him. 

“I’m sorry,” Emmeline began, but you shook her head at her.

“Of course they’re together, Em. And it’s certainly not your fault. Don’t... Don’t worry about it.” 

Before Emmeline could say anything else, you mumbled, “I’m... going to go get drinks at the Slytherin common room. See you at Hufflepuff’s later.”

With that, you left before Emmeline could protest or James could notice you leaving.

When you left, you didn’t seriously entertain the notion of going all the way to the Slytherin dungeons just to get drunk, but a minute later, a group of Gryffindor sixth-years that you vaguely knew came out. Feeling that it would be awkward to just stand there as people passed you by, you tagged along with them, though you kept your distance and stayed back a few feet. 

The longer you walked, though, the more vividly imprinted the vision of Lily sitting in James’ lap became. You sighed and stopping, you brought your hand up to your face and pressed it gently against your eyes.

What am I doing? you questioned yourself. While it’s true that I can’t just sit around and mope all the time if I expect to get better, going out on my own like this isn’t going to do me any good, either... 

You dropped your hand and started to turn around, but you bumped directly into someone. 

“I’m sor- ” you began, but then you realized who it was.

“Lost?” a drawling voice rang out. “I would expect so, if it’s you. Mudbloods don’t have any common sense, let along a sense of direction. Particularly when they’re Gryffindor Mudbloods.” 

“Shut the hell up, Yaxley,” you growled. “I’m not in the mood.”  

Yaxley, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, stared down at you. A strange smile was playing at his lips, and it unsettled you. 

Crabbe shook his head and said, “Yaxley, we’re going ahead.” 

“Sure,” Yaxley said easily.

Crabbe and Goyle left.

As soon as they turned the corner, Yaxley stepped towards you.

“Not in the mood? For what?” he asked you. 

He suddenly smirked as he said, “You know, maybe you should have been a Slytherin. In this light, you look just like your mother.”

You froze. “W-What?” 

Yaxley’s eyes glimmered victoriously. “You heard what I said. You look just like your pathetic Mudblood mo- ”

Slap! A loud, sharp sound resounded in the hallway as your open palm made contact with the side of Yaxley’s face.

“You bitch!” Yaxley suddenly grabbed your wrist and threw you against the wall. 

You gasped as your shoulder collided hard with the stone wall. With a shaking hand, you reached for your wand, but Yaxley had already whipped his wand out and pointed it at you.

“You’ll pay for that!” he snarled at you.  

Too furious to acknowledge the pain running through your shoulder, you hissed back, “Try your worst, you bastard!”

Yaxley raised his wand, and was about to take you up on your taunt, starting to say, “Sect-” when a thin voice interrupted quietly, murmuring, “Yaxley. If you complete that jinx, I’ll be sending your detached limbs to the party on their own.” 

Both of you whirled around to see Cyrille Lestrange standing in the hallway. 

“Crabbe and Goyle told me that you were caught-up...” Cyrille said lightly. “I see they were being kind with their words...or naïve, rather.”

For one brief moment, Cyrille’s eyes flickered over to you. “Get out of here. You’re not welcome. You should know that.”

But you weren’t about to back down. You certainly weren’t going to spend the rest of the night in fear of Yaxley, not when he had goaded you first. 

When you didn’t move, you thought you saw Cyrille sigh a little. But he merely said, “Yaxley. Stay. I want a word.”

You lifted your eyebrow and twirling your wand in your hand, you turned to Yaxley and said, “If you still want to duel after you’ve been scolded, I’ll make it easy for you and wait for you in the Slytherin common room. I doubt the likes of you, pure-blood, will be able to make your way up to Gryffindor Tower without getting lost.”

Yaxley’s fingers twitched on his wand.

Cyrille shot you a menacing glare. “I said ‘get out of here.’” His voice slipped into a more nuanced, yet no less threatening tone as he continued, “If you don’t, I’m sure I could have the Head Boy come down here and escort you.”

Yaxley snorted. “Would he? He’s fucking that redhead- ”

You raised your wand directly at Yaxley’s face. When Yaxley immediately reciprocated, Cyrille stepped forward faster than you could imagine and harshly shoved you back. He looked over his shoulder at you and in a growl, he ordered, “Get. Out.”

Your eyes narrowed at Cyrille, too, but when you saw Yaxley’s fingers start to tighten around his wand, you figured that it was a smart move to back away. 

You slowly retreated, blood boiling.

But as soon as you turned the corridor, instead of immediately entering the Slytherin common room, you pressed your back against the wall and listened in on Cyrille and Yaxley’s conversation.

You could overhear Yaxley saying exasperatedly, “I wasn’t going to fuck her, for Merlin’s sake. I was going to hurt her. I know we don’t fuck Mudbloods, Lestrange. Don’t patronize me.”

You had to strain to hear Cyrille’s response, and even then, it was difficult to pick up on exactly what he was saying... The cadence of his voice was so subtle.

“Yaxley, if you lay a single finger on her... sorely regret...” 

You frowned. Is Cyrille talking about how purebloods aren’t supposed to sleep with Muggle-borns? Is he telling Yaxley to lay off on me because he’d regret or be punished for having anything to do with me?

“Do I make myself clear?” Cyrille asked Yaxley. Even you could hear the ice-cold seriousness of his voice. You shivered slightly and clutched your wand tighter.

Yaxley was quiet for a moment. Then, he sighed, “Yes, Lestrange. You know I’d never directly disobey you.” 

“But,” Yaxley stressed, “watch your back.”

“I know, Yaxley,” Cyrille said, and he sounded tired. “I’m well aware you and everyone else are just waiting to slit my throat in my sleep.”

Yaxley chuckled. “I’d enjoy that very much. And you can’t say you don’t have it coming to you.”

Cyrille replied quietly, “I know full well what I deserve.”  

Then, you heard footsteps coming towards you. 

You hurriedly raced into the Slytherin common room and awkwardly hid behind a group of Ravenclaws who were drinking and partying.   

Yaxley and Cyrille came in just a moment later. 

You stepped forward and drawled loudly, “Yaxley? A duel?”

Everyone around you stopped at your words. 

Yaxley’s eyes shifted from you to Cyrille, who was besides him - and staring at you through slits. 

“No,” Yaxley relented. “You’re not worth it. I’d preferred if my night stayed Mudblood-free.”

“Don’t use that word!” one of Ravenclaws said angrily. 

Yaxley merely shot the Ravenclaw a pleased smirk before going on his way.

“Cyrille.” Another Slytherin, a girl, walked out of the crowd and approached him. “You’re late. We were waiting for you.” 

“Thank you,” Cyrille replied in a soft voice. He reached out and touched the girl’s face gently. “But, go on without me.” 

“What?” She sounded surprised. “But we were waiting- ”

“I said to go on without me.” This time, there was a definite coldness in Cyrille’s voice.

“Fine,” the girl replied, and a note of anxiety entered her voice. “I understand. We’ll go.”

“Good.” Cyrille’s voice returned to his usual lightness. “Thank you.”

A large group of Slytherins, including the girl that Cyrille had just spoken to, Crabbe, Goyle, and Yaxley walked out of the room together, clearly headed to Hufflepuff’s common room. 

You aimlessly wandered over to the drinks table, thoughtlessly pouring yourself a drink and downing it as you waited for the Slytherin crowd to have a long head start before you followed them up to meet Emmeline. After a moment, you poured yourself another - downed it - and poured yourself another... 

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

“You. I want you. I need a word with you.” 

A slender, but strong hand grasped the end of the ribbon trailing from your wrist and pulled you away from the drinks table, where you’d been lounging about happily for the past hour or so.

You’d managed to merge yourself with the group of Ravenclaws as they started their drinking games. They invited you to come along to the Hufflepuff party with them, but when you said, a bit fuzzily, that you didn’t want to have to deal with “Slytherin scum like Yaxley” again tonight, they didn’t push it. Most likely, they didn’t want to give you any opportunity to start full-on bad-mouthing Slytherins in their own common room, since there were still a ton of Slytherins around. In fact, after you said that, the Ravenclaw group hastily left you.  

You returned every Slytherin’s glare as you sat there and drank their alcohol (all expenses paid out of their deep pockets). You even tipped your glass to a Slytherin who called out to you as a “pathetic wretch.” 

“That’s an outdated one, all right,” you murmured to yourself. “Hag. Hasn’t she heard any recent insults, or did she learn them all from her decrepit grandmother?” 

“’Decrepit’ is also outdated,” a voice said wryly from next to you.

“Lestrange,” you said curtly. “What do you want?”

He replied calmly, “You. I want you. I need a word with you.” 

Before you could find a witty retort, Cyrille had grasped the end of the ribbon tied around your wrist and pulled you away.

As Cyrille Lestrange led you out of the Slytherin common room, you stared at his long hair running down his back. Is it blonde? Or white? It looks silver in the moonlight... His fingers are holding the end of my ribbon... He didn’t grasp my wrist, but this feels more intimate somehow, as though he’s leading me somewhere carefully, almost lovingly... And his fingers are clutching onto the ribbon so tightly... Why? What does he want with me?

What could Cyrille Lestrange possibly want with me? 

You felt like you’d been walking for a while, and you definitely were not walking to Hufflepuff’s common room. Is he taking me back to the Gryffindor common room? 

Abruptly, you jerked your hand away. The ribbon pulled loose, though thankfully the last knot stayed around your wrist. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

Cyrille turned when he felt the silky fabric of the ribbon abruptly slip from his fingers. With a soft sigh, he mused, “Should I be relieved you’re awake enough to ask that question?”

“What?” you snapped. “Of course I’m awake.”

“It was a figure of speech - because you’re clearly incredibly drunk.” 

You lifted your hand and pointed your finger at him, trying to make yourself focus in front of you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m taking you to the Astronomy Tower,” he replied straightforwardly. “Now, come.” 

“No.” 

Cyrille paused. “It’s risky to have this conversation out here, where anyone might pass by and hear us...”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you told him firmly.

Cyrille let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I am trying to help you. And you are making it very difficult.”

“You’re not trying to help me,” you said, unimpressed. You swayed slightly where you stood, but you managed to cross your arms in an attempt to look menacing.

Cyrille was also unimpressed by your drunken attempt at a “show of authority,” but he knew better than to say it. 

“You have no motive to help someone like me,” you said accusingly. “So, I don’t know what you want from me, but you need to leave me alone.”

Cyrille had fallen silent at your words. Finally, he murmured, “Yes, you’re right in that I have no reason to help someone like you.”

“See - ?” you began to say.

“ - But you’re you...” Cyrille finished quietly. His gaze had fallen and he was now staring at the ground between you. 

You hesitated. Why does he look so sad? Am I drunker than I am I think? No... That’s not right. Am I drunker than I think I am...? Yes, there we go. Oh! No, don’t get distracted. Focus on the situation. Focus on Cyrille.

Yes, focus on... Cyrille... Lestrange...

Wait, is it just me, or is he getting closer?

“Don’t touch me,” you said sharply. 

He immediately stopped where he was. “I would never,” he said quietly. “Not without your permission.” 

"It’s just that...” He slowly reached out. Just like that time you’d run into him on the Astronomy Tower, his fingertips traced your neck and shoulders without actually touching you. 

“... I wonder if you realize that you’re bruised,” Cyrille wondered aloud, his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes took in the bruises that had formed from Yaxley throwing you against the wall. “It seems... you have a tendency not to realize your own wounds.” 

And just like last time, you felt the same sense of electricity spring up between the two of you. Only it was heightened... Why? Why does it feel so... intimate and intense? Is it because it’s the dead of night and we’re together, just the two of us, in the hallway? Or is it because we’re wearing different clothing than our usual daytime school clothes? He’s in a light blazer and in a grey silk button-up and I’m in this halter dress with my mother’s earrings on... I wish I hadn’t worn this dress. I can feel the top of my thighs peeking out from the hem. I don’t like that my shoulders are so exposed, either... Not that Cyrille Lestrange would care. But it just makes me feel vulnerable. Right, so it must be the clothes... Or is simply that I’m drunk...? 

Whatever the reason, the passing back and forth of energy between the two of you, despite being two very different souls, was undeniable... 

“Breathe.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath.

Cyrille was gazing down at you, watching you with soft, yet tense eyes. 

Again, that glistening silver encapsulating his irises... It makes it impossible to tell what he’s actually thinking. 

But what does it matter? You abruptly pulled yourself out of this strange, floating world that you found yourself in with Cyrille. 

“You can’t... You can’t fool me,” you said, though the words came out less convincing than you’d hoped. “I heard you tonight with Yaxley, telling him to stay away from me because I’m a ‘Mudblood.’ You should take your own advice, and stay the hell away from me.”

“You’re entirely wrong.” Cyrille’s voice was quite clear, and there was not a moment of hesitation in his reply. “I’m not like Yaxley.” 

“Wrong?” you repeated, not comprehending what he meant by that.

Cyrille took another step closer to you. 

You immediately fell back against the wall. 

He bent his head to look down at you. It occurred to you just then how much taller he was than you... 

Cyrille watched the moonlight flicker softly across your face for a moment before meeting your eyes and beginning to speak.

“One,” Cyrille said softly, “I don’t believe Muggle-borns are any different from purebloods.”

Don’t believe him, you warned yourself. Don’t lower your guards. He’s only telling you what you want to hear.

You dropped your eyes away from his gaze, because his eyes made it very hard for you to think clearly. Instead, you found yourself staring at a raven emblem. What is that? Oh, it’s a necklace... It’s Cyrille’s necklace. 

“And two,” Cyrille continued, “Yaxley thinks your mother was a Muggle-born. But she wasn’t. And I know that you are also not a Muggle-born. You’re not even a Half-Blood.”

“What... are you saying?” you breathed out. Your head was spinning at the unexpected turn of events. Your heart was pounding frantically in your chest. Can it be...? Does he really know? 

Cyrille lifted his hand and without touching you, gently grazed your earring with the back of his hand. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he whispered. “You have on your mother’s earrings. They’re passed down generation to generation... among the Rosiers.”

Your eyes flew open. Your heart leapt into your throat. 

Cyrille paused. “No reply?” he said, and you could hear the cruel smirk in his voice. “I suppose you thought you could get away with wearing these. The panther crest is rather subtle.”

“You’re wrong,” you managed to say, but your voice was hoarse. “The emblem for Rosier isn’t a panther. It’s a rose. That’s - That’s obvious.”

“Yes,” Cyrille agreed. “Too obvious. Like a serpent would be for the Lestranges, so they chose a raven.”

Almost as though in a spell, you found yourself reaching out and laying your fingertips on his necklace pendant. Your undone ribbon trailed down your wrist and fluttered gently against the front of his shirt. 

Cyrille’s gaze followed your hand. He nodded a little as he acknowledged, “Even then, they call me ‘Serpent Prince.’ Or at least, you foolish Gryffindors do.” 

Your head snapped back at his comment and you glared up at him. Silver eyes or not, I’ll rip that serpent’s tongue right out of his mouth, you thought furiously. Who is he to know who I am? When nobody else knows my identity... Not even James or Emmeline. 

How...? In the back of your mind, the question began to form like a dangerous serpent awakening. How did he know that I was a Rosier?

Your mind whispered to you in a snake-like voice - your mother’s voice - a voice you hadn’t heard for many long years. It said, you know how to find out. You know how to discover people’s secrets. I taught you. I trained you. 

It’s wrong, you argued back with yourself. I’ve never used those tactics, and I won’t start using them now.

Remaining firm in your convictions, you looked back up at Cyrille and began to demand, “I don’t care what you know. Stay away from- ”

But your voice died away when you realized that Cyrille was very, very still - almost like he was restraining himself with everything he had, almost as though he wasn’t breathing.

So it’s not just me, you realized. Whatever this... tension is that I’m feeling, he’s feeling it too. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse. While you were relieved that you hadn’t just singularly made up this strange spark between you both, it was simultaneously nerve-wracking to think that it was real. 

Twice the chance of a mistake, you thought to yourself blurrily. But if there was anything you knew about Cyrille Lestrange, it was that he was always in control. If anything happened today, you knew there was a ninety-nine percent chance that the fault would lie with you. Right, I need to get out of here. What am I still doing in a hallway, pressed up against a wall, with Cyrille Lestrange standing in front of me anyways? Plus, I’m drunk. I need to get out of here before I do or say anything foolish... 

Foolish... What would I do that was foolish? You hesitated, and then you looked up at Cyrille. 

His expression surprised you. As he looked down at you, his long eyelashes nearly kissed his lower eyeline as he gazed down at you with those inscrutable eyes. Yet, you thought you could make out at least one emotion in those eyes of his - a terrible loneliness... 

“You’re... too close,” you breathed out abruptly. 

Cyrille hesitated. Then, he confessed, “I know I am. I’m sorry.” 

“You... are?” you said wonderingly. 

Cyrille nodded gently, but he didn’t move. You could tell that he was building up the courage to say something.

You both stayed like that for a while, with you pressed against the wall, and him, as close to you as he could be without pressing into you. The back of his long fingers was still brushing up against your mother’s earring, and the utmost tips of your fingers were still lying on the raven pendant on his chest. 

And throughout it all, there was this inexplicable and ongoing electricity in the air between the two of you. In fact, if you focused, you could feel Cyrille’s finger shivering ever so slightly against your earring, in contrast to his completely still body. If his finger were to slip and touch me... what would happen? But you wouldn’t let your mind go down that pathway, even while drunk.

What is it between us that’s causing this feeling? you had to wonder again. It’s just because it’s nighttime, and we’re here alone, you told yourself. It must be the moonlight spilling in through the long hallway windows, making everything feel so dreamlike... I almost feel like I’m underwater. I can’t breathe around him - No! Stop.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself. It’s just the alcohol. You paused. Is it? Or is it possible that there’s something more? After all, how did he know about my heritage in the first place? 

He even knows what he’s “supposed” to know, what Yaxley and the other pure-bloods know - that is, the story that my family put out to cover up my disgrace: that my mother was a “Mudblood” who lied to the rest of the family and had me, and that’s why I ended up as a “Gryffindor, Mudblood-loving lunatic...” 

Your thoughts swirled around incohesively. What should I do? My past, present, and future are all colliding somehow. 

If I decide to find out how Cyrille discovered my true bloodline, I can’t underestimate him. His own skills of observation and manipulation are going to be far more practiced than mine. And he seems a natural at it. It’ll be a strange sort-of war between us within the small world of Hogwarts, if I decide to hold onto this trail... And yet, why not? Why shouldn’t I follow through? I’m... not afraid of him. But even as you thought that, you felt your normally steadfast courage waver in your heart. 

Just then, Cyrille finally seemed to make a calculated decision in his mind. He spoke in a barely audible voice as he said to you, “You likely don’t remember me, but it’s been so long since I’ve been with you. Would you... let me hold you? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

What... did he just ask? Your eyes widened in complete and utter disbelief. Did he just ask to hold me? 

“Cyri -?” you began, astonished. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he repeated softly, as if that was the issue in all of this madness. “I know you don’t have your memories back. But may I please hold you, just this once?” 

Your mouth fell open. Of all the things he might have said... this I never expected. And... what did he say about my memories? 

“But,” he whispered, “if you say no, of course I won’t. After all, your wish is my command.” 

There it is again, that phrase, “your wish is my command”... Why? Why does that stir something within me? 

Cyrille saw the struggle in your eyes and the tension in your body. He fully expected rejection, and was not at all surprised when you said, “No, I don’t... I don’t want you to.” 

He immediately began to turn away, but he stopped short when he felt a light tug on the back of his blazer. He looked behind him to see that you’d just grasped the end of his blazer with two uncertain fingers. 

“Not here,” you told him quietly. “Let’s go... Let’s go up to the Astronomy Tower.”

It took everything Cyrille had not to look shocked, but after years of practicing controlling his expressions and emotions, Cyrille managed to give you a straightforward and almost cold nod. 

Straight away, he took the lead and began to walk up to the Astronomy Tower. His blazer slipped from between your fingers. For a moment, you watched him walk away from you, thinking, I don’t trust you at all, Cyrille Lestrange. I know how people like you work. I’ve seen it before - manipulation and seduction all the time. 

I don’t believe anything you say. All I can trust is my own intuition and knowledge. And what I know is that you know my identity, and... there is a strange electricity that arises whenever you get too close to me. 

Although I don’t trust you, I need to figure out what this all means. And for that, I need to figure out... you.

#fanfiction #fanfic #cyrille lestrange #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x lily evans #marauders #marauders era #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 14

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: Light Mention of Domestic Abuse.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Overtones, Choking, Slight Degradation, and Sadism.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. The choking in this post is also extreme, and should never be engaged in anywhere near this extent in real life. *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 were waiting outside of the Transfiguration classroom. It was about ten minutes to class. People were flowing through the corridor, though a fair number of other students were also gathered around the doorway to the Transfiguration classroom. 

James and Sirius were throwing a magical bouncing ball against the wall of the castle. The “magical” part came from a Random Animation Spell, which meant that the physics of the ball were entirely unpredictable. As it bounced brightly off of the corridor wall, the ball nearly hit Lily in the face, as she was standing close by James and Sirius. Reflexively, she yelled and swatted at it with her hand. It shot straight into Sirius’ face. With a loud groan, he fell back, holding his face and landing on his arse. 

James burst into merry laughter. “That’s one for Lils, and zilch for you, Pads - and she wasn’t even in the game!” he shouted joyfully, slinging his arm around Lily and bringing her in for a sweet, loving kiss. 

“You’re the best, Lils. I love that temper of yours,” he told her cheekily. “You know, you should try out for Beater. I bet you could take Sirius’ place. And I reckon you’d have a fair shot of getting on the team, since you know- ” he puffed out his chest “- your boyfriend’s captain and all.”

“Oh, James,” Lily said, rolling her eyes at him but unable to wholly hide the smile spreading across her amused face. “Has it ever occurred to you that there are humbler ways to brag?”

“No, I’ve got to have you know how cool I am,” James teased her right back. “It’s the only way to show that I could ever deserve you. And you know - I am pretty cool. Head Boy, Quidditch Captain - not bad even for Lily Evans, eh?” Lifting a playful eyebrow at her, James tickled Lily, who burst out in happy laughter. She tried to push him away, shaking her head at his foolishness, but James caught her easily in his strong arms. She giggled, happy to be caught by him. 

Your heart lurched. I don’t want to see this. You quickly turned around, but as you did, you accidentally stepped away from the wall a little. Stepping into the current of students trying to get to class, your shoulder accidentally bumped someone else’s.

“Sorry,” you murmured. You tried to step back to the side of the corridor. However, you only managed to run into yet another person - this time, a person with a raven pendant on their chest. Your eyes traced up, even though you already knew full well whose face you were going to see.

Cyrille Lestrange was standing before you. But he didn’t look at all as he had only a few days ago, sitting in that dusty library with you, watching you with soft, amused eyes as you proudly calling him out for saying the word ‘fuck.’ No, there was not a trace of softness in his demeanor today. Instead, his brow was drawn together, and his eyes were dark and moody, promising a violent storm. His high cheekbones usually gave him an elegant and sharp appearance. Today, though, accompanied with a tightly clenched jaw, they made his face looked hollow, almost gaunt.

Is he ill? you wondered. 

“Out of the way,” he said to you thinly. He made to push you aside. From behind him, Yaxley, Crabbe, and Goyle stepped forward. Snickering at you, they passed you and made their way into the classroom door, which had just opened.

Cyrille, who had grabbed your shoulder as if to push you away, suddenly gripped you closer. He whispered into your ear, “Fifth floor corridor. Stairwell. Now.”

“Now? But it’s almost time for class...”

“You’ll get to class on time. Just go.” 

“But why- ?” 

“Don’t ask me why.” His eyes flashed up to you, ice-cold and irritated. “Go. Now.” 

You could refuse. You should refuse.

But you didn’t. Not because you were following his orders. But because you were worried about him. He seemed like an entirely different person from the person you’d been with in the library, or up on the Astronomy Tower.

You wanted to know what had happened to him. You wanted to know if he was all right, because it certainly did not seem like it.  

So, you made your way to the stairwell on the fifth floor corridor. It was deserted, as class was going to start in about ten minutes. 

You sat on the cold, deserted stairs, shivering a little as the breeze blew lightly through the stone corridor. 

Don’t ask me why, he’d said. You thought to yourself as to what this could mean. Well, I suppose the obvious answer is that we’re going to fuck, and he can’t very well say that in front of his Slytherin mates... 

But his demeanor... Is he always like that around the Slytherins? you wondered, running your hands up and down your arms to try to keep yourself warm. I can’t even remember what he was like before all of this started... 

You closed your eyes and tried to remember Cyrille Lestrange before all of this madness had spiraled out. You tried to recall what he’d been like when you were still dating James. Picturing him in your mind, sitting some ways away from you in Transfiguration class, you remembered thinking to yourself, Well, he’s just another Slytherin. Cold. Distant. And the Slytherins themselves seem to think of him that way, which makes him seem truly untouchable. 

You sighed. Even now, it feels like the only way to get even a little closer to him... is to submit to him. That’s not healthy, is it? I should be with someone like James. As much as he hurt me, I still think he’s just a genuinely good person. I mean, who else breaks up with their boyfriend because he’s too honest about everything? It never crossed James’ mind once to lie to me and whenever we made love, he was always so careful with me...

Cyrille’s the opposite. Everything about him is so calculating. His very aura is an instrument of control. Permission, yes, always - but for the purpose of possession, of total control, of complete domination. He chooses which moments he shows his influence, and remains in the shadows by choice otherwise. And when he looks at me, I can see the darkness in his eyes and I’m sure that in that darkness, he’s building traps for me to fall into. 

I shouldn’t be with someone like him. At all. I’ll only get drawn-in. I already find him so captivating, almost frighteningly so. When I’m around him, I feel like I’ve entered another world, just with him. I feel submerged in some watery, shifting world of illusions. It’s hard not to lose myself to him, even when I know he himself is an illusion. His voice is pure seduction. Why should his motives be any different? 

And yet... I can’t ignore the feeling that there’s something much deeper to him. It could be good or bad - I don’t know, and that scares me. But there’s something about him I can’t put my finger on. Every time he’s close to me, there’s that electricity between us... It’s hard not to chase that feeling. And what’s more, I feel like I’m supposed to know him. To... remember him... But from what?

“Your wish is my command.” 

I blinked. Where is that phrase from? Why can’t I remember? 

At that moment, Cyrille slipped in through the archway. 

You looked up at him.

When his eyes met yours, you swallowed hard. His gaze was cold - empty, almost, and arrogant. His silver eyes hosted the cruelty of steel - nothing entered them, and nothing escaped them. They promised nothing but darkness - violence, even. 

This was Cyrille Lestrange protecting himself. The only way he knows how to shield himself is by exuding an aura of violence. It’s to make others run away, but he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t want to be this way. You paused. How do I know this about him? Why am I so certain of who he really is...?

You challenged yourself, begging your own mind to come to its senses. Pull yourself together. You’re not some silly, lovesick girl. Neither is he just some innocent boy. Think about it, you urged yourself, how can I be of sure of what I believe... when everything about him is so unwelcoming?

Still, even with this aura of tightly, yet barely controlled chaos, to you, something within Cyrille seemed to shine brighter than ever, as though his spirit was learning to reflect starlight even though the daytime sun had obscured all the stars from view.

Even in his darkness, there’s a light there, you realized. And that’s what mesmerizes me. Because it’s a light I want to capture.

Neither of you had spoken, but slowly, you stood up and stepped out of the stairs and approached Cyrille.

He watched you, equally captivated by your stable and powerful energy. You were like the sun to him - unflinchingly bold and uncompromising in your warmth. 

Given his own darkness, he wanted you for himself so badly - to capture you and hold you in his heart. At the same time, he knew, without question, that you could never be his. You were too much for that- too much woman, too much lionness, and far too human.

Cyrille knew that he himself was but a reflection - a reflection of great power and cruelty, to be sure, but amounting to but a shallow reflection nonetheless. After all, from a young age, Cyrille had been taught to be a mirror. Mirror the situation, my boy, Rodolphus had taught him. Prey on other’s fears, and show them not what they want - but what they crave, what they fear - and in any situation, they will play straight into your hands, and you will never want for power or control again. As such, Cyrille’s seduction was not one that ever offered a solution. It was merely a mirror of a person’s desire, an acceptance of people’s ugliness. 

And so when Cyrille stood in front of you - you shattered him. Because you knew who were you, and you valued truth above desire. Why else would you have let James Potter go? Fool though he was, he likely would have stayed by your side, willingly and forever, if only you’d let him. But you only wanted him if he truly loved you. You didn’t want anything false or superficial. Because you were already strong in who you were. Your nature invited truth, and thus, it transcended all of the false seduction the world could offer you. That was what made you your own person - and no one could ever contain that, least of all a mirror.

Cyrille knew this already, which made it all the most mesmerizing when you slowly fell onto your knees in front of him while never breaking eye contact. It was like you were saying to him, Do what you will with me, make me your submissive. I’m still untameable.

Cyrille let out a labored sigh. He asked you tiredly, “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice held no sign of endearment. 

“You look like you need a release,” you replied, quiet, but unwavering.

“I do need a release...” Cyrille admitted darkly. “Are you offering me one?”

“...Yes.”

Cyrille reached down and grasped your throat at once. A cruel look passed through his eyes as he regarded you with icy disdain. 

You instinctively held your breath, but you stared right back at him. Perhaps I should be afraid of you, Cyrille Lestrange. But I’m not.

Slowly, Cyrille’s grasp on your throat loosened. Then, his hand lightly drew up your neck to your chin, and he gently pulled you up, back to your feet. He held your chin between his thumb and his curled up fingers for a moment longer before he let you go.

He sighed again, but softer this time. “Yes, a release...” 

“But not that kind of release,” he told you, turning away from you. 

“What, then?” you asked him.

He walked over to the stairs and sat down on them. Holding up his hand, he beckoned with two fingers for you to join him. 

Once you’d sat next to him, your knees touching his a little as you both tried to face each other on the narrow, curving staircase, Cyrille reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue container. He unscrewed it and dabbed his finger into the paste.

“Hold out your wrist,” he told you.

You complied, watching him curiously.

He gently rubbed the mint blue paste over his love mark on your wrist. You shivered as a freezing cold sensation burned your skin. But the next moment, the bruise seem to fade... The mark wasn’t entirely gone, but it had healed quite a substantial amount. 

You blinked in surprise. What kind of medicinal balm is this? Well, I wouldn’t know. We don’t learn Healing Magic at Hogwarts. It’s such advanced magic that you can’t begin to train for it until after you’ve taken your N.E.W.T.s and been accepted to St. Mungo’s, or some other equivalent institution.

“Open your hands,” Cyrille instructed you next.

You lifted your hands and showed him your palms, where crimson little crescents remained from your escapade with him in the library - specifically, when you’d gripped your hands into tight little fists, unable to take the overwhelming sensation of his fingers fucking your tight pussy, and you found yourself cumming too hard to withstand without releasing the energy somehow. 

Cyrille’s long fingers ran over both of your palms carefully, covering your scars with healing paste. “Hm it’s only a crude form of Dittany, I suppose,” he murmured to himself. “Weak in its restorative power compared to the real thing... Still, it’s better than nothing.”

“Now,” he said, nodding at you. “Knees.”

You paused, unable to turn much further without pushing your legs right up against Cyrille’s.

Cyrille shifted back and patted his legs. “In my lap.” 

Straightening your knees a little, you laid your legs on top of his lap. He once again began to apply the paste onto the carpet burn on your knees, from when he dragged you across the carpet of the Restricted Section and facefucked you mercilessly against the bookshelves. 

"Did I leave marks anywhere else on you?” Cyrille asked you. 

You hesitated, and then leaning over to put your palms against the step right above you, you turned around on his lap, implying that underneath your skirt, was your plush, bruised ass, bearing his handprint. 

“It’s the one that hurts the most,” you confessed, reaching down with one hand to push your skirt up. It was true, especially because you had to sit on it all day.

Cyrille dabbed his fingers back into the paste, but just before he began to apply, he stopped to admire his handiwork. “As I said, I don’t like marks. But strangely enough, this one I do like.”

“Wait, what?” you said. Hold on. He’s supposed to heal my bruise, not admire it.

“Sit up,” Cyrille told you, ignoring your confused look at him.

“But my- ”

“Up.” He gave you a light slap on your other cheek, the one without the glaring red handprint.

You sat back up, but as you made to shift off of Cyrille’s lap, he grasped your waist lightly and kept you sitting on top of him. “And where do you think you’re running off to so fast, hm?” 

“What are you going to do to me?” you asked, a bit nervously. “We have class in a bit, you know.”

“I just want to hold you,” he replied, sliding his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. 

“Oh.” 

“Why?” he asked you shrewdly. “What were you thinking I wanted to do?”

“Um...” you said uncertainly. Well, I thought you were going to... I don’t know - fuck me really hard? I guess that’s not appropriate to say, though. 

As you sat there in his lap, thinking to yourself, and staring up at the high stairwell, you suddenly felt Cyrille drop one hand to your knees. He slowly, tauntingly, began to slide his hand up your leg. “Were you thinking about something like this?” he asked you softly, drumming his fingers softly up your thigh and then slipping his large hand over so that his fingertips were now under your skirt and grazing the inside of your thigh. He grasped your thigh lightly in his large hand. “Do you want to be touched, princess?” he asked you. 

You tried your best to put on a condescending tone as you replied, “If you think I imagine you touching me in a stairwell right before Transfiguration class, you are sadly misguided, Lestrange.” 

Abruptly, Cyrille’s other hand reached up and grasping your neck, he pushed you back into him, so that you were leaning slightly against him, and then he turned your face towards him.

His hand is so cold. 

You stared into his eyes, eyes that promised difficulty, and you heard his voice ring out sharply, “Don’t call me Lestrange.”

“Even in front of other people? Like your Slytherin friends?”

“We’re not in front of other people right now. Don’t try to distract me. It doesn’t work. You should know that by now.”

Then, Cyrille bent his head lower and pressed his lips against your neck. Your head tilted to the side a little as he pushed his mouth against you quite aggressively. At the same time, his other hand slipped up and you felt his hand touch you between your legs.

You immediately bit down on your lower lip, trying not to let a moan escape. 

Cyrille lapped at your neck, his warm tongue passing over your lovely skin over and over again. His fingers pressed against your panties. His rings touched against your thighs, making you shiver and open your legs a little more.

“There you go,” he whispered, feeling your thighs open just a little bit for him. 

As you were sitting on top of him, in his lap, when your thighs opened just a little, it meant that his legs were sitting below and between yours. He used this to his advantage and sliding his feet inside of yours, he yanked your legs wide open for him. 

The abrupt movement nearly dislodged you, jolting you forward, but Cyrille was still holding your neck, keeping you against him and in place as his tongue ravished your skin, enjoying your sweet taste. 

With you completely revealing yourself to him, Cyrille began to finger you properly, though still through your panties. He pushed his hand against you, massaging your clit, coaxing your pussy to become slick and wet for him.

You tried to push your thighs back together, but his legs caught yours, and tangling them together, he held you like that, all splayed out on the staircase, as his fingers punished you for ignorantly calling him by his last name. 

You prayed that no one would enter the stairwell now to find you like this, legs spread wide open in favor of some Slytherin pureblood, who was very much enjoying having his way with you - kissing your neck and fingering you through your delicate little panties. 

Your breathing became shallower because unfortunately for you, Cyrille knew just how to work his fingers against you, starting at the top of your clit and rubbing his hand in gentle circles to get you warmed up, before sliding his fingers down a bit lower to push into your pretty folds, and then finally, pressing his fingers up right over your pussyhole, making the thin cotton fabric sink inside of you just a bit, just enough to get a bit wet. 

“Princess. What should you call me from now on?” he asked you.

“Lestrange,” you replied back snarkily. 

“And do you still despise me?” he questioned, pressing his fingers against you harder. 

“Y-Yes...” 

Cyrille felt your wetness starting to sink through the fabric and against his fingers. He smirked against your neck. He bit your neck softly, his teeth catching your skin softly, but also harshly.

“You said - You said you just wanted to sit together to h-hold me - nngh -” You gritted your teeth together as his fingers threatened to push the soft, and fast-becoming-wet fabric a little deeper inside of you. 

“We are sitting together,” Cyrille replied. “I am holding you.”

You had to give him credit for how very neutral his voice sounded, even as he was coaxing you to climax. 

“Stop it,” you hissed at him, feeling his fingers pressing right at your pussyhole over and over again. “You’re going to stretch my panties out if you keep pushing them inside me like that.”

“Of all the things I could stretch out, I’d say your panties would be the least of your worries,” Cyrille replied slyly. 

At his words, you felt your body tense a little. Because for a moment, you imagined his long, hard cock pushing into your little pussy, forcing it to stretch, in order to fill you up... You shut your eyes tightly. Without even realizing it, your legs fell all the way open, dangling on either side of Cyrille’s lap, as he was tall enough that your feet didn’t even touch the stairs below you, even though he was no longer holding your legs open with his. 

Fuck, he touches me so good. I think I’m... getting wet already... Nngh... I shouldn’t be - be doing this right now. But uhn, it feels so good. I want... I want to feel his fingers inside me right now... 

Noticing your legs opening of their own accord and what was more, your ass rubbing into him a little as you responded to his fingers and became lost in your fantasies, Cyrille smirked victoriously, though he purposefully didn’t call attention to it. If he did, you’d probably protest and start to shut your legs again and Cyrille had other plans for you, all of which worked better if your thighs were spread wide open for him. 

“Mm, getting so wet already?” Cyrille whispered. “Show me.”

“Show you?”

”Yes. Reach down and pull your panties aside for me.” 

With a trembling hand, you slowly reached down and sliding your hand between your thighs, you pulled aside your panties. 

Cyrille looked down at your glistening, wet little pussy and breathed in. “Good girl.” 

His voice was tight with want. You loved that you could make him feel that way. With your other hand, you reached up and touched his face.

He seemed a bit startled that at your unexpectedly gentle and loving touch. Again, it reminded you that Cyrille was someone who was used to looking down at his lovers. But you softly turned his head towards you, having him look into your eyes. 

“Breathe,” you reminded him, smiling a little.

He covered his exhale with a soft scoff, but he listened to you. 

“Oh, Lestrange. Do you hold your breath when I cum?” you asked him lightly, clearly teasing him.

Cyrille’s eyes widened slightly, but then he smiled softly at you. “Maybe I do, angel. Maybe I do.” 

“But - you won’t be finding out.” He suddenly pulled his hand away from your pussy, which had just been starting to clench.

“What?” you said, taken aback. 

"Class is about to start. You said you needed to go,” Cyrille recited matter-of-factly. “So go.” 

“Wait, but...” 

He lifted his eyebrow at you. “But what? Just now, you called me by my last name again.” 

“What do you expect? Favoritism?” He scoffed at you and lifted his eyebrow. “If you don’t keep your end of your bargain, you also get nothing, princess.” 

You blushed a little as you said, “But I need to - I mean, I want to cum.” 

“But, as I just explained, I can’t just let you get away with everything you want and let you rob me of my end of the bargain, even if you are a rather charming thief. Besides, cumming’s not as important as class. Not for good little girls like you,” Cyrille replied smoothly. “I’d say you have about a minute before class starts. Off you go.” 

He tried to get up and to gently push you off of him, but it was your turn to lock your legs with him. Shoving him back and pressing your ass against him, you managed to keep him sitting down on the stairs.

“What about you?” you challenged him. “You’re a student, too, you know. Shouldn’t you come to class with me, Mr. Lestrange?” 

Cyrille’s gaze fell away from you, and all of the darkness that you’d seen this morning, and which had been slightly lifted when the two of you were together, came flooding back. 

“I’ll be taking class off today,” he replied quietly. “Besides, it’ll be strange if we walk in together. People will suspect...”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. I realize we’re nowhere near a real relationship, but why is he so adamant that we not be seen together? 

“All right,” you said finally. Your uncertainty bled through your voice, but you didn’t say anything else. 

You started to get off of Cyrille, but he gently grasped your waist for one second longer and leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek. Then, he let you go, watching you walk out of the stairwell and quickly make your way to Transfiguration class.

*     *     *      *     *     *      *     *     *     *

You did, in fact, make it to class in time. But once again, you couldn’t seem to focus. No wonder McGonagall despises me, even though I’m a Gryffindor, you thought, noticing her staring beadily at you as you spaced out again. I would despise me as a student, too. 

I really cannot focus. I’m worried about Cyrille. Where could he have gone? He seemed so tense and moody today... It was almost frightening. It felt like he could do anything, and not care. Such an iron coldness to him. What if he’s doing something dangerous or stupid? 

Your foot tapped the floor incessantly. Finally, you blew out a breath and shifted back. But as you did, you felt something move in your blazer pocket. You paused and then, you subtly reached into your pocket and pulled out - the small container of medicine that Cyrille had used on you before. 

He must have slipped it into my pocket at the end, you realized. That’s why he held my waist a little longer... Your fingers slowly clenched around the tiny receptacle.

“Hey, um...” Your assigned partner, Remus, was looking at you a bit apprehensively. 

“Sorry, what?” you said to him.

“I was asking you if you knew why Emmeline insisted upon seeing my hands today,” he said. “She said she wanted to see if my rings matched yours. I didn’t know what she meant by that... especially since neither of us wear any rings.”

You sighed internally. Oh, Em... It’s not Remus. It’s not him at all.

“Is something wrong?” Remus asked you, picking up on your distracted and discouraged expression.

“Sorry, Remus, I’m actually not feeling well. Can you tell McGonagall I’m going to the Hospital Wing?” you requested. “My head is killing me.” 

“Oh, I guess so,” Remus replied, looking at you a bit weirdly. Anyone could tell that you were bothered, but not by a headache.

“Thanks.” You nodded at him and then, you took off.

You heard McGonagall start to call after you, but Remus had already headed her off. After so many years of being friends with James and Sirius and Peter, Remus was something of an expert in covering up for people. 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

Where would he go? Aimlessly, you started to head for the Slytherin common room, but when Filch nearly caught you, you decided to go search the outdoor grounds instead. At the very worst, you’d be caught by Hagrid, and you were far less likely to get in trouble. 

Although you weren’t really scared of getting trouble, you’d rather just find Cyrille. 

You raced out onto the grounds and headed over to the Quidditch Pitch, then the Owlery, and then near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. But he was nowhere.

Exhausted, you found yourself standing by the willow tree near the Great Lake. 

Sighing, you made your way over to the tree and fell back onto the grass. The last time you’d been here, you’d been with James... He hadn’t disappeared from your heart completely, not even close. In fact, you doubted that he ever would. You’d never met anyone so good, so warm-hearted.

But Cyrille was right. People like James and Lily were meant to live in the light. You were not. Cyrille was not. 

Fate supersedes desire, only to come back in on itself, and re-create desire. Where the light meets the dark, where that edge is, that’s the silver lining, the only place where one could breathe, and imagine that free will mattered... 

“What are you doing out here?”

You leapt up, heart jumping into your mouth. 

It was Cyrille. 

“I thought you said you were going to go to class,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the trunk of the tree. “You acted like you couldn’t even afford to be late, and now here you are, skiving off.”

“Lestrange!” You ran up to him. 

Ignoring your bright eyes and open arms asking for a hug, he caught you cruelly by the neck. Squeezing slightly, he growled, “What did I say about using my last name?” 

Startled, your hands flew up to your neck, and you coughed.

His eyes widened, and he let go immediately. Shit, I need to control myself today. I can’t get my head on straight, what with Rabastan trying to break into my head and Bellatrix demonstrating all of those curses on me. I’ve been wanting to rip things and smash things apart ever since I left yesterday night’s meeting. But I can’t just let it spill out of me like this. Angel didn’t say anything wrong, and I can’t live with myself if I hurt her, especially right when she’s starting to open up to me.

Gazing down at you with an indecipherable expression on his face, Cyrille murmured to you, almost as though reminding himself, “You’re a delicate little thing, aren’t you?”

You cocked your head at him. “Am I?” you wondered aloud. You certainly didn’t feel ‘delicate.’

“Well, in some ways, you’re unbreakable,” Cyrille acknowledged. “But in other ways...” His eyes seem to shift from silver to a bluer hue - closer to a raven’s eye. “You are so very breakable. And it’s precisely because I’m weaker than you in other ways that I can break you. The things you would not dare to do - the violent, immoral, and nonsensical things that humans are capable of - I can dare to do them, and I swear, they would all break you...” 

You hesitated. Then, you reached out to him. Touching his shoulder with your hand, you asked pressingly, “What happened?” 

Cyrille remained silent. 

“Please,” you said, “tell me.”

I can’t tell her, Cyrille thought. She ran away and gave up her memories to get away from all of this. I can’t drag her back into this. It’s why I refused to submit to Rabastan’s Legilimency yesterday. I didn’t want them to see my thoughts of Angel... 

“It’s nothing,” he replied quietly.

“But you’re not yourself,” you pointed out. 

“No,” he said harshly. “This is me. This is the real me, angel.”

You hesitated, not wanting to push him into an more violent state of mind. Finally, you pulled out the container of medicine from your blazer pocket and showed it to him. “You healed me,” you reminded him. “Now, let me heal you.”

As you spoke, a breeze picked up, causing the branches of the willow tree to rustle all around you both. The long strings of leaves all around you both scattered the sunlight all over the two of you, casting dappled pools of light everywhere.

The sound of the willow branches brushing up against each other, and the chaos of light and dark thrown everywhere in this small world under the willow tree made you feel braver. 

You stepped closer to Cyrille and laying your head on his chest, you whispered again, “Tell me. I’m right here, waiting.” 

Cyrille reached up and softly stroked your hair before holding you against him. Angel, just you being here brings me a much-needed measure of peace, he thought quietly. If I could stay here with you like this for longer, every part of me would heal, even without your doing anything. I’d find my way home again just by virtue of you being here with me. 

Just then, a loud chorus of voices sounded out from nearby.

“Crabbe, you’ve got to control your temper. Else, you’re going to get us all caught before we’ve even had a chance to try out these spells in the real world...”

“It’s all Dumbledore’s damn fault. Not letting us learn Dark Arts at all, what does he think he’s playing at?”

“Father says it’s because Dumbledore’s weak, and he’s scared of the Dark Arts. Can’t control us if we start using the Dark Arts!”

Classes must have ended, and lunch break begun, because students were starting to spill out onto the castle grounds. With this particular group of Slytherins, their voices were clearly getting closer and closer, but from underneath the tree, it was difficult to tell which way they were coming from.

“Yeah, I bet that’s what it is. But me, I like learning them secretly. It’s a good feeling to sit there in class, with those Mudbloods, and they’re all chatting about, not knowing what’s going to hit them.”

“Merlin, Yaxley, you’re scary as hell.”

Cyrille’s eyes were darting all around, as he tried to find out where the Slytherins were coming from. But you knew that the two of you were far too likely to get caught by just waiting and trying to see where they were. You needed to move.

You grabbed Cyrille’s hand and started to quickly pull him away, down towards the Lake.

“Why aren’t you the one leading us, eh? Lestrange is useless. He doesn’t even do the curses. The only reason he’s leading us is because he’s next in line after Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix.”

“Yeah, well, those three are scary as all hell. For real.”

You waded into the water, pulling Cyrille along with you. You shot a look back towards shore. To your horror, you could see the Slytherins. They were just about to enter under the umbrella-like branches of the weeping willow.

You pulled on Cyrille’s hand. He looked at you, his brow furrowed in concern and concentration.

“Trust me,” you whispered. Then, grasping his shoulders, you pulled him underwater with you.

For a moment, you simply floated in the cool, lulling water. You loved being submerged in this beautiful green, glowing aquatic underworld. A piece of seaweed glided over your wrist, startling you. You opened your eyes to see Cyrille in front of you. His eyes were closed. With his silvery hair and sharp-featured face, for a moment, he truly looked like the embodiment of some mythical, long-lost underwater serpent. Beautiful, but frightening. 

Having pulled him under without warning, you knew he was likely short of air. You swam over to him and pressing your mouth to his, breathed your oxygen to him.

Cyrille’s eyes flashed open. And all at once, he seemed all too human, with his blue-silver eyes that shadowed over far too frequently, flickering between revenge and redemption. After you pulled away from him after giving him air, he nodded in gratitude. 

Then, he fumbled a little as he reached for his wand, but finding it, he cast the Bubble Head Charm on you before casting it on himself, enabling both of you a steady supply of oxygen by creating little bubbles around your heads. Neither of you could speak to each other, but at least you could breathe.

Above the water, on the shore, Yaxley frowned when he noticed bubbles bursting on the surface of the Great Lake. Must be the Giant Squid, he told himself, as he turned away back to the others. But he wasn’t totally satisfied with that answer. 

A number of strange things had been occurring lately. Yaxley had spotted Cyrille in the library. That wasn’t the strange bit, as Cyrille always insisted on studying alone. Rather, Yaxley had meant to pass on information about the next Death Eater meeting to Cyrille when he suddenly noticed that Cyrille was gone. His textbook was still open on the table, indicating that he was still somewhere in the library. Yaxley thought that this was his chance to rely the information in private (since Cyrille was also rarely in the Slytherin dormitory) and went looking for Cyrille.

Passing by Cyrille’s table, Yaxley glanced at his textbook disinterestedly. But then, he paused and came closer. Healing Magic? Sure enough, there was Cyrille’s handwriting - immaculately precise, of course, as all pure-bloods’ calligraphy were - preserving the steps for creating Dittany. He had written “a mint blue coloring will indicate dilution, but this does not render the Potion obselete...” 

Yaxley scoffed and shook his head. What’s the point of Healing Magic, when our goal is to exterminate the magical world of Mudbloods and half-breeds? 

Yaxley walked through the library, hoping to come across Cyrille, when he swore he heard a gasp near the very back of the library. He headed towards it, only to find it empty. Yaxley shrugged it off. 

But later, when Yaxley made to return his books from the Restricted Section of the library, he came upon a pile of randomly fallen books in the Restricted Section of the library. Madam Pince usually kept her library in tip-top shape at all times, so whoever had done this must have done it very recently. When Yaxley had finished returning his books, he returned to his own table - only to see Cyrille back at his own table, packing up his books. What was more, you had also joined your Gryffindor friends two tables away. It could just be coincidence, of course, but the timing seemed too perfect to be pure coincidence. 

Then, at the very last meeting, Cyrille had refused to undergo Rabastan’s Legilimency. This had caused quite a stir among the Slytherins. Cyrille had never been the most enthusiastic in their group of Death Eaters. Everyone knew that. In fact, it irked Yaxley to no end that Cyrille was the leader of their little group, when Yaxley had shown himself to be much more dedicated to their cause. 

But Cyrille had never disobeyed a direct order from his older brothers and sister-in-law. Until yesterday. And he’d paid the price for it. Bellatrix had demonstrated a number of curses on him - nothing too painful, but still, painful enough.

And now, Yaxley had heard Crabbe and Goyle talk about Cyrille’s absence in Transfiguration today. Then, to see bubbles on the surface of the Great Lake, as though somebody had just jumped into the water... 

Well, it wasn’t much to go off of, even Yaxley would admit that. But nonetheless, Yaxley was beginning to suspect that Cyrille Lestrange was trying to hide something.

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

You and Cyrille continued floating in the water together. To be honest, you didn’t have much of a plan except to wait the Slytherins out.

Cyrille, however, seemed to have a different idea in mind. He beckoned to you, and then, turning, he began to swim away.

Oh, you thought, yes, it’s a good idea to move further upshore. We can get out without the Slytherins seeing us.

But to your surprise and bewilderment, Cyrille swam past the immediate banks of the Great Lake and further out into deeper waters.

Where in the world is he taking us? you wondered, as you followed after him.

You swam for a while. The waters were beginning to feel much colder, as you were moving out towards the actual currents.

What, now, don’t tell me he’s a merman too, you thought sarcastically.

But you began to notice more and more rock formations underwater, jutting out of the lake floor...

Finally, Cyrille stopped. He pointed up towards the surface and then swam up, breaking the surface of the water first.

You gasped as your head and shoulders popped out of the water. Sure, the Bubble Head Charm had worked fine, but nothing could beat the crispness of pure, free-flowing air.

You looked around you, only to find that you were in a cavern of some sort. But it wasn’t just any old cavern. It was a cavern with crystals jutting out from the ceiling and walls. Your mouth fell open as you took in the sparkling brilliance before you.

“Where are we?” you asked, awed.

Cyrille smiled at the look on your face. “I don’t know that this place has an official name. But we used to call it the Caves of Crystals. As you can see, the name fits.”

“How did you know it was here?” you asked him, treading water and tilting your head back to look at the ceiling. It was covered with amethyst and white crystals.

“Well, you see, while you Gryffindors can get away with pulling pranks and whatnot in the castle, we Slytherins can’t,” Cyrille explained. “So, the older students used to sneak out and come here sometimes. But we don’t use it anymore. We’ve found a better spot in the Forbidden Forest that doesn’t require us to swim out here...”

Unbeknownst to you, you were slowly starting to float back towards the current.

Cyrille, however, noticed. “Hey, don’t go there,” he said, reaching out and grasping your arm. He pulled you towards him as he explained, “The current’s going to take you back out.”

“Oops,” you said. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Just - here, hold onto me,” he murmured. 

Your hands naturally found his shoulders and you held onto him, and the two of you floated together in the cold waters, staring up at the brilliant crystal cave.

But soon, your gaze fell on Cyrille instead. His silvery hair was wet and glistening. His cheekbones glimmered slightly because of all of the light reflecting off of the crystal everywhere in the cavern. His eyes, too, were alight. Everything about him was reflective, of both light and shadow.

Who is he, really? you found yourself wondering. When he’s not reflecting, when he’s not trying to take control of a situation, who is he as a person? 

With a sinking feeling in your heart, you thought that maybe Cyrille himself didn’t know the answer to that question. You would wager that he’d never been in a situation where he wasn’t expected to have control - in one way or another. 

“You do this a lot, you know. Just stare at me.” Cyrille said wryly, feeling your gaze on him. “You did this in the library, too, to the point where I couldn’t study anymore because I was so distracted by the little groundhog peeking its head at me every two seconds a couple tables down...”

“Hey,” you said, feeling embarrassed. “It wasn’t that frequent...” 

“Oh, so you were looking at me?” Cyrille said, lifting his eyebrow at you. “And here I was just teasing you...”

You blushed. “Stop it.” 

“Why don’t you stop overthinking things, and just tell me what you want?” Cyrille asked you bluntly. 

He’s playing his game again, you thought sadly. Where he creates an opportunity for the other person to admit their desires. It’s the start of his reflecting, of his seduction. Afterwards, he’ll reflect your desires right back onto you, and make you feel accepted without having you question anything about your own beliefs... It’s not right. It’ll only sink both parties deeper in the darkness. 

You kept your eyes on him, for once not blushing or feeling shy. “You’re sinking towards something,” you told him, completely serious. “I can see it in you.”

“You’re the one who dragged me under,” Cyrille reminded you, referring to the fact that it’d been your idea to hide in the Great Lake, and you who had pushed him under the surface with you. He gazed back at you for a long moment, remembering how you’d looked in the water besides him with your hair floating out behind you and glimmering in the water, and your clothes softening as it soaked up the water... 

“But you’re the one who’s taking me deeper,” you replied softly. 

“Angel,” Cyrille said to you, keeping his enigmatic gaze on you, “you’re speaking in riddles.” 

Because I don’t want to give you a straight answer unless you do, you thought to yourself. What happened to you, Cyrille? There’s something in you that’s so tightly restrained, that threatens violent energy... A part of you today wanted to break me, didn’t it? I felt it when you choked me so suddenly. It was almost as though... 

“Are you... going to drown me?” you asked him, speaking barely above a murmur.

“What?” He tilted his head back a little to look at you. “What are you talking about?”

“Suffocate me.” You meant to clarify your question, but it came out sounding like a request.

Cyrille looked down at you, taken aback by your words. He suddenly became very aware of your bodies pressed together. You were much warmer than he was, and softer, too. You felt very precious to him. 

Suffocate you? Angel, do you even know what you’re saying? Cyrille wondered. Don’t you know you’re speaking my darkest fantasies to life? I told you before - don’t take me to the edge. You’ll drop off the deep end if you’re too close to me.

Your hands slowly slid around his shoulders until you were hugging him, holding onto him so that the currents wouldn’t take you away from the cavern... or from him. Cyrille held you back a little tighter, and he promised you, “Not by water. If I’m going to take your breath away, it will be very, very human. I promise you that.”

The lovely shape of you, pressed so tightly against him, and the water flattening and softening your clothes so that the two of you were as close to pressing together naked as you’d ever been, was causing a painful sort-of buzzing to go off in Cyrille’s mind.

Before you could ask him any more questions, Cyrille said, “I think the cold water’s affecting your brain. And it’s about to affect mine, too. Let’s get out of here, angel.” 

*     *      *     *      *     *      *     *      *     *

The two of you made your way onto the stretch of hard rock that constituted a “shore”, but it was really just a thin rock outlet deep in the cavern. From there, you clambered onto a higher fragment of rock that was well above the water. 

“Here, let’s dry off,” Cyrille began, but you weren’t listening to him. You were staring up at the crystals, now even closer to you, in amazement. 

“I can’t get over how beautiful this place is,” you told him.

Cyrille meant to agree, but the words got lost in his brain when he saw you. Water was dripping off of you. Your waterlogged clothes meant that your white blouse was now completely see-through and showing off your tight curves. You didn’t notice, but Cyrille did. 

He swallowed hard. Ever since he’d seen you burst out of the Great Lake, lake water streaming down your gorgeous body, eyes flashing with an obvious gratitude for the refreshing swim you’d just taken, Cyrille had fantasized about you in that moment. Your wet body under his. Him, ripping your soaked clothes off, letting him touch what he could only see under your thoroughly drenched shirt, running his hands over your bare, slick, warm body, then making you take his hard, swollen cock, your thighs glistening first from the water, then from the cum as he pounded you until you begged for release. You’d gasp for him the way you’d gasped coming out of the water - simultaneously begging for and finding release...

Cyrille begged himself not to let his fantasies about you affect him, especially now, when he was so susceptible to falling prey to his more aggressive tendencies. But almost cruelly, here you were - a reincarnation of his exact dream, except that you were even more beautiful, because your eyes were alight, glittering with a brilliant wonder that made the amethyst and white crystal around you pale in comparison. 

Still, Cyrille swallowed down his desire for you. I have to be careful today, he thought again. Of course I would never do anything without her permission. But even if she gave it to me, I’m not sure she would realize what she’d be giving permission for...

“Angel, come sit,” Cyrille said quietly, sitting down himself against the cavern wall behind the both of you. “We’ll have to go back to Hogwarts soon, but I want you to see the sunset. It lights everything up.”

“Will we swim back to the Great Lake?” you asked Cyrille, folding your legs under you as you sat next to him. 

He nodded. “Yes, or we can Apparate some ways back, but we’d have to walk back up to the castle, since we can’t Apparate directly to the school grounds.”

“Speaking of the school grounds,” you said, suddenly realizing something as you brushed your wet hair out of your face, “how did you know where I was?”

Cyrille had a simple answer for that. He replied straightforwardly, “I saw you.”

“You saw me?” 

“Yes. Running in a crazed frenzy all over the school grounds.”

“How did you see me? From where?” 

“From the Astronomy Tower. It’s a quiet place to think, since nobody uses it during the day.” 

“Oh,” you breathed out. Of course that’s where he’d be. I should have thought about that before I went racing off everywhere.

“Right, of course,” you said, sighing at yourself.

Cyrille inquired skeptically, “What do you mean ‘of course’?”

“I mean - of course that where’d you be,” you clarified. “I’m such an idiot.”

Cyrille paused. Then, he realized slowly, “Angel, were you looking for me?” 

It was your turn to pause. Your concern for Cyrille had consumed your mind so thoroughly that you’d forgotten that Cyrille himself wouldn’t have known about your motivations for leaving class and searching the school grounds.

Cyrille recalled watching you from up in the Astronomy Tower. You’d zigzagged back and forth across the castle grounds as though your life depended on it. 

A wry, pleased smile appeared on his face as he quipped, “Well, I’m glad I healed your knees this morning. You certainly put them to work this afternoon, scampering all over the grounds like that.”

You scowled at him, annoyed, but in truth, you were so relieved to see a bit of brightness break through his grim mood.

“Don’t you think we should dry off - ?” Cyrille asked, determinedly not looking at you.

But the last thing you’d been thinking about was whether you were still soaked or not. Yes, you were cold, but in seeing Cyrille’s wry humor break through his moodiness, you thought he might open up to you a little, and tell you what was wrong.

So, you’d scooted closer to him and just as he’d begun to state his suggestion, you’d also called out to him, saying, “Cyrille?”

Cyrille’s heart froze for a moment. You’d said his name.  

He looked over at you. There you were, sitting in front of him, still all wet, with your clothes stuck to you, though your hair was beginning to dry and getting curlier by the minute. Water suited you, Cyrille thought. It makes her refreshed. It makes her lighter. She shines so beautifully like this... If only she were mine. Truly mine. The things I would do to her, and the things I would do for her... 

“Cyrille?” you repeated, cocking your head to the side.

Cyrille heard himself ask, “Angel. Can I come over to you?”

You smiled warmly and nodded, thinking he wanted to sit a little closer to you.

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Cyrille had stood up, yanked you up to your feet, pushed you up against the wall, and kissed you hard. 

A soft cry of surprise left you when you were yanked up, and the cry accentuated into something rougher when your back hit the rock wall behind you. However, it was quickly cut off as Cyrille’s lips passionately and possessively claimed yours.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

You barely managed to part your lips for him when you felt his soft, warm tongue swipe across your lower lip and then press against your tongue, tasting you and wanting you to taste him, too. 

You shut your eyes and tried your best to return his deep, demanding kiss. You flinched slightly when his hands squeezed your wrists, as his grip on your wrists had already been quite tight. 

Feeling you flinch under him, Cyrille ripped himself away from you.

But you caught his collar. “No, wait!” you breathed out. “Wait. Don’t go. Stay with me.”

Cyrille shook his head. “I felt you flinch. You don’t want me right now.”

“No, no...” Your hands slipped onto his chest as you confessed, “I do... I do want you.” 

You hesitated and then, you managed to whisper softly, “I want you to take me. I want you... inside me.”  

Cyrille took a long breath. Then, he said, in a tightly controlled voice, “Angel, you may not want to be with me in that way today. I think you’ll find me a bit... demanding.” 

The atmosphere between the two of you had darkened again. You tried your best to lift it with an attempt at a joke. 

“Oh, as if you weren’t already?” you retorted, lifting your eyebrow at him. 

But Cyrille only grimaced. “A different kind of demanding,” he clarified. “Not about what you can do for me, but what I do to you.” 

“No one wants that,” he said quietly. 

“I do,” you said, without hesitating. “If it’s you, I mean.” 

“Angel, I’m not sure that- ”

“Don’t worry,” you told him. “You may think I’m delicate, but I know just how to break you, too.”

You pressed your hands against his throat. “You’re all façade.” You began to squeeze his neck squeeze gently. “See? I can choke you right bac- ”

Slam. 

Cyrille had grabbed your wrists and pushed you back against the wall, freeing himself. “Don’t press me,” he growled at you. “You’ve never seen me like this before, so how do you know you’ll be all right?”

Your heart had leapt into your throat. “I- I- ” you stuttered. 

You fell silent, and your head slowly lowered as you realized that Cyrille wasn’t joking around. 

You bit your lower lip. You hadn’t meant to make him mad. You just... wanted him. That was all. 

Cyrille gazed down at you. An odd emotion arose within him, one that took a moment for him to identify. Disappointed. She’s disappointed. And I’m feeling guilty for it, he realized. 

Bellatrix’s harsh voice rang out in the back of his mind: Guilt? Guilt’s a useless feeling. Get rid of it immediately. Let it turn you cold. Become effective instead of pathetic. 

“Angel,” he said coldly. “You just want to be fucked, don’t you?”

You blinked uncertainly. 

“Look at me,” he ordered sharply.

You lifted your head back up to meet his eyes. When you saw his intense gaze, you gulped. 

“You just want to be fucked,” Cyrille repeated knowingly. “I felt it this morning. Your little pussy, all wet on my hand when I barely even touched you...” 

“You don’t care about class, you don’t care about me, you don’t care about anything - you just want a cock filling up that tight pussy of yours, ramming you ruthlessly until you see stars. Am I right?” Cyrille whispered. 

His silver serpent’s eyes kept your gaze locked into his.

No, you thought numbly. That’s not right. I don’t want it to be anyone. Just you.

You murmured, “Cyrille...”  

In a clipped, unfeeling voice, Cyrille threw your hands back, away from him, and he said cruelly, “Touch yourself.”

“What?” you said uncertainly. 

“You heard me. Touch yourself. Reach down between your legs and touch yourself.”

“In front of you? While you’re watching?”

“Yes. Right now.” 

“But it’s- ”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

“But it’s embarrassing,” you pressed anyways, ignoring his warning.

Cyrille’s voice dropped to a low register - silkier than ever, more dangerous that ever. “Angel. Do you want me to fuck you?”

You swallowed. “Y-Yes.”

“I felt how tight your little pussy is last time. You’ll be crying within seconds if you don’t prepare yourself properly,” Cyrille told you. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I need you to be wet, dripping-fucking-wet, for me. Now. Do I make myself clear?”

“...Yes.” You flushed as you submitted to his orders. 

Cyrille didn’t miss the shy blush starting to illuminate your cheeks, but he didn’t respond to it whatsoever as he said, coldly, “Go on.” 

You stared at him for a moment longer, not knowing where to start. You felt ridiculous standing there in your wet clothes, pressed up against a rock wall, being told to pleasure yourself. 

At the same time, you felt so removed from the person you were always pretending to be while at Hogwarts that it felt freeing to perform this way in front of someone who was equally good, if not better, at wearing a mask.

“Angel,” Cyrille said thinly, “unless you want me to bruise your ass all over again and not be able to sit for a week, I suggest you get to it.” 

“Fine. On one condition - you have to let me cum. Don’t interrupt me,” you told him solemnly. “No more - what was it? Edging? None of that.” 

Cyrille smirked at you. “All right,” he said, accepting your proposition much more easily than you thought he would. 

“But,” Cyrille said quickly, “I’ve an additional request of my own.”

“And what would that be?”

“You follow my instructions. Whatever order I give you, you do it.”

You looked at Cyrille very skeptically. 

He stood there, waiting patiently for your answer, seemingly not even nervous. But, in truth, his heart was thundering. Does she trust me enough? Or will she reject me? He crossed his arms over his chest to keep his demeanor.  

You found yourself wanting to say yes, which was most unlike yourself. But you couldn’t deny that there was a spark of fear somewhere in your tummy. 

Finally, you asked Cyrille, “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, angel, never.” he replied quickly, almost before you finished asking. “Haven’t I made it clear? I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Well, then...” you said slowly. “Fine.” 

When you said, “fine,” Cyrille’s mind went blank for a second. She said yes? She really said yes? Even though she’s seeing me in my worst state?

But before he could even begin to process it, you’d already reached down with one hand, sliding it down your skirt and into your panties.  

No moans, you reminded yourself sternly. 

Cyrille knew exactly what you were thinking. “What, reminding yourself not to moan?” he picked up. His annoyance broke through his brief moment of joy as he muttered, “Why are you so resistant to being mine, angel? What have you got against me?” 

You offered him your best mocking-sympathetic smile. “Who says I’ve got anything against you?” you replied sweetly. “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

Not having it, Cyrille simply rolled his eyes at you.

Then, you took a deep breath, shut your eyes, and tried to forget that Cyrille was watching you. Though, of course, it was actually impossible to forget that - because even now, you could feel the cold-hearted lust in his eyes as he watched you. 

Still, you imagined yourself back in your bedroom as you slowly pressed your fingers against yourself.

Oh, my fingers are cold... Actually, my whole body is a bit cold, except... for between my legs. 

After only a bit of coaxing, you pushed your fingers inside yourself faster than you normally would. You were curious to see how warm you were to yourself. 

Your fingers softly, almost politely, sank inside of your pussy. Mm, I am warm inside. And... soft? You laughed a little in your own head. I guess I am. Merlin, I feel so self-conscious. With Cyrille watching me...

I wonder how I feel around a man’s cock... What do I feel like to him? Does he feel me wrapping around him - all warm and soft like this? When he fucks me, can he feel my pussy getting all wet and hot inside...?

“Angel.” Cyrille’s sharp, displeased voice interrupted you. 

Your eyes flashed open. “Y-Yes?” you said, immediately aware that you’d done something that irritated him. 

“I can’t actually see anything if your skirt’s on, can I?” Cyrille said impatiently. “Take it off.” 

You found yourself nervously crossing your legs in response. But I’ve never stripped for anyone. It feels strange taking my own clothes off in front of someone. Like I’m trying to seduce Cyrille. Well, not that that’s not true, but still... 

“Angel,” Cyrille said, a trace of warning entering his voice. “What did I just say?”

Your cheeks turned a bright pink. “Why... Why can’t you take it off for me?” you asked, almost whining. 

“Don’t be a brat,” Cyrille replied immediately. “You said you’d follow my orders.”

You bit down on your lower lip, feeling torn. You had said that you’d follow his orders, and you wanted to, but... this would make you feel... overly vulnerable. Stripping for a man. Especially when his gaze was so cold. And especially when his silver eyes had been haunting your dreams - nighttime dreams and daydreams alike - since that night on the Astronomy Tower. 

Cyrille sighed. “You're quite shy about this. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Fine,” he sighed, walking over to you. “I’ll help you get started.”

As you looked down and watched his large hands undoing the buttons on your little skirt, he grumbled,  “You really are such a princess.”

As he slid off your skirt for you, he paused, taking in the sight of you. He gently ran his hands over your thighs as he murmured, “You’re lucky you’re so cute, or this would be grounds for punishment.” 

Cute? No one’s ever called me that before. The Rosiers are known for looking bold - cruel, even, but not cute. Never cute. But, hm, maybe I like him calling me that? Although mother would be very disappointed in me for liking that phrase. Well, all the more reason to like it, then, you mused vaguely, as Cyrille let go of your undone skirt. It fell to the ground at your feet. Then, it occurred to you that Cyrille was watching you expectantly, waiting for you to carry on. 

“Why can’t you just fuck me?” you asked him, blinking up at him and unintentionally pouting a little. “I want to be lost with you, not baring my body to you and- and showing you...”

“Because,” Cyrille replied, “I’m not feeling in control of myself today.”

“Now,” he repeated. “Make yourself cum on your fingers. Or I really will punish you, princess.”

You pouted again, but with a soft sigh, you started to reach back down. You naturally started to look down as well, but Cyrille grasped your chin in his hand and commanded, “No. Angel, look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

Feeling safer pressed up against him, and with him holding you, even if it was harshly holding your face to look up at him, you reached down again and began to press down on your clit, rubbing your fingers over yourself.

You exhaled softly.

“Are you touching your clit?” Cyrille asked, watching your eyelashes flutter slightly when your fingertips pushed against yourself. 

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he praised you. 

He watched you for a moment as you lightly ran your hand over yourself, still keeping your panties on.

“Harder,” Cyrille whispered to you a moment later. “I want your panties wet again, like this morning. Touch yourself slowly, but hard enough to push your panties against your little pussy, enough for the cum to just... drench them.”

You whimpered a little as you followed his orders, pushing your fingers harder against yourself. You felt your muscles in your forearm starting to strain a little as you put more pressure against your clit.

Feeling the tension slowly starting to build up inside your tummy, you started to rub your pussy faster.

“Angel. I said ‘slow,’” Cyrille reminded you. “I promised you I wouldn’t edge you, but you need to listen to me. I promise I’ll get you to your climax. But not all at once, princess. You’re too pretty for that. It’d be waste, now, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” you pushed back stubbornly. “It wouldn’t be a waste. Because I’d... I’d feel good.” 

“Listen to me. Listen to my voice,” he told you, squeezing your cheeks slightly in his hand so that his long, cold fingers pressed into your cheeks, and his rings pressed coldly into your jaw. “Slowly.”

You stuttered out an impatient breath as you forced yourself to slow down a little. To compensate, you pushed your fingers against yourself harder, so that your panties were being pushed into your little folds, outlining your pretty pussy lips. 

Your mouth fell open slightly, and you breathed out a little faster. Cyrille, seeing your pretty lips open, gently ran his thumb over your lower lip. Then, unable to help himself, he leaned in and kissed you. 

He kissed you hard enough to take your breath away, pushing his mouth impatiently against yours. His aggression encouraged you to touch yourself more aggressively, too, until - You shut your eyes tightly and accidentally bit down slightly on Cyrille’s lower lip. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and even smirked slightly at your involuntary lip bite. 

“Are you wet? Is my sweet princess all wet between her thighs?” he whispered to you knowingly, as he gently bit your lower lip back as payment for your sweet little bite on his. “Did your little cunt soak your panties?”

You nodded. “Yes,” you exhaled softly. “I’m a-all w-wet... so wet... Cyrille...” 

“Mm, yes, I’m right here, angel,” Cyrille moaned, and kissed you again, pressing his lips against yours hard enough that you were forced back a couple steps, nearly tripping over yourself. 

“Call for me again,” he ordered, but his command came out in a soft, tumbled mumble.

You smiled a little. “Cyrille...” 

Letting go of your face, Cyrille reached down and catching your waist easily, he pressed you up against the rock wall behind you. “You’re so pretty when you’re saying my name, princess. Thank you...” 

Normally, you didn’t particularly like or dislike being pushed up against something - being held against something was just a necessary precondition of being fucked hard - but you sighed in relief and happiness when you felt Cyrille up against you, his side pressing into yours as he looped his arm around your waist. 

“Pull aside your panties,” Cyrille told you. “I doubt they’re of any use now. I know how wet you get.”

Your breath caught slightly as you did as he asked. 

“Now, run your fingertips over your pussyhole... Lightly... Be soft with yourself, my angel.” 

You did so, but you couldn’t help trying to slip in one finger, just to feel that pressure squeeze through your pussyhole. That wonderful pressure of relief - Ah! you gasped in your head, but you were suddenly interrupted.

“No.” Cyrille growled and slammed you against the wall behind you, not hard enough to physically hurt you, but startled, you quickly drew your hand away from yourself. 

“Not yet, angel,” Cyrille warned you. “No fingers yet.”

You sighed in frustration. “But I’m wet,” you complained. “Why not?” 

Cyrille softly clicked his tongue at you. “You are the most impatient person I’ve ever been with. Clearly, you’re too used to getting your way.” 

“You must have run circles around that Potter boy,” he scoffed.

You suddenly looked away at the mention of James. 

Cyrille stiffened. “Do you still think about him?”

“...No.”

“Liar,” he hissed angrily. “Your reaction just now tells me everything I need to know. And I saw you - staring at him with those pitiful eyes today in the corridor while he kissed his girlfriend. In fact, I see you staring at him every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you tried to explain. “It’s just... old feelings.” 

Cyrille was unconsciously pressing you against the wall quite hard. His shoulder was pressing into your chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Old feelings never die,” he said, his voice sharp, almost pained. “I’m living proof of that, angel.”  

Your hand floundered for a moment as you lost your train of thought, and then you inadvertently held onto Cyrille’s hip as you tried to breathe in. 

“But if you insist that you’re over him, then tell me,” Cyrille said, his voice smooth as glass. “Who do you think about when you touch yourself at night - him or me?”

You shut your eyes tightly. Don’t ask me that. Please don’t ask me that.

The truth was... You hadn’t thought about James in that way since that night at the Astronomy Tower with Cyrille, but whenever you saw James, and you saw him often - in the common room, in class, in the Great Hall, and always with Lily - it still hurt. 

“Angel,” Cyrille purred dangerously. His hand crept up to your neck. “Answer me. Who is it you think about?”

You shook your head. “Please... Please don’t ask me that,” you said softly. You reached up his hand and put yours over his and squeezed lightly, encouraging him to choke you. “Choke me if you want, but don’t ask me that. Not yet.”

It’s you. I think of you. But I can’t say it. It’d be giving you too much power. 

Cyrille hesitated. Then, he did as you asked. He slowly squeezed your throat. “You say you want to be with me, that you want me to take you, to be inside of your tight little cunt. Well, I thought I was doing you a favor by keeping you away from me. I thought it’d be enough to have you touch yourself until you came, and you’d be satisfied.”

“But that’s not enough for you, is it?” he whispered, tensing his fingers. Your breath caught. “I should have known better. I should have trusted in my own words. Because it’s just like I said - you share my darkness.” 

Cyrille brought up his other hand to his mouth. He licked his fingertips before reaching down and slowly pushing his hand between your thighs. Carelessly shoving aside your hand and ripping aside your panties himself, Cyrille immediately touched your bare cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he moaned. “Your pussy is just begging for cock, isn’t it?” 

You shivered. You tried to focus on breathing, tried to get enough air in through his constricting your throat. 

“Mm, angel,” Cyrille breathed out. “You don’t know what you do to me... I just - fuck, I want to ruin you." He began to finger you quite roughly, letting his fingers push into your wet cunt right from the very beginning. He went slow but quite hard, pushing his fingers in all the way from the very first entry, delving deep into your tightness, into your warmth. Once he was deep inside of you, he curled his fingers inwards, reaching your spot. 

You choked out a soft gasp, followed by a half-cut-off whimper when he then began to pump his fingers, still curled up, in and out of you. 

Your tummy fluttered as his fingertips found your sensitive spot. A wonderful, but intense anticipation gradually rose up inside of you. 

After a moment, Cyrille also pressed his thumb hard against your clit and his thumb moved up and down against your outer folds as his fingers plunged deep inside of you. 

You squirmed against Cyrille, wanting him to go faster, deeper, and harder. 

“Patience, angel,” Cyrille murmured, feeling you pushing back a little. You were trying to jut out your hips against him, to push his fingers inside of yourself deeper. Your breath was coming out in little gasps, and you were starting to feel faint. 

You tried to hold back, but you needed him to be rougher with you. Without meaning to, you heard yourself whimper needily, “Cyrille...”

“What is it, princess? What do you want from me?

You clutched the front of his shirt, whimpering slightly. “You already know...”

“I do.” Cyrille smirked at you. “But I’m going to make you say it out loud, anyways. So, confess to me, angel. Tell me what you want. Every filthy thing you want to do, I want you to admit it. ”

You shut your eyes, embarrassed, as you whined desperately, “I want your fingers deep inside me.”

“Is that all?”

“No, I wanna- wanna get fucked. Oh, please...”

Cyrille smirked. The way your lips pouted so prettily when you were frustrated tempted Cyrille to always keep you on edge. He wanted to see you cry, pleading for cock, and then cry again with relief when he gave to you, exactly as you wanted - and more. “Oh, I know you do,” Cyrille drawled to you. “Just imagine when it’s not my fingers anymore, but my long, thick, hard cock pounding into you like this... How are you going to be able to stand it when it’s my cock stretching out your little pussy? Yes, such a fucking tight pussy. Mmm... No wonder you get so wet, princess, because otherwise you’d never be able to take anything in this cunt of yours.” He growled slightly as he fervently imagined himself ramming the daylights out of you - how it would feel to have your pussy gripping all over his cock, making his cock throb and pulse in response as he just buried himself deep inside of you. 

“Fuck,” Cyrille grunted, losing himself for a moment.

But he forced himself back into his persona and continued to speak silkily to you, “And if you get this wet for just my fingers, imagine how fucking wet you’ll be when you take my cock inside of you, hm, angel? I bet you’ll cream. Bet you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll say you hate me again and give me your little glare with those pretty eyes of yours, but you’ll be creaming all over my cock, won’t you?” 

You groaned slightly at his words. How does he do it? Make me want to cum so bad from his words?

“Oh, was that a moan I just heard?” Cyrille asked you.

You immediately shook your head.

“No? It wasn’t?” Cyrille asked you, mocking you harshly. “Because you’ll never moan for me, is that right? Fuck, I dare you to moan at this point, angel. I dare you.”

 “D-Don’t worry, I w-won’t,” you managed to breathe out. “Ever.”

Cyrille laughed softly at your weak protest. God, she looks so perfect, being choked. Mmm... And I like the way she talks back. The only problem with her choking on my cock last time was that she couldn’t talk back to me. And I’ll take every dig she gives me because it’s all going to come right back to her when she’s mine.

A loud whimper escaped you as he thrust his fingers roughly inside of you, hitting up hard against your spot now. And that sound she makes... Mm... And she will moan for me, too. Soon. I know just how to break her.

Deceptively, Cyrille lowered his voice to a soothing tone as he asked you, “You want to cum, princess? Are you close?” He purposefully made his voice gentler the harder he fucked your pussy, which was now absolutely begging for release. 

“Y-Yes, make me- make me cum. I need to - I want to - oh, please, please,” you stammered nonsensically. You reached down and tried to fit your fingers in alongside his thumb to rub your clit, but Cyrille quickly pulled out of you and grabbed your hand. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Please...” you begged. 

“No,” he said instantly. “No cheating, you brat. Hands off. You’re mine.”

“Now, obey,” he said harshly, “before I tie your hands back again.”

“You don’t want that, do you?” he asked you. 

You shook your head, but you could hardly think about anything except how close you were to coming. Your pussy was starting to clench, and uhn, fuck, it needed something to clench around. 

Thankfully, having given you a little talking-to, Cyrille plunged his fingers back inside you. 

Ohh... You let out a long sigh of relief in your head, but it wasn’t long until that temporary relief simply turned into more begging in your mind as that pressing need to cum overtook your body.

Unable to touch yourself to make yourself cum, a soft, but quite desperate cry escaped your parted lips, as you were reduced to grabbing Cyrille’s arm in your hands. You squeezed his forearm tightly, urging him on, wanting him to fuck you faster with his fingers.

Cyrille groaned loudly in his hand. You looked so pretty and needy like that - your little hands squeezing his arm as hard as you could, but still weak because he was choking you hard enough to make you feel slightly dizzy. Cyrille knew that he had promised not to edge you, but he couldn’t help except order you, “Count to ten, angel.”

You whimpered again, more softly, and tried to shake your head. “You said - You said you wouldn’t make me wait...” 

“I know, princess, and I won’t, but I need you to count,” he told you. True to his words, Cyrille began to finger-fuck your pussy hard and fast, without holding back from making you cum, and instead coaxing cum out of your pussy already, having it coat his long fingers in sticky sweetness. 

You tried your best to breathe out as he pounded his fingers into you. “Cy...rille...” you breathed out. 

“Yes, princess,” Cyrille encouraged you, as he felt you getting steadily sloppier on his fingers. He looked up at you for a moment. Your head was lolling back against the wall, your curls a total mess in framing your sweaty, flushed face. Your eyes were shut tightly, and your shoulders were tense and quivering. Your arms were drawn together since you were gripping his arm, and the positioning of your arms meant that your breasts were beautifully showcased between your arms and in your still-damp shirt. Your hard, aroused nipples were poking through the front of your blouse, in contrast to the soft mounds rising and falling under the drying fabric. Furthermore, your lovely lips were parted as you panted lightly, trying very hard to get enough air despite his hand squeezing your pretty little throat.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Cyrille moaned. “Now come on, count to ten. I want to hear you.” 

“One, t-two, three... Hah....  Ah... f-four... S-six- !” 

“You made a mistake,” Cyrille told you, shaking his head in mock disappointment. He leaned over and gently bit your ear before whispering to you, “Start again.”

You gritted your teeth. Your mind was starting to slip. “N-No, I can’t...” 

“You can’t count?” Cyrille asked you, amused.

“Can’t c-count,” you agreed with him, not caring what you were saying. The feeling between your legs was beginning to flare up so intensely. His fingers were so good at reaching you right where you wanted him - and then hitting there repeatedly over and over again, until a wave of pleasure threatened to crest deep inside of your pussy. 

Cyrille chuckled lightly. “You’re the worst submissive I’ve ever had, angel. You gave up so quickly.”

Who cares about being a submissive? you thought. I need to cum. And even beyond that - I need to breathe. You reached up to gently tug his hands away, but Cyrille, seeing you reach up, squeezed your neck harder. Your hands fumbled instead at Cyrille’s chest, needing something to grab onto. You ended up finding his Slytherin tie and clutching at that for all you were worth as your entire body tensed. Arching your back off of the wall, you trembled hard for a moment - whether because of his fingers pressing repeatedly into your spot, or because of the thin stream of oxygen barely entering your body - you didn’t know. It all blurred into one dark, if not heavenly experience. 

Cyrille knew. His voice slithered into your ear, “You feel it, don’t you? How darkness amplifies pleasure. It’s all you can think about, all you can feel, all you can take... And when you finally reach your limit, you’ll cum and cum and cum.” He thrust his fingers into you hard every time he said the word “cum” and the wet sounds of your tight, sloppy-with-cum cunt taking his fingers sounded out loudly. “Look at you now. You couldn’t even take off your skirt by yourself in front of me, and here you are now, cumming all over my fingers. You’ve become a very, very bad girl, wouldn’t you say?”

“C-Cum... a-all over,” you bleated out mindlessly, quivering all over on his hand as you felt his fingers push in and out of you hard and fast. 

“That’s right, pretty girl. You’re going to cum all over my fingers, and all over yourself. I want you wet with cum. I want you dripping with cum, angel,” Cyrille murmured lowly. Then, Cyrille abruptly added a third finger and you cried out loud, your voice grasping in a near-tangible way at the air. Your thighs shivered hard. 

“Yes, angel, shiver against me. Just like that. I love feeling you shake against me. It means you’re about to cum, isn’t it? Mm, look at you, all fucked dumb and trembling just from taking my fingers. You must be very close...” Cyrille murmured. 

I- I am close, you thought dizzily. I can’t take much more before... I cum. I can feel my tummy tightening already. And my mind is... starting to spiral. And I - fuck, I can’t breathe. I really can’t breathe. 

Cyrille’s soft voice entered your thoughts, soft enough that you weren’t even sure if you were dreaming or actually hearing him. He whispered, “Remember, you made me promise you that I wouldn’t stop you from cumming today. Here I am, living up to that promise. So cum. Cum, angel, cum for me. I know you will, because you’re such a good girl.” 

The haziness in your mind intensified the feeling pooling in your lower stomach. You knew you were very, very close to cumming, and because of your breath deprivation, because of your need to gasp for air before you came, it made the tension all the more twisting and urgent - you needed to cum as badly as you needed to breathe - it was all one thing- it was all - ah, ah, ah! Fuck, I can’t - I can’t think straight. I’m so close. The tension... It’s so deep in my pussy, and I - ah! I feel so... so hot inside. Uhn, I’m so close! Cyrille, please... Fuck me harder, love. 

“You like being a good girl, don’t you?” Cyrille taunted you. “So do it. I said - fucking cum.”

Oh God, he gives it so me so good - so good. My body’s trembling, my pussy’s throbbing. Any second, I- I- I’m - Uhnnnnnn!

Cyrille felt you tensing hard, your wet, warm pussy throbbing hotly against his fingers. Your thighs involuntarily squeezed his wrist. Your eyes rolled back slightly, and your head fell back against the wall behind you. Your face was quite flushed, as your heart pounded in your chest. A buzzing started to ring out in your head.

“C-Cyr- ” You couldn’t even say his name. 

Cyrille looked at you with cold eyes, watching your eyes start to roll back in your head. He murmured, "Angels don’t speak. They only cry.” 

“And you know what?” Cyrille lowered his voice into a thin, treacherous line. “You didn’t finish counting.” 

Oh God, I’m cumming so much. It’s... Ah... It’s everywhere... My cum is dripping out of my pussy. Uhnn... I can’t hold it in anymore... Fuck... But I need more. I want more. I want to cum again. Please, make me cum even more. In that moment, you could not care less what Cyrille had to say. Let him make you count to infinity, for all your cared, you didn’t even remember numbers anymore. You were so lost in this world of dark paradise, of pure pleasure, and all you wanted was to feel all of the sensations as fully as possible. Cyrille could tell that you had no thought of listening, that you weren’t even going to pretend to humor him. He knew that he could fuck off for all you cared, you were just a man to give you pleasure, to send you to high heaven in dizzying spirals by feeding pleasure into your sweet spot.

“Angel, you’re leaving me,” Cyrille whispered, watching you as your head slipped down the rock wall behind you. He was still grasping you by the neck, but your head all but disappeared from view as your hips slid forward from the wall and your chest rose in the air, pushing your breasts into view. 

Cyrille imagined that this was what you were like when you pleasured yourself at night, deep in your blankets, and he wondered again, with a flare of jealously, if you ever imagined any man but him. 

“Angel,” Cyrille whispered, “tell me the truth now that you’ll all cummed-out. I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what I want. Have you ever thought about James Potter, or, Merlin forbid, someone else, when you touch yourself?”

He loosened his grip ever so slightly to let you reply. Your head came back up as you gasped in lungfuls of air. 

“Answer the question.” 

“I- I think of y-you,” you exhaled. 

“And only me?”

You blinked. Yes, but... I don’t want you to know that... quite yet. 

Misunderstanding you or at least offended by your silence, Cyrille growled in his low voice, “You’re a brat. You say you liked James Potter, but it was you who let him go. I know it. He would never, ever leave you. No man would. And as for me, you say you hate me, then you cum on my fingers and beg for my cock like some good little girl. But you’re not. You’re a bad little girl, and bad little girls get to cum on stranger’s fingers, but they also deserve to get choked.” 

“So, which are you?” he demanded, his voice rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Bad girls only tell the truth when they cum, and my fingers are dripping wet from you, after all, so I say you owe me the truth. What are you, hm? Good girl or bad girl? Be honest. Don’t fucking lie to me again, angel.” 

“B-Bad... girl,” you said thoughtlessly, still trying to keep your desire for Cyrille vague, and still riding the waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body and pulsing hotly between your thighs. Because in this strange, floating world, some part of you, deep inside, ached to be choked, to be lost, especially with Cyrille. Maybe only with Cyrille.

“Good,” Cyrille whispered darkly. “Then choke.” He wrapped his fingers around your neck even more, and he marveled at the way his long fingers wrapped around your pretty little neck, with his palm covering up most of your gorgeous throat.

You heard yourself say, “...Pl...ease...” in a faint, choked whisper, not even knowing what you were asking for. I feel... submerged, almost like I’m floating. Your thoughts were detached, an out-of-body experience, and for that, they were oddly clearer. As if you were able to understand and accept what you couldn’t before. It’s like we’re back in the water together. I’ve always felt this way with him. As if we’re the only two to exist in some underwater, desolate universe. 

Cyrille admired you for a long moment, watching you covered in cum and still coming down from your last high from cumming. Then, he leaned in and whispered fervently, “Drown with me.” 

He kissed you hard on the mouth. When he aggressively forced your mouth open with his, you barely heard the moan that you let out. It was the softest little “ah,” like a feather drifting through the air.

But Cyrille heard it. He’d been waiting for it, knowing you’d fall for it. 

He smirked savagely at you. “That’s right, angel,” he whispered. “You moaned. And I told you what happens once you moan. No more James. No more anyone. You’re fucking mine.” 

His hand clenched around your neck, even as his fingers pushed back inside of your dripping pussy to coax out even more orgasms from you. The combination of being choked and finger fucked roughly at the same time finally pushed your last bit of air from your throat.

Your let out a quick, sharp gasp of air before your mind snapped once more - Uhn, fuck! Ah, ah...! Ah, I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Yes, I’m cumming - !

You wanted to whimper, but you couldn’t anymore. You didn’t have the breathe for it. Your legs were shaking, but Cyrille wasn’t letting up. His fingers were so deep inside of you and he was thrusting his hand against you so hard that your ass was bouncing off of the wall behind you as you helplessly, but willingly took his fingers inside of your poor, used pussy. Your ass cheek with Cyrille’s handprint was still tender and sore, and being slammed against a rock wall repeatedly was doing nothing to help it feel better. But in the moment, you hardly noticed because of the mind-bending, senseless pleasure that was rising over and over again between your thighs. Cum was squirting everywhere, and there was still tension rising in your tummy to replace it. 

At the same time, a darkness was setting into your mind, and you didn’t even hear the pitiful, wanting, needy whimpers you were letting out, that were driving Cyrille on because he wanted to fucking ruin you, exhaust you, until you couldn’t whimper anymore - only cum. 

And you were. You were cumming again, all over his hand, and soon enough, you were giving him cream - sweet, white, beautiful, milky cream that made Cyrille moan when he saw it all over his fingers. Your pussy looked so unbelievably pretty, all covered in cream and cum. 

God, she’s fucking heavenly, Cyrille thought to himself. Fuck, I want to fuck her so bad. Have her cream all over my cock like this. Mmm, yes, there’s nothing I want more. 

Cyrille kept pushing you, wanting to break your limits, wanting to see you cum again and again for him, to pound into your mind as well as into your pussy that you were fucking his now. 

How - How long can I hold on now? you wondered hazily. You’d barely managed to think that when your legs gave out. You slid down the wall to the floor. 

Cyrille followed you right to the floor, getting on top of you and putting both of his hands on your neck. He started to grind against you, and you felt his cock, already quite hard, rutting up through his pants against you. He moved his hips more and more aggressively against you, all while anchoring himself by your neck. 

You looked up at him blearily, staring up at him through slightly wet eyes - did I cry? I don’t remember crying. I only remember pleasure - and trying to catch his gaze. “Cy-Cy...” you barely managed to speak. “I can’t - I c... can’t br-...Uhn...” 

“I know,” Cyrille whispered back, gazing down at you and taking in your beautiful, pleading eyes. His voice was sympathetic, but his hands squeezed your throat harder. “And you won’t be because, princess, you should know by now - you only get to breathe when your mouth is on me - that is, kissing me or sucking my cock. Or maybe, on a rare occasion, when you need to answer my question. I’m learning, though, that you never answer me honestly, so I may take that option away, angel. You don’t need to breathe nearly as much if you don’t need to lie all the time, do you, angel?”

You stared at him mindlessly, watching him with half-lidded, dazed eyes as he pushed his painfully hard cock against your cum-covered, bare pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Cyrille told you softly, watching you shifting back and forth on the hard cavern floor under him as he pushed his hips up against you, which pushed you up slightly, but then, using his grip on your neck, he’d yank you back down against him every time to make sure the two of you were hitting up against each other - cunt to cock. “There’s no one as beautiful as you, angel.” 

Cyrille breathed out a soft, high moan, indicating that he was close to climaxing. He rolled his hips against you harder, his thighs bit by bit pushing yours open, and then slamming against you harder and rougher until he was all but fucking you brutally with his clothes on. Your wet, messy pussy and his spilling pre-cum were leaving quite a wet stain on the front of Cyrille’s trousers, and the stain became more and more wet as he fucked you harder and harder. You were sure you were going to have bruises all over the insides of your thighs tomorrow.

Cyrille groaned, and still choking you with one hand, reached down with the other, and fumbling messily, he barely managed to pull his swollen cock out of his pants in time to cum on you. But he did cum, with a loud, soft moan, and he came hard enough that his cum shot up your stomach and chest, drenching your school uniform in his scent. 

You flinched a little when some of his warm cum hit your face. Almost as though you couldn’t help it, your tongue flicked out and you tasted it. Cyrille watched your soft tongue come out and chase his cum for the briefest moment.  

“I knew it,” he murmured, tiredly pushing his long silver hair out of his face. “Something about you... matches me. Look at you. My cum looks so good all over you. I want it to be on your naked body next time, angel. I want to cum all over your face, your thighs, your tummy, your back... And then I’ll fill you up with my cum, too, if you let me - your mouth and pussy and ass... Mm, angel. Thinking about you taking me in all of your tight little holes. Fuck.” 

“And I keep thinking you don’t want it,” Cyrille confessed, his voice now softer than it had been all day, “but you keep proving me wrong.” 

“And you know, don’t you, angel? That if you ask, if you want it, if you so choose... I will always... take you deeper,” he breathed out,  still trying to catch his breath. And his hand finally squeezed your neck completely - not just on the sides of your neck, but actually slowly blocking off your windpipe. Cyrille leaned down and kissed you wetly as he choked you.

He really is... taking me deeper, you realized. The thought drifted down to you slowly, like light shifting through layers of dark ocean water. There were glittering lights everywhere - not just amethyst and crystal white now, but crimson red, bright orange, and a brilliant yellow, all playing off of shades of blue. It was sunset, and the light spilled gorgeously into the cavern. Cyrille had wanted to show you this very sight before the two of you went back, but instead of seeing the lights play out on the cavern walls, you were blurrily seeing it play out against Cyrille’s sharp, haunting, and beautiful face. Likewise, he was seeing the shifting colors play out on your gorgeous face and body. This must be love, you thought fuzzily. Something this beautiful has to be love, right? 

But a deeper voice within you called out a warning, asking you: Well, but how can it be? When we’re both sinking... Both playing gambits, both wearing masks… In the end, though, if he has me like this, isn’t it fair to say that he’s won? Then, with cum - his and yours - streaming down your thighs, and Cyrille’s wet, warm lips pressed hotly against your mouth, your mind went utterly blank. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was Cyrille’s silvery eyes, reflecting the fiery sunset light playing off of the deep blue ocean waters - light and dark, chaotically meshing in the eyes and soul of one human being. 

#harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x lily evans #cyrille lestrange #marauders #marauders era #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 1

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.] Note: *Cyrille Lestrange is referenced as canon, but he is an OC character in terms of personality/specifics. *Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You! 

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“Gemino.”

The dice remained stubbornly singular.

“Practice for homework,” McGonagall told you sharply, and then she moved on.

You groaned and put your head down in your arms. Transfiguration was your worst subject, and today’s lesson only solidified that truth. 

When you lifted your head, you felt someone’s eyes on you. Turning your head slightly, your eyes suddenly met a pair of haughty silver eyes. You blinked. Cyrille Lestrange... Recognizing the seventh-year Slytherin, you immediately looked away. What’s he looking at me for? Probably laughing at me...

Meanwhile, your boyfriend, James Potter, had just performed a perfect Gemino Spell. McGonagall struggled not to smile as she looked down at the overly-confident and overly-pleased young man before her. 

“Very well. Ten points to Gryffindor.” McGonagall said quietly. Then, she turned to the rest of the class and said, “Except for the few of you who managed to perform the Gemino Spell correctly, everyone else will practice until they have perfected this spell.” 

“Why?” a bold, cheeky voice rang out. “I can’t imagine needing to use this spell except to try to disguise robbery. Are you training us all to be criminals?”

“Mr. Black, I suggest you re-think the uses for this spell,” McGonagall replied in a clipped, dry voice. “Now, off with you. All of you.” 

You waited for James just outside the doorway. As usual, he came out with Sirius, Remus, and Peter. He grinned when he saw your slightly displeased face.

“Tricky spell, eh?” he said to you, wrapping his arm around you. 

“Oh, please. You got it on the first try,” you replied knowingly. “I know you’re good at Transfiguration, James. You don’t have to try to make me feel better.” 

“Mate,” Sirius suddenly broke in, “if we’re going to have enough time to set it up, we have to go now.”

“Oh, right.” James looked down at you and whispered, “Sorry, love, I’ve got to go with the others to set up a prank.”

“Another one, James?” you said, frowning slightly. 

But he looked so happy about it that you couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

“There’s my girl,” James said, happy to see you laugh. He bent down to give you a quick kiss before dashing off with the others. 

You shook your head slightly as you watched him go, half-exasperated and half-amused by the Marauders’ antics.

“Aren’t you tired of being left behind?” 

A quiet, but nonetheless dauntless voice sounded out from behind you.

You turned around, startled. You thought everyone had left the classroom area by now. 

For a moment, you found yourself staring at a strange emblem - a silver raven in a silver tree before the person moved closer to you. You instinctively looked up to see those same silver eyes.

“What do you want?” you heard yourself demand. 

Cyrille raised his eyebrow at you. But instead of calling you out on your defiance directly, he merely replied quietly, “Who said I wanted anything... from you?” At his last two words, he slowly slid even closer to you. 

He was right there - you could practically feel the warmth of his body radiating onto your skin... But you stared defiantly up at him. 

When he saw the challenge in your eyes, instead of being offended or afraid, he broke into a sly, but nonetheless soft, smile. 

You frowned, taken aback by his reaction. You crossed your arms, not caring when your arms bumped into his chest - or rather, right below his chest, for he was far taller than you. 

Cyrille didn’t push back or react to your subtle shove, but he didn’t budge either.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to dissuade me...” he said, the corner of his mouth still pulled up in a wry smile. “But, I won’t push you. Just remember - come to me when you’ve become tired of your Gryffindor clowns.” 

Setting his Transfiguration textbook lightly on his shoulder, he gracefully moved past you and strode down the hallway, leaving you very confused and still standing in front of the empty Transfiguration classroom.

#fanfic #fanfiction #james potter #james potter x reader #harry potter smut #cyrille lestrange #harry potter imagine #marauders #marauders era #james potter x lily evans #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 10

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.] *Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You! 

❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦

A raging party was going on in the Gryffindor common room, and when James showed up, the party became even more rambunctious. Even Lily had given up on trying to calm the party now, and simply joined it. 

You were feeling a little bit out of it, and James had offered to take you upstairs to your dorm and hold you until you fell asleep. While very tempting, you knew that James wanted to enjoy the party. After all, he was the Quidditch Captain. So, you also stayed at the party and pretended to enjoy yourself so he wouldn’t feel pressure to stop the fun. 

But then, as the drinking games and dares got more and more wild, some Ravenclaw boy finally dared Lily Evans to take three shots of Firewhiskey. Lily Evans was not a drinker - everyone knew that - but she also wasn’t one to back down on dares. Eyes alight and throwing back her beautiful mane of red hair, Lily Evans victoriously completed the dare - and bolted right afterwards. She ran to the trash can and threw up. Everybody laughed loudly, but only one person went after her without a second thought - James.

James held her hair back and rubbed her back, looking worriedly at her. You went and got a cup of water. You started to approach them when you saw Lily try to get to her feet, but she swayed on her feet, clearly out of it. James caught Lily and then, sweeping her up in his arms, he took her over to the couch, away from the party, and gently put her down. He crouched down and stayed by her side, brushing her hair from her face and asking her questions to make sure she was all right. Nothing about it was flirtatious, and that made it worse because nothing short of genuine love was written all over your boyfriend’s face.

You tried to swallow down your feelings. My jealously is not the problem right now. I should help Lily, as I would help anyone. You stepped forward towards the couch, still holding the cup of water.

Just then, James Summoned a Cup and expertly performed an Aguamenti spell. Helping Lily sit up, James kindly helped her drink the water. His eyes never left her flushed face. Lily drank the water, but always the care-giver herself, she had had enough of being taken care of. Shaking her head, she gently pushed James away.

“Lily, you should go to bed,” James told her, letting her push away his hand.

“I’m fine, James,” she said, though her eyes were a bit red. Her words were also slightly slurred.

“No, you’re not,” James sighed. “Come on. I’ll take you back.” He got up and pulled her up gently. 

She stumbled a bit, and he grabbed her quickly by the waist. Feeling his hand on her waist, Lily blushed, her lovely face turning a bright shade of crimson. 

“It’s a good thing I moved in with you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know the password,” James told her, trying to make the atmosphere feel more relaxed. But he swallowed discretely. 

Then, you darted into view. You had walked forward to open the common room door so that James could walk out of there with Lily.

“Thanks,” James told you. “I figured I should take Lily back.”

You offered, “I’ll come with you.” 

James nodded gratefully. 

The two of you took Lily back to the Heads’ dormitory. Entering her room, James set Lily down carefully on her bed. You pointed your wand at a cup on bedside table and murmured, “Aguamenti” to make sure that she would have water when she woke up. 

James gently brought Lily’s pillow under her head to make sure she was comfortable. You watched him gaze at her for a moment.

God, he wears his heart on his sleeve, you thought to yourself. Suddenly, you felt deeply, deeply miserable.

“James, I’m going to go back, unless you need me,” you said quietly.

“No, you can go,” James replied. “I think that she’s just going to sleep.”

Your heart felt a pang of pain as you thought, I didn’t ask if she needed me. I asked if you did...

“Here, I’ll walk you back,” James replied, getting up.

The two of you left Lily’s room together. As you did, you suddenly realized that the wall besides Lily’s door was stacked with children’s fairytale books.

You paused.

James accidentally stepped past you before stopping. “Love?” he said, confused, as he turned back around to you.

“James,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Those fairytale books... Were they her idea?”

James’ eyes widened slightly, and he fell silent.

After a long, tense moment, he murmured to you, “Sweetheart...” His voice was sad - not trying to hide anything, but not wanting to acknowledge what you both knew already.

“Thanks, but you don’t need to walk me back,” you said abruptly. Lowering your head, you got out of there as fast as possible, trying to hide the tears welling up in your eyes.

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

The next morning, when you didn’t come down for breakfast, James’ heart sank.

He put his head in his hands and muttered over and over again, “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Prongs?” Peter reached over and shook James’ shoulder gently. “We have to go to class. We’ll be late, and we already have four detentions from McGonagall as it is.” 

James just groaned, still not looking up. 

“Prongs?” Remus’ voice joined Peter’s one-sided conversation. “What’s going on?” 

“I messed up,” James mumbled into his palms. “I messed up bad.”

“Well, whatever it is, it can’t be any worse than when Padfoot nearly killed Snape and got us all expelled, so c’mon,” Remus offered.

“Moony, if that’s your idea of consolation, that’s grim,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “What you’ve got to do is what my mum used to do to me - reverse psychology.” 

“How’s that going to work in this situation?” Peter asked skeptically. 

Sirius murmured, “Watch.”

“Hey, Prongs,” Sirius called out lightly. “We’re off to class. Don’t go if you don’t want to. We’ll tell McGonagall you’ve got a stomachache.” 

James let out another groan, but dragging his elbows off of the table, he slung his bookbag over his shoulder and still moping, dragged his feet over to them.

“See?” Sirius said, grinning proudly. “Works like a charm.”

“Merlin, Pads, I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of,” Remus said, softly shaking his head. 

“Maybe not, but your way of getting Prongs to go to class was to tell him it wasn’t as bad as death, so... I don’t think you can judge me on this one, Moony,” Sirius replied snarkily.

Remus paused, about to reply. But after thinking about it, he shrugged and said, “Yeah, all right, Padfoot. Fair enough.” 

As it was, this little discussion made all four of them late anyways and they ended up with yet another detention under their belt.

James, however, didn’t seem to notice, as his attention was fully occupied by the vision of his girlfriend determinedly avoiding his eyes. A few minutes later, the annoying Lestrange boy leaned over to say something to her. She swatted at him and turned her shoulder to him. But a moment later, he said something else, and this time, she responded in a softer tone. 

The Slytherin boy’s eyes suddenly swiveled over to look at James. James’ brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed. Lestrange smirked at him, and then slid back into his seat. James’ heart was churning with the desire to punch the Lestrange boy in the face again or hex him into oblivion, but right then, class ended, and when you left without looking at James even once, his heart sank back into misery, and he couldn’t think of hurting anyone prior to healing you. 

James got up from his seat to chase after you, but his path was suddenly interrupted by Lily.

“James,” she said, clutching her textbook to her chest, “I heard about what you did for me last night, and I do remember you helping me back. Thank you... and I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been rude to you.”

“Lily- ”

“I just haven’t been myself lately, and I...” Suddenly, her vivid green eyes were staring right into James’ brown ones as she confessed, “... I reckon you know why, James.”

James paused. Confused, he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. “What? What are you talking about?” 

Lily shifted uncomfortably. "You- ” She stopped herself. “Never mind, James. I just wanted to say thank you. That’s all.”

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

You and Emmeline were eating lunch together and going over Potions. Well, she was telling you about Potions, and you were listening mindlessly. Because your thoughts were completely occupied by - 

“James?” Em’s voice suddenly stopped listing Potions ingredients as your boyfriend appeared in your doorway. 

“Hey, Em.” James was standing in the doorway of your dormitory room. James hesitated as he looked over at you. You remained as you were, bent over your Potions textbook with your hair hiding most of your face.

“Do you mind if we talk alone for a second?” James asked, indicating himself and you.

Emmeline nodded. She gathered her lunch and left. 

“Thanks,” James told her as Emmeline passed him on the way out. 

You heard James make his way over to you. He knelt in front of you. 

“Sweetheart,” he said softly. “Can you at least look at me?”

When you didn’t respond, he gently took the Potions textbook out of your hands and put it down on the floor. Then, he reached out and slowly and carefully took your hands in his. 

“You have dark circles under your eyes... Did you sleep at all?” James asked you, concern bleeding into his voice.

You kept your gaze on his hands, easily swallowing up yours, as you asked in a quiet voice, “James, do you remember how we met?”

“Yeah, of course,” James replied instantly. “You covered for me when I pranked McGonagall so that her blackboard would- ” 

“No, I mean, the night when we really became friends,” you said.

James frowned, not sure what you were getting it.

“It was right after Lily turned you down to go to the ball...” you reminded him. “You were angry and sitting alone by the Great Lake, and I went after you.” 

James’ frown deepened. “Sure, I remember now, but why is that important?”

“And do you know how we became best friends?” you asked. 

Slowly, James shook his head.

“After that incident by the Lake, when Lily screamed at you and said that you were as bad as Snape, even though he called her that horrible term ‘Mudblood,’ you were really upset. I went after you and talked to you...” 

“Baby,” James said quietly. “This isn’t... That’s not...”

“And do you remember the night we got together? It was right after Lily started going out with Edgar Bones... I knew you were sad about it, even if Sirius, Remus, and Peter didn’t know...  So, I went and stole the Quidditch Snitch out of the storage shed and brought it up to you. We were alone in your dormitory and we spent the night chasing the Snitch...”

“Yeah,” James said heavily. He was no longer looking at you. “It was one of my favorite nights at Hogwarts...” 

“And the night we first slept together...” You saw Lily and Edgar kissing in the common room.” Your voice dropped into a pained whisper as you confessed, “I saw the look on your face... You wanted her. You always have. And you still do.”

“No,” James pushed back. “Sweetheart, that was just - Evans is just a childhood crush.” 

You shook your head. “I know you, James. You have such an ability to love. Once you put someone in your heart, you don’t ever let them go.”

“Well, that’s you,” James protested fiercely. 

You finally looked up at him. You searched his eyes as you asked quietly, “Is it?” 

At your gaze, James fell silent. 

Your hands trembled slightly in his. You made to pull your hands away, when suddenly James’ grip on your hands was vicelike. 

“Love, please,” he whispered, begging. “What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

You stared at his hands grasping tightly onto yours, pleading for you not to leave him. 

Almost numbly, you murmured, “Fuck me. Then tell me you love me.” 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Moaning with your head thrown back, your trembling fingers gripped hard at James’ hair. His warm hands were under your ass, propping you up as he buried his face between your thighs and pressed his tongue inside of you. 

She tastes so sweet, my girl... James sucked hard on your pussy, wanting your cum in his mouth, needing the taste of you to spread all over his tongue. He only wanted to taste and smell and touch you... 

But you needed to feel him. 

“J-James, I need you... inside me...” you gasped out. 

James continued to lap at your pussy, wanting you to cum again. You moaned loudly. Your thighs wrapped around his head. But at the same time, you tugged at his hair a bit harshly. Yes, you were cumming. Yes, you loved his mouth on you. But fuck, did you need him inside you, too. 

“James, I s-said I- I need you,” you managed to repeat. 

James finally let you go, letting you slip from his hands back onto the bed. Still, he let his hands roam over the inside of your thighs for a moment. You pulled again at his hair.

But James couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and placed a warm kiss against the inside of your thigh.

“James,” you groaned again. “Baby, fuck me.” Your voice started to hitch up into a plea, but you stopped yourself. Keep it a command. Keep yourself in control. 

But James immediately picked up on that lilt in your voice, right at the end of that short, endearing, and sometimes brutal phrase of “fuck me.” He looked up at you. 

Normally, James would continue to tease you, even though he was rock hard himself. He might shoot you a cocky grin before leaning down and running the tip of his tongue down the length of your clit again, just barely grazing you.

But today was different. Today... it wasn’t as playful. Because it  wasn’t just fucking this time - there was too much emotion for that. In fact, it felt overwhelming, like you were choking on it. You wanted to cry, but you weren’t sure why.

You bit down on your lower lip, only keeping yourself silent with a lot of effort.

So, what if he hears it? He already knows, you thought to yourself. He knows how much I love him.

As it was, you much preferred to be fucked than to let yourself cry in front of James. But he was making that extremely difficult, as he was going to great lengths to make sure he was taking care of you, appreciating you... And it was becoming harder and harder for you to hold up your act, to pretend like you didn’t care, to pretend like you didn’t know what was coming...

Just let me forget. Let me forget. Please. 

As if on cue, the clock chimed out. It was one o’clock. Potions class was starting. Neither of you noticed.

You knew James was never going to give in if you just kept murmuring, “Fuck me, fuck me,” so you finally conceded some ground, as you knew what would get him to come to you. You looked down at him and breathed out, “Kiss me.” 

James finally rose up to meet you - pressing his lips against yours lovingly. Sinking into the pillow beneath you, you pressed your hands against James’ chest - his strong, warm chest, which had kept you warm and feeling safe throughout many cold nights.

Lying back on top of your bed, your legs naturally wrapped around James’ waist. As the two of you kissed, pressing your soft tongues against each other and breathing out in time with each other, you both started to move slightly against the others, gently pushing your hips against each other’s warmth. You moaned softly and wrapped your arms around him. You wished he’d kept his shirt on, if only to give you something to clutch tightly, but then again, you’d trade the warmth of his body on yours for anything, even if meant having to hold back and little and be more careful so you wouldn’t leave nail marks all down his broad back. 

As strong as James was physically, he was a bit of a whiner when it came to any lasting pain. Usually, the very thought of remembering how badly James had whined the first time you’d accidentally marked him up made you giggle. He’d been so very pouty with you all day, asking you to gently rub his back while he curled up next to you, his large, muscular body all hunched over to try to melt against your much smaller figure. He also chased your kisses all day, telling you he definitely deserved long, soft kisses from your lips. That was how you’d found out you liked those drawn-out, gentle, and breathy kisses with James. 

That was what you were both trying to do now, only the two of you were too desperate and wanting and scared to be as gentle as you were supposed to be. Instead, your kisses were simultaneously demanding and pleading on both sides. You’d bite down softly on his bottom lip, and he’d let you, only to then press his lips harder into yours when you started to pull away to breathe. He’d sink his mouth against yours, subtly but aggressively forcing your lips to part wider so that you’d stay together. You’d have to receive this deeper kiss from him now, as compensation for his allowing you to bite down on his lower lip. And so the two of you traded kisses and bites and moans, back and forth, back and forth...

As you did, you thought to yourself that James’ mouth tasted very sweet, with just a hint of something bitterness... Oh, your mind realized softly, through the layers of sensation, that’s me. I’m tasting myself on his tongue...

After a long while of this, James panted softly into your mouth, “Do you... really want me to make love to you?”

You paused. Then, you nodded, causing his lips to slip off of yours and onto the corner of your mouth. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Five minutes later, and James was leaning over you, his large hands in brutal fists on either side of your head, gripping the sheets tightly and rolling his hips against you hard as he made love to you. 

Thrusting into you, James felt the soft, but somewhat scratchy fabric of your knee socks graze lightly but repeatedly on his waist, as your legs were crossed across his back.

Reaching behind him a bit, he started to yank them off, murmuring, “Take them off. I want to see you... All of you.”

You let your legs uncross for a moment as James pulled off your socks. They fell to the floor, the warm, now curled-up fabric quickly turning cool again within your legs and feet in them.

James’ warm hands slid up your shins back to your thighs. He spread you out again and then entered your pussy once again. You felt his cock slid inside you - first only spread you out a little, but then, right where his cock broadened out, you gritted your teeth for a moment, and then you moaned when the base of his cock spread you open much further... Your moan rose into a gasp as just a moment later, the same time the tip of his hard cock pressed softly into your center. You shivered slightly. No matter how wet I get, it still feels so deep... and like I’m being stretched out... by him.

You breathed out softly. 

James was gazing down at you. You were never one to show your shyness, but today you genuinely didn’t feel shy. Let him look at me, you thought, if it makes him happy. If it’ll give him some kind-of good memory...

It was a shame you didn’t realize what was going on in his head- how kindly and tenderly he saw you in his head. You were stunning to him. You’d never been anything but. 

He was never going to get used to that little arch in your back that was the perfect place to slide his hands in to hold you so that he could lean forward and kiss your tummy and breasts as you came around his cock... 

And even if he wanted to, he could never miss that little shudder that ran through your body every time he entered you, no matter how many times he’d fucked you that week, or even that night. 

Every time he came in you, he wanted to open your legs and watch his cum drip out of you and onto your still shivering thighs, but he rarely got to because the you two almost never had time before someone else would come barging in, and it took a while for the cum to drip out because he usually came balls-deep in you and you were just so tight that the cum stayed in you for a long time. So tight that even when he softened again, he could stay inside for a little while before he slipped out. He’d used the time to kiss you, and he loved kissing you like that because he’d move his hips just the slightest bit, and your breath would catch, and he’d know to kiss you harder.

But all of it was about much, much more than just the act of fucking you. 

The way you bit your lip before you breathed out when he touched you for the first time to check that you were wet enough, the way you moaned when you finally let yourself go, the way you sometimes - rarely, but sometimes - would plead for him to fuck you harder, and the way your soft lashes fluttered when you were all fucked out... They were all images he’d have of you forever in his mind.

And beyond that, the way you sleepily curled up on his chest afterwards - telling him adamantly that you were not sleepy, but just hungry until you went right to sleep in his arms, and the way he got to hold you and press kisses against your shoulder or cheeks just before you fell asleep, and once, you’d even pressed soft kisses into his chest right as you fell asleep... 

All of these little moments with you... They were all his favorite thing about you. 

You were his favorite girl.

James saw you reaching for him and wordlessly, he grasped your upper arms and easily pulled you to him. He hugged you tightly.

Because James knew too: life doesn’t play favorites. 

“Keep going,” you breathed out, mouth pressed against his cheek, right beside his ear - and he did. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

Fifteen minutes later, the clock was still ticking. Potions class had started now, but your Potions textbook lay forgotten on the floor by your bed, your socks draped over them. 

You moaned and fell over on the bed, turning your back to James. You buried your face in your pillow, which was not logical, given that you needed to catch your breath. But you didn’t care. Logic had long gone out of the window. There was only raw, emotional need here - in the non-existent space between the two of you. 

“Love...” James grasped your waist and turned you a little so that you had one leg straight out and the other leg folded up so that your thigh was level with your hip, revealing your pussy to him. He tenderly, but unflinchingly pushed himself back inside of you.

You cried out, the searing pleasure of James claiming you flaring up between your legs. Your soft, pleading cry was muffled by the pillow. James reached over and impatiently threw the pillow away, too. It disappeared as it flew over the edge of the bed.

James wanted to hear you moan fully for him, and he wanted to hear it all clearly. This driving thought spurred him on, made him increase his speed. Want to - want to hear her little pleading moans... The only way she begs for me... James thought fervently as he rammed his cock into you repeatedly. Come on, come on, he pleaded with both himself and you, let me hear those whimpers...

He gripped your waist tighter, squeezing the breath out of your already breathless figure as he pounded his cock into you. 

“Moan for me,” James told you, his voice wavering between commanding and pleading. “I want to hear that pretty voice...”

“James, I’m - ah- ”

“There you go,” James groaned, closing his eyes tightly as he pounded your tight little pussy. “Tell me who you’re moaning for. Say my name...”

“James,” you murmured out as quietly and steadily as you could, even though your little hands were gripping the sheets hard enough to untuck the corners of your sheets from the mattress.

“Say it again.”

You shut your eyes and mumbled, “James...”

“Please, baby, again.”

"Jam - Ah!” He thrust into you right as you finished saying his name, making you gasp out unintentionally, “Uhn... Ja...mie...”

“Uhn, sweetheart, yes,” James groaned, feeding every bit off of your giving in to his request. 

“Jamie...” you moaned, borderline incoherent. Without your pillow, you had nothing to bury your head into, and the inability to squirm against something was causing you to tense up more. Plus, your moans were now uninhibited, and they rang out loud and clear. 

“Good girl,” James panted, thrusting into you again. “Good girl, sweetheart.”  

“Ja-!” You cut off again, shuddering all over as you came for a second time on his cock. 

Your moans mixed with James’ as he felt your pussy clench tightly and spasm on his swollen cock, tempting him to cum too... 

As your climax ran through your body, you found yourself turning over, away from James, as you needed to open your legs and just let yourself cum full-out. But James stayed with you, letting you turn over - but in his arms.

He praised you as you came, telling you how beautiful you were and what a good girl you were to cum for him twice. 

“Ja-Jamie,” you huffed out, as he held you tightly in your arms even as your body bucked and trembled. Thoughtlessly, you pushed against his arms as you rode out your orgasm, not even realizing that you were pushing your pussy up against James’ thigh as you finished cumming. 

“Oh, fuck, baby...” James groaned out as he felt your cum drench his thigh. 

“Hold onto me,” he said fervently to you.

And you did. Instead of pushing him away, you grasped his forearms tightly as you finished cumming, whimpering a little as you did. 

When you fell back onto the bed, it surprised you when a tear fell from your eye and rolled down the side of your face.

James reached down to gently wipe it away with his thumb. “Sweetheart, are you crying?” he asked, with worry etched all over his face. 

You shook your head. Your fingers tightened around his arms for a moment before your hands slid up his strong, muscular arms and broad shoulders.

“Love, should I stop...?” James asked you, his brow furrowed worriedly. 

“No...” you breathed out. “Jamie...”

James’s eyes softened as he saw you. Your face was flushed with saying his name so many times, but it still had the same “butterflies-fluttering-in-his-stomach” feeling every time you said it.

He reached out and gently pushed the strands of hair, which had fallen in front of your face, back.

“You... look so pretty when you say my name,” he confessed. “Your lips look so pretty when they’re calling out to me...”

James gently pushed his thumb between your lips and you bit down on it lightly for him. 

His gaze was so tender. You wished it could be enough. 

But you wanted more. You would never have it. But at least, you could draw out this moment with him... 

Reaching up as far as you could, so that your shoulders lifted up slightly from the bed, your fingertips just managed to press themselves against James’ face.

“Keep making love to me. Please don’t stop,” you begged him, the way he always wished you’d beg. “Please... Please...”

James groaned heavily and leaning down, he kissed you hard enough to push you back into the pillows. You felt yourself sink back, and as he pushed his cock inside of you again, he ripped open your blouse and yanked off your bra. You gasped when you felt it snap around your body.  It gave way and went flying off. For a moment, you watched it follow the same trajectory as your pillow before it disappeared over the edge of the bed. 

James’ soft, messy hair pressed into your chest as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth.

You reached down and gently gripped his hair.  “Jamie,” you whispered, your voice wrapping around his name with warmth and need.

James looked up to see more tears springing to your lashes.

“No...” He murmured. “Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t cry.” He sounded desperate and heart-broken that you were crying. “Baby...” He kissed you again, catching your lips in his, and locking them together. He kept his mouth pressed against yours for so long that you ran out of oxygen. Your little hands gripped hard at his hair and your legs flailed for a moment before he finally let up. 

He’d slipped out of you as he’d focused completely on kissing you. Now, he reached down to guide himself and before you had finished gasping, breathless from his kiss, he’d pushed himself back inside of you.

“Ah!” you cried out. Oh God, that’s so deep. I’ve cum twice, but it’s still so... so...

James murmured out breathily, “Feel me... deep inside you, love. This is me. Right here. With you...”

You shut your eyes, not wanting to give away the emotions that were threatening to overtake you. 

“Look at me,” James pleaded, even as he rolled his hips again, pushing his cock deep inside of you.

“Uhn, James...” you breathed out, clutching at the sheets below you. “Don’t - Don’t do this. Just... Just fuck me, please.”

“I’m not... I’m not the guy who’s supposed to hurt you...” James whispered to you.

“I know you’re not,” you whispered back. “It’s you who doesn’t know that...”

It was too much. You suddenly turned back over, staying underneath him, and buried your head in your arms. 

“Baby, please...” James said, his voice pained.

“Show me,” you blurted out. “Show me that I’m yours and that... that you’re mine.” You blushed. There. Now I’ve done it. I’ve put myself out there so clearly. I’ve made myself so vulnerable. I’ve left myself with... no defenses.

James hesitated, unsure of how to do that. He’d never been the best communicator. He was the type of guy who moaned, stuttered, and begged when trying to dominant, and ended up exploding with impatience and fucking you senseless when he was supposed to be submissive. He was just him. James Potter, who didn’t know what to make of most situations, and always wore his heart on his sleeve. And those feelings he had for you? He didn’t know how to show them. And those feelings he had for Lily? He didn’t know how to hide them.

Even now, all he wanted, and wanted so desperately, was to prove you wrong. 

So when you spread your legs for him, even though you were spent from having already cum twice, and when you whispered in a trembling voice, “Make me cum again. Make me cum on your cock...” James leaned over you and gave you what you asked for. His cock pushed through your wet, tight pussy walls again... and again... and again. 

He worked his hips into you intensely, so that his cock pounded into you deep, hitting up into your tender, sweet spot that only he knew about... that only he could reach...

And when James pushed into you, you breathed out - with an involuntary and soft moan. Could there be any clearer sign that the two of you were intertwined? To be all tangled up with him like this, to the point where all you could see and taste and hear and touch and feel was him... To have him so deeply inside of you, to the point that any movement he made, let alone the pounding he gave to you, sent waves of sensation running through your body... Wasn’t it proof enough that the two of you were meant to be together?

At some point that neither of you were aware of, James had turned you over onto your side and pushed you down before lifting your leg up to reach deeper inside of you. You felt your abs on your left side straining as they were stretching and shifting against the bed underneath you as James rammed his cock into you. 

“You’re mine,” James told you, responding to what you had said. But his own emotions overwhelmed him and his voice deepened into a growl as he repeated it in time to his cock pounding into your poor, sopping wet, and yet still needing-to-spread pussy “You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re fucking mine.”

“Ba...by...” you managed to whimper, feeling his cock plunging in and out between your legs, gradually leaving a sticky stream of pre-cum all over the side of your left thigh because of the way you’d spread your legs for him.

Your stomach shivered as your breath hiked. You couldn’t - couldn’t quite breathe - with him slamming his cock in you every time you tried to breathe in. You fell over, though you could only turn your upper body so that your elbows met the bed, but your stomach was turned, revealing your tight, slender abs down your sides, as James kept his grip on your thighs, one hand pushing down on your left thigh and the other wrapped around your right thigh as your leg was stretched out and ran up James’ torso, meaning that you were spread wide open for him. 

But James, seeing you fall forward, immediately let your thighs go, so that you fell over without any discomfort. 

He watched you for a moment, the way your beautiful body curled up slightly on the bed, the way your messy, curly hair fell back over the now-tangled and wrinkled sheets. But then you reached back for him and pressing your little hand against his lower abs, you murmured softly, “Jamie, keep... going... Please... Cum in me.” 

James whispered, “Baby, you’re tired...”

But you shook your head. “Please, James, take me. I’m yours...” You were lying on your side, mostly on your stomach now, but you slowly parted your thighs again. James mostly saw your ass, but as you spread open your legs, he could see a glistening trail leading up your thighs to your waiting pussy. 

“Want you... Need you... inside of me,” you panted, even as your head drooped forward with tiredness. 

“Is this really what you want?” James asked. 

“Yes...” you breathed out. 

James got onto his knees on the bed and then leaned over you. Using his hands to spread your ass open so that he could see your pussy, he slowly delved his cock back into you. 

“Mm...” Your legs tensed a little as you took him in again. 

Looking down, James could see his cock broadening out your pussy every time he pulled and pushed into you, despite the fact that the two of you were well into your rounds. 

Seeing how beautifully you draped over the bed and yet spread over your thighs for him, James knew that there was never going to be as beautiful as anyone in his life than you... Especially your face. James felt that he could never fully comprehend the complete beauty you turned into when your cheeks became flushed and your lips parted right when he took you. He’d never told you because he never knew how to, but it took his breath away, literally. And he loved that half-second where your pretty mouth fell open right before he heard you moan as his cock filled you up. And your eyes... He’d always thought they shifted into a more vibrant and warmer hue when you were feeling pleasure. It was his favorite color in the whole world... But you weren’t looking back up at him. You wouldn’t look up at his face. Why won’t she look up at me?

“Love, look at me,” James told you, his breath coming in light, shallow gasps as he continued to push himself into you. He was close. He’d been close for the past five minutes, at least. 

“No...” you murmured. 

“Let me see my baby’s pretty eyes,” James mumbled tiredly. "Please. For me.”

“Uhn, Jamie... No... Please...” you breathed out, not knowing what you were asking for. “I mean, yes... I- I can’t... Ah, ah, ah!” 

Finally, James gently grasped your chin and turned your head so that you’d look over your shoulder up at him. 

He saw your misty eyes and his own eyes tightened. He started to push into you harder, needing to lose himself in the little world that the two of you created whenever you made love. 

“Ah...! Ah, ah, ah,” you panted, your voice becoming slightly more feminine as your exhaustion overcame you - and yet, you were so close to cumming for a third time. Because you weren’t holding back. You were letting yourself feel it. Feel how in love you were with someone who was bound to hurt you, who didn’t love you back... Feel how satisfied you were when he was here with you, filling you up, but also just holding you and asking to see your face... 

“Please,” you moaned softly, “Jamie...” 

“Sweetheart,” James moaned breathlessly. He felt you shuddering slightly beneath him, and he slowed to allow you to feel your pleasure. 

Everything about him was responding to fit you... Even the way his whole body was unconsciously curving over to your small figure sprawled out on the bed - it was clear that he considered it his mission to protect you. And with the way his thrusts started hard but always ended soft (though still deep) out of fear of hurting you - it was obvious that his need to please you was still far less than the desire not to hurt you.

“Cum for me,” he told you. “Cum like a good girl. You always do. My love...” 

“Are you - Are you close?” you asked him. Your eyes were half-lidded as pleasure and exhaustion crashed over you in never-ending waves. 

Before James could answer, you heard yourself cry out in a broken whimper. “I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum!” 

James groaned loudly when he felt you cum for a third time. You started to fall completely onto the bed, your elbows slipping until your breasts and cheek hit the bed. 

I need to see her face when she cums. I need to see it, James found himself thinking hazily. 

Before he’d thought it through completely, James dragged you up onto your knees with one hand wrapped around your torso and the other in your hair. He let go of your hair as soon as he realized what he was doing, though.

You were now both on your knees on the bed, though you only got up because he’d pulled you up. 

James’ large hands warmly pressed you to him so that his chest was pressed flush against your back. His arm crossed your breasts, pushing into them slightly as he held you up against him, and his other hand was pressed against your tummy, both soothing you with the warm pressure and holding you in place so that you couldn’t fall forward too much as he pressed himself into your warmth from behind. 

Right in the midst of cumming hard, you shut your eyes and leaned forward instinctively, but James wasn’t letting you part from him at all.

“Take me...” James whispered. “I’m yours, sweetheart, so take me.” 

James pushed you back against him, sinking his still-hard cock back into your wet pussy even as you were still cumming.

“Uhn... - Ah!” Your cry lengthened and escalated into an outright wail, though you stuttered when your back hit James’ chest again. Your head fell backwards onto his shoulder. Your gorgeous curls ran over James’ shoulder and down his back, which was so much broader and larger than yours. 

Your pussy spasmed on James’ cock, throbbing all around it while taking it up to the hilt. 

James groaned and burying his head against you, he bit your shoulder lightly as he felt your pussy pulse tightly on his cock.

“Hah... Ah.... Ah...!” You gasped for breath, your breasts rising and falling, and your tight little tummy straining as you felt a rush of cum spread deep inside your pussy before dripping down James’ cock. How many times have I cum? I don’t even know anymore, you thought wearily. 

“J-Jamie,” you panted out in a strangled moan. 

Your eyes slipped shut and you finally collapsed forward, your torso draping over his strong arm like a wilted flower bending in the wind. For a moment, you were half-suspended in the air. Reaching out, you gripped his arm, which was wrapped tightly around your waist. “Baby,” you breathed out, exhausted. “Let me go.”

His arm gave way and you finally fell forward completely back onto the bed. 

But James wasn’t prepared to let you go. He embraced you from behind and planted kisses all down your back, leaving a trail of glistening, lip-stained marks all down your lovely back. 

“Love, I’m about to - about to - cum, so c-cum with me,” James told you through his kisses. You could feel his heavy, hot breaths, and hear his stuttering words leave his mouth and whisper over your back. 

“Jamie, I don’t - I don’t know if I can... if I can- ” You had to stop trying to talk for a moment to just breathe and attempt to think. 

“What, baby?” James breathed out, his voice barely audible as he, too, was hardly able to string together a full sentence at the moment. 

“I don’t know if I can - can cum again...” you finally managed to say.

“I can make you, sweetheart,” James promised, pressing his lips tiredly against your back again. “I know how to.” 

And he did. He knew just how to touch you to make you moan, just how to grip you to make you whine, and just how to pound into you to make you whimper.

Both of you were panting, breathless, fucked-out messes, but James still needed to cum, and he knew he would find no satisfaction in cumming without you cumming together with him.  

He slipped his hand under you and reaching down, he started to pleasure you, pressing his fingertips against your clit. At the same time, he forced himself into your tight, sloppy pussy again. 

“Uhn...” Your moan was so soft that no one heard it, not even you. 

Instead, the incessant sound of his cock slamming in you sounded out relentlessly as he took you over and over again.

You blinked tiredly, eyes dazed as he fucked you. You wondered blearily if James would always take you this hard if you weren’t so tight all of the time... 

He was getting quite rough, eliciting a series of breathy, incomplete moans and cries from you. Your brain was melting... Was it pleasure...? Or is it just... sensation? 

“Baby,” James groaned, grunting slightly, “Can I - Can I cum i-in you?”

It’d been a while since he’d asked. In fact, he hadn’t asked (because you’d made it clear that you wanted his cum to fill your pussy up every time) since the third or fourth time you’d been together.

“Y-Yes,” you breathed out. “I w-want you t-to cum in me,” you stuttered. 

James grabbed your hips and squeezed you tight enough that it hurt. He slammed your hips down on his cock at the same time as he thrust up into you.

“Ah!” A long, desperate, and drawn-out cry rang out from you. A flash of pain ran through your mind as you felt James’ cock slam into your cervix. “Oh... God...” you whispered. You’d long let go of the sheets under you and been reduced to gripping your own hands into fists. Your nails dug into your palms, leaving little crescent marks deep into your soft skin. At the same time, you felt a last rush of cum escape your tight tummy, uncoiling.

You couldn’t think straight anymore - if at all. Your eyes were shut and you breathed out shallowly. You barely noticed when James collapsed on top of you, his own chest heaving against your slender back. For once, James, too, was so exhausted that he forgot to be careful with you. You were pressed into the mattress, so that not only were your breasts pressed flush against your mattress, but so were your tummy and thighs. 

Even though James was still inside you, you were so full of cum that it dripped out of you slowly, down his cock and balls and down your thighs, dripping slowly but steadily onto your sheets underneath you both. It wasn’t just clear cum, either, but creamy cum, too, on account of how many times you’d cum. You had to cum at least twice before you started to cream, and James had definitely taken you there - and more. 

You felt something warm and gentle press against your face. You vaguely were aware of your neck straining back slightly, and then a soft warmth enveloped your mouth.

Oh... you thought hazily.... he’s kissing me.

It reminded you of your first kiss with James - a hot spring day, next to the Quidditch pitch... Between the intense sun beating down on you and the utter shock at finally kissing the boy of your dreams, your mind had actually registered very little.

Just like now. But how very far you’d come from that moment... 

You almost wished you could go back in time. Almost. 

The soft warmth at your mouth disappeared, only for a gentle, warm breeze to blow across your flushed face as James whispered, “You’re so beautiful. And I told you... I told you that you’re the only girl I can cum with...” 

“...Ja...mes,” you breathed out. 

“Oh, shit, I’m smothering you, aren’t I?” James said hurriedly. He quickly started to push himself off of you.

“N-No... Wait,” you pleaded. With a soft noise of effort, you turned yourself over and tiredly draped your arms around James’ neck. 

James paused. He gently sank down back on top of you, though he kept himself on his elbows to make sure he wasn’t putting all his weight on you. 

“Sweetheart...” he whispered. He leaned down to kiss you, but you spoke first.

“James...” 

James stopped and looked down at you. “Sweetheart? What is it?”

You felt scared. Really scared. 

Your voice fell into a barely audible whisper as you squeezed out the words from your tired, but frantically thumping heart. “I...I love you. I’m not just saying it as a- a silly girl with a crush. Not anymore. I’ve been feeling this way about you for a while now. I truly, deeply... love you.”

James blinked furiously for a second. Then, he whispered back, “... I also... love you.”

He didn’t mean it. 

Your heart broke. 

He... didn’t mean it. He just didn’t mean it.

And I can’t change his mind. 

Your closed your eyes. Your arms slowly slipped off of him. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

You both got up from the bed and helped each other get dressed, like all of the other times. James fetched your bra and helped you put it on. You put back the pillow and then helped James to pull his blazer on. 

Afterwards, James looked down at you. His eyes were clouded over. He knew, deep down, that he didn’t mean it - and he knew that you knew, too. 

“Sweetheart...” he began quietly.

But you simply said, “Thank you.” Your tone was so matter-of-fact, so perfunctory. Then, you reached behind you and picked up a folded bundle on your desk - his Quidditch jumper. You held it out to him and said, “Jami- James. Here. Thanks for letting me borrow it.” 

James’ eyes flashed from the jumper in your hands to your face at once. 

She won’t look at me. Still.

She’s never going to.

James’ heart shattered right then and there. 

*     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *

The clock chimed out. It was half past one. Potions was half over, which meant that James Potter still had half an hour to cry. 

And he did. James sobbed. He was a crier. He always had been. 

“James Potter, you didn’t show up for class! But you know, we still need to go for patrol - What in- ? What in the name of Merlin is going on?” 

Lily rushed in. “James, are you okay?”

James shook his head, which was buried in his arms, back and forth. His shoulders heaved as he cried.

“James...” Lily said, completely taken aback. “What happened?” 

When James didn’t respond, Lily hesitatingly knelt next to him. She wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, but she wasn’t sure if that was appropriate. “James? Tell me what happened.”

“I hurt her,” James explained between loud snuffles, still not lifting his head up. “I- I hurt her, and she broke up with me.”

Lily took a deep breath and forced herself to pause. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him. But she didn’t want to be disrespectful to either James or his ex-girlfriend. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Lily murmured. “I understand if you do.”

“I don’t know,” James said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know anymore.”

Seeing him hurt like this was too much to bear. Lily sank down besides him, though she kept her distance. She waited for him patiently. 

When he finally sat up and raised his head, Lily gently rubbed his back, trying to help James Potter find his way back home to himself.

#fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #marauders era #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x lily evans #cyrille lestrange #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 2

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.] *Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦

“James Potter!” Lily Evans bellowed, as confetti rained down on her from above.

James grinned proudly. Thrusting out his chest ever so happily, he marched over and said, “Yes, Lily?” 

“When will you grow up?” she demanded angrily. 

“And where’s the fun in that?” James asked her.

“You realize that every time you pull a stupid prank like this I not only have to clean it up, but also explain to McGonagall how I let it happen?” Lily said, prodding her finger furiously in James’ puffed-up chest.

James shrugged at Lily. “Well, that’s an easy one. Just tell Minnie I’m cleverer than you.”

Lily slowly flexed her hands as if she was imagining strangling James to death. 

James shot her one last wink before turning around and returning to where you were standing.

“Come on, then,” James said, still wearing a happy grin on his face. He reached down and took your hand and pulled you along. 

“I don’t know why Evans gets her knickers in such a twist,” he said, chuckling. “Though I had to admit, it’s part of the fun by this point.” 

"You do enjoy getting her knickers in a twist,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light. 

But James shot you a look over his shoulder. You quickly looked down. James squeezed your hand lightly.

The two of you had come to the Gryffindor common room. “Baubles,” James told the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung up. The two of you scrambled in. 

James led you up to the boys’ dorm. His dormitory, shared by the other Marauders, was, per usual, total shambles. Comic books and old records littered the floor. James’ Quidditch robes and broomstick were haphazardly thrown onto a chair. Peter’s textbooks were about a millimeter short of toppling over on his desk. Sirius’ leather jacket hung at the end of his bed post. A broken quill that he’d never bothered to pick up lay on his bedside table. Meanwhile, Remus’ bedside table was strewn with crumpled parchment and the gold foil found inside chocolate wrappers.

"Where are the others?” you asked, surprised. You had expected to see them here.

“Probably getting yelled at by Minnie,” James said happily. “I get spared the lecture because Evans comes after me personally.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd? She only comes and yells at you,” you pointed out. 

James gave you a searching glance. When you avoided his eyes, he stepped closer to you. You stepped back, and your back gently hit the wall behind you. 

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

You stare resolutely at the floor, hazily examining the record titles. You can make out: “Jazz in the 60s” and “Greatest Jazz Improvisations.” 

“Who likes jazz?” you wondered aloud.

James ignored your question, gently cupping your face in his large, warm hands. He pulled your face up, forcing you to look at him.  

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

James frowned. He was impatient. He hated not knowing what was going on, especially if it was something that bothered you. You and James had clashed about this many times before - you were the type that needed your space to mull over things, and James wore his heart on his sleeve, and wanted you to do the same. 

“You know you can tell me anything,” he said, very sweetly doing his best to try to get you to open up to him.

At this, you finally smiled a little. 

He helplessly smiled back. His thumb gently traced your lips. 

“So beautiful... when you smile like that...” he murmured. His eyes dropped from your eyes to your lips. 

Mostly just wanting him, but also wanting to distract him from finding out what was bothering you, you whispered, “Kiss me.” 

James took you up on that offer at once, quickly bending down and catching your lips in his. As in everything he does, James is a bit over-eager, and without meaning to, he pushed you up against the wall a little harder than he intended. 

But you didn’t mind. You reached out and after fumbling a little, managed to grip his shirt collar and pull him closer. His body willingly pressed against yours and soon, both of you were grinding slightly on each other, even as he continued to hold your face in his warm hands and kiss you deeply and passionately. 

James slowly pushed his large, muscular thigh between your legs. Your breath caught slightly. You felt his lips curve up in a smile. 

“I love when I can make you do that,” he mumbled.

“What?” you asked, slightly breathless.

He ever so slightly pushed his knee further up between your legs, unintentionally catching the hem of your skirt and dragging it up your thighs a little.

“Uhn,” you breathed out softly. 

“That,” James replied teasingly. “When you catch your breath.” 

“Don’t get cocky. It’s not because of you,” you told him, smiling a little as you teased him. 

James lifted an eyebrow, accepting your challenge. Not breaking eye contact with you, James slowly slid his hands down your body, tracing every curve. Though you tried not to give any sign of being affected, you nonetheless stiffened slightly underneath his bold touch. He smirked knowingly. His hands passed over your breasts, all the way down to your stomach, and then back up before following your waistline and hips down to your thighs. 

“Still going to deny the way I make you feel?” James asked you, cocky. 

You played innocent. Shrugging, you said nonchalantly, “I didn’t feel anything, James. I think you think too highly of your hands.”

“Oh, do I?” James barely kept from rolling his eyes. He’s turned you into a whimpering, moaning mess with just two fingers before - once, in a broomstick closet right before Charms class, and another time, in the library, when you were trying very hard to study and you made him swear not to talk to you until you were done with Ancient Runes. To this day, you have no idea how that chapter ended.

James slid one hand underneath your skirt, which was caught on his knee anyways, and then suddenly the pressure from his knee was gone, only to be quickly replaced by his fingers sliding over your pussy. He slowly dragged his fingers over you, trying to tease out a reaction, until he was cupping you between your legs, his palm pressing up against you. 

You tried to control your breathing so that he wouldn’t notice it, but your fingers tightened on his collar as you felt his large hand force your thighs to spread ever so slightly. 

He moved his hand just a little, pressing his palm against you a little harder. He watched your face, knowing what you’ll do already. And you do exactly what he predicts- you bite down gently on your lower lip. 

He smiled. “So sensitive,” he whispered, admiring you. “I’m barely touching you...” You looked so beautiful to him, all tense from the simplest touch, filled with anticipation of what he would do to you next. And James knew exactly what he wanted to do next.

He doesn’t even hear your teasing comeback. You’d started to say, “Again, I think you’ve overestimated how easily you can make me-”

He’d already dropped to his knees and pushing up your skirt impatiently, he suddenly buried his face between your thighs. He kissed you through your panties once before also abruptly pulling them to the side and then, with a soft moan of desire at seeing you bare for him, he put his mouth on you and quickly delved his tongue between your folds, wanting to taste you. 

“Ah, James!” You gasped at the sudden rush of pleasure between your legs. You squeeze together your thighs and reach down, thoughtlessly gripping his messy, dark brown hair in your hands - just the way he likes. 

“Baby,” he murmured lovingly, the sound muffled by your thighs. “So sweet. So fucking sweet. Mmm...” 

You feel his moan as a slight vibration, sending waves to your very core.

“J-James...” You breathed out as best as you could, but the truth was that you were already becoming speechless. James had a way of jumping right into things, and sex was no exception. Afterwards, he had the patience of a saint, holding you and alternating between kissing and tracing circles on your bare shoulder until you fell asleep in his arms. But at the start, James never let things build up any longer than absolutely necessary. He wanted nothing more than to taste you and take you, and he didn’t see any reason why he should wait - unless you told him not to, of course. 

But right now, that was the last thing on your mind. Instead, your grip becoming tighter in his hair, you couldn’t help but admit how much you wanted him, moaning softly, “Yes... Ah...” 

“There’s my girl...” James murmured, his head still in-between your thighs.

His tongue passed over your clit over and over, licking and lapping at it before trailing down to your pussyhole. He slowly traced your pussyhole with his tongue, circling it.

You whined a little impatiently and tugged at his hair.

He chuckled a little and again, in his muffled voice, he murmured to you, “Play nice, love.” 

But a minute later, and he’s still only teasing you, not actually tonguing you the way you need to be to cum properly. 

“Please...” The plea slipped out of your mouth before you could ever really think it through. Too late, it’s out. Oh, but it’s true - I need James to make me cum. Oh, please... 

“Please...” you whispered again, your voice barely audible.

But of course, James, who was always so sensitive to your needs, always trying to make sure he was doing only what you wanted, caught it. 

Hearing you say “please” made him pause. James loved hearing you beg - loved it, more than he would ever admit, even to himself. But you rarely ever did it. You, in your own quiet, snarky way, knew exactly how to match his wit. And when you did show softness, James immediately melted, wanting nothing more than to give you everything you even hinted at wanting at.

So hearing you say “please” in that breathless voice, threatening to slip into a whine, made James pause. He wanted to hear you again.  

You jerked at his hair again and wiggled your hips a bit impatiently, wondering why he’d stopped. You needed him to keep going. You needed him to make you cum in his mouth.

“Tell me you want it, baby,” he murmured. “Tell me what you need.” 

“J-Jamie, please...” you moaned out fervently. You blushed and bit your lower lip, embarrassed by how he was making you beg for him. 

James moaned softly. He started to press his lips against you again.

Still embarrassed at hearing yourself plead that way, before you could help yourself, you muttered, “You’re such a f-fucking tease...” 

At this, James stood up, entirely crushing your fantasies of cumming all over his face. 

“W-What?” you said, your chest rising and falling a little as you looked up at him, half-annoyed and half-guiltily, and above all - so, so frustrated.  

“What did you call me?” James asked. He was trying to appear stern and angry, but the absolutely shining glimmer in his eyes gave him away. He had no chance of fooling anybody. He truly did wear his heart on his sleeve. 

“Jamie?” you offered him consolingly. “That’s what I called you. It’s your nickname, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, and a sly grin spread over his face. “You didn’t just call me my nickname. You called me a tease. Didn’t you?” He stepped close to you again, and reaching down, he pushed aside your skirt again and touched your bare pussy. “I was on my knees for you, and you called me a tease?” 

“Uhn,” you breathed out again. But this time, you frowned slightly as he stopped yet again.

“What’s wrong, baby?” James asked you, almost mockingly, knowing he was being a tease and trying to prove your insult right. 

“You stopped,” you accused him. But even though you wanted to be mad, you felt your thighs shift apart again, almost beyond your own accord, to make room for his hand again. I need his touch. I want him so, so badly... 

“Mmm,” James said, his fingers pushing against you, feeling how wet you were. “I did stop...” 

“James,” you said, now fully annoyed. “I want to- I want to- ”

“You want to what?” James said, amused. “You need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“I want to cum,” you whined. You tried to rock your hips against his hand, to rub your needy pussy on him, but he quickly pulled his hand back so that his fingers were barely, barely grazing you - just enough for you to still feel his touch. You let out a noise of impatience and squirmed, but James was quick. Reaching out with his other hand, he anchored you firmly against the wall by your neck, not so much choking you, but just holding you there so that you couldn’t move against his hand any more than he would allow you too.

“Please,” you moaned desperately.

Internally, James groaned heavily. Fuck, she sounds so perfect like that. But externally, he held it together. 

“But why should I let you cum? Hm? When you’re already so wet,” James teased you. For a moment, his fingers fluttered at your pussyhole, teasing your entrance, almost slipping in. 

An impatient cry escaped your legs. “You’re being so mean,” you told him, glaring at him. You meant to look angry, but your version of angry was a pout - and James found it so endearing. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” James chuckled, in mock empathy. “Look at how desperate you are. You’re soaking, babe. Just from my fingers grazing you like this? I’m not even pleasuring you anymore. And you’re just so wet. I’m not a tease. You’re just so adorably sensitive, aren’t you?” 

“Jamie, please. Oh, please,” you whined, almost sobbing now. You tried your best to move your hips despite the fact that he had you pinned against the wall by your neck. 

James sighed, pretending to be annoyed. “You want my fingers?” he asked gruffly.

You nodded as well as you could with his hand on your neck. 

“Words, baby.”

“Y-yes, please,” you begged, looking up at him with unintentional puppy eyes.

Seeing the look on your face, James melted entirely inside. But still trying to hold it together, James only loosened his fingers slightly and said, mock-begrudgingly, “All right. I guess you can sink down onto my fingers. Since you’re so needy, and I’m so giving.”

Your eyes lit up. James smiled when he saw how willing you were. His hand was still on your neck, keeping you from moving away from the wall, but his loosened grip now allowed you to slide down the wall just a little bit. Your feet slid forward just a bit and you slid down the wall. As you did, you slowly felt James’ fingers push against your pussyhole, and then - slip in. 

Your mouth fell open as you felt a wonderful sense of starting to be filled. It certainly did nothing to quench that aching need deep inside of you, the one that asked to be pounded into over and over again before you could even start to hint at any sense of release, but at least that preliminary, overwhelming desire to have something stretch you just a little, slip inside your wet warmth just a little, was being met. 

“Uhn...” You closed your eyes and breathed out a long, happy exhale. 

“Mm, look at you,” James said, watching the sense of relief spread across your face. “Maybe I should tease you more often. I rather like you like this - all wanting and needy, begging for my fingers. You sound so sweet like that, you know. And you usually don’t beg for anything...” 

As you exhaled, you had tilted your head back a little, exposing your neck and the top of your chest. James slowly, but quite possessively, ran his hand down your neck and then, spreading his fingers out, he forced apart the top of your blouse, not popping any buttons but stretching the fabric out to slide his hand in. Then, he pressed his warm hand against your chest, his forefinger touching one collar bone and his thumb lying gently on the other. He saw the way you shivered when you felt his warmth cover your chest. With his hand pressed on your chest like that, he gently pushed you back. A soft thud sounded out as your back hit the wall yet again. 

James caught your gaze. You had the prettiest eyes, and he swore that they had a whole new dimension of color when he had you like this - and only he knew. Only he knew the colors of your most vulnerable self. 

“So perfect,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

“James,” you whispered. You reached up to warmly grasp his wrist in your hands.  

"What, sweetheart?” he asked, and he voiced the question so tenderly that it was almost a confession.”

“Don’t tease me. Please,” you told him. All of your own playfulness had faded away into bare, simple need. “Just take me.” 

James’ eyes flashed. He abruptly leaned in and kissed you hungrily. At the same time, he reached down and impatiently shoving your thighs apart, he rammed three fingers into you quite roughly, forcing you to stretch to take in all three fingers at once.

“Mmm!” Your moan, stunted by his lips pressed hard against yours, sounded out. Your grip on his wrist was suddenly iron-tight, as the tension you felt shoot up between your legs made your entire body seize up with simultaneous release and still-overwhelming desire.

James’ arm jerked up and down as he finger fucked you roughly. 

“Mm, mm, mm- ah!” Unable to take it any longer, you finally broke away from his kiss. Gasping aloud in an effort to find breath again, you were distracted by a wave of pleasure starting to blossom in your lower stomache.

“J-James!” You reached out suddenly and clutched at the front of his shirt, nails digging into white cotton.

"Take those fingers,” James growled. “Take my fingers. Just like that. Yes, baby.” 

His fingers pushed in and out of you so fast. You were soaking wet now, almost dripping down his fingers, and as his fingers entered you over and over again, your wetness spread down his hand and onto your pussy and even a little onto his wrist and your thighs, so that a sweet, wet sound started to sound out as his fingers fucked you closer and closer to orgasm.

Then - 

You stopped breathing entirely. Holding your breath, you suddenly arched your back, and your breasts were pressed up against James’ chest.

James looked down at you, and seeing your head lolling back against the wall with your eyes shut tightly and mouth open, panting hard, while your breasts were pushed out as you tried desperately to remember how to breathe, James couldn’t help but groan at the sight of you like this.

You suddenly shivered all over. 

“Oh, fuck,” James cursed, his voice tight. “I feel you clenching. Love, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

Unable to speak, you just shook your head, not even knowing what you meant by that. You just needed to focus on - on the feeling pooling at your legs - cresting up - Your pretty hair caught on the wall behind you a little, making your hair a bit messed up.

“Mm, baby, cum for me. Cum for me,” James repeated, as he jerked his hand up and down, giving it to you so good, so good, so... 

“Ah!” An intense cry escaped you, followed by a long, desperate moan as you came hard all over James’ fingers. You fell forward and James hurriedly caught you. Legs shaking, thighs pressed hard together, you let out a series of moans that dissolved into whimpers as you disintegrated into a mess, with cum flooding your pussy before dripping out of you, onto your beautiful thighs and long legs. 

“Hah... ah... ah...” You breathed tiredly. 

James had wrapped both of his arms around you tenderly, holding him to your chest and supporting you completely as you finished cumming. You finally looked up at him, face flushed a lovely pink, hair slightly messed up in the back, and lips still parted as you panted hard, trying to get some form of control back over yourself.

James smiled and reaching up with one hand, gently patted down the back of your hair, before leaning down to pepper your face with soft kisses. 

You struggled to reach up a little, as his own strong arms had pinned your arms down. But you managed to slid your arms up his chest and then around his shoulder. Hugging him tightly, you buried your face in his neck. 

James felt your little, hot breaths against his neck. His arms fell a little bit lower, to your waist, but he drew you in even more tightly. 

“Love, you really do cum so pretty,” he praised you in a warm, tender voice. “You’re the prettiest girl. I can’t believe you’re mine... that I get to touch you... that I get to hold you.”

“You’re so sappy, James,” you complained outwardly. But with your face still pressed up against the crook of his neck, when you secretly smile, James can feel it too. 

Then, finally finding your strength again, you pressed a very, very sweet kiss against his neck and murmured, “I love you, James.” 

#fanfic #fanfiction #james potter #james potter x reader #harry potter smut #cyrille lestrange #harry potter imagine #marauders #marauders era #james potter x lily evans #light and dark

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Light and Dark | Part 4

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.] *Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

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“I know class is dismissed, but do you mind if I give it just one more try?” Lily asked you.

You gestured at the feather in front of the two of you as you replied, “By all means.”

Lily raised her wand and said smartly, “Avis Conjuris!” 

But nothing happened. Lily sighed in frustration. “I did it just last class! I can’t believe I couldn’t do it even once this class!” 

“I hate Transfiguration,” she murmured, disheartened. “I can never master a spell completely...”

You gazed at her, both feeling sympathy and a little bit amused. While it was true that she had just failed at turning the feather into a living bird, only seven students in the entire class had succeeded at all, and she was one of them. 

You started to say, “I’m sure you’ll get it so-” when a jaunty voice jumped in. 

“Are you telling me there’s something even the Head Girl can’t do?”

Both you and Lily looked up to see that James and Remus, who had been paired together, had come over to your desks.

“Hello, love,” James said to you, but his eyes remained on Lily. “It’s the way you’re moving your wand, you know.”

“I know,” Lily replied haughtily. “I don’t need you to correct me, Potter.” 

James shrugged. Reaching up, he ran his hand through his hair, messing it up, as he replied in a would-be casual voice, “I wasn’t trying to correct you. I was just trying to help you... well, by correcting you, I s’pose. But nicely. Thoughtfully. Out of the kindness of my heart.”

Lily looked over at Remus. “How do you stand to be with him all the time?”

Remus simply offered her an apologetic smile.

“Hey, c’mon, Evans, I really was just trying to help you out,” James said, a bit deflated. 

“Oi! Prongs! Moony!” Sirius called out. He and Peter were waiting impatiently by the door. “It’s lunchtime!” 

“Right,” James murmured. He looked down at you and offered you his hand. “C’mon, love, let’s go.” 

You got up and slung your bookbag over your shoulder before taking James’ hand. He pulled you along, out of the classroom. But as he did, he unconsciously shot one last look over his shoulder. 

Two seats behind Lily Evans, Cyrille Lestrange happened to notice James’ last gaze at the redhead sitting in front of him. You, with your fingers intertwined in James’, didn’t notice. Cyrille shook his head lightly as he picked up his book and made his way out of the classroom. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

After you left with the Marauders, Lily sighed and packed her book away. Dumbledore had asked to meet with her during lunch, and Lily didn’t know why. She hoped she wasn’t in trouble, though she couldn’t think of anything she might have done to land her in trouble with the Headmaster. 

She made her way up to his office, her mind buzzing lightly with worry. The golden eagle statute turned, taking her up on its revolving staircase to Dumbledore’s office door. Lily knocked.

“Come in.”

She entered Dumbledore’s office. The Headmaster was sitting at his desk. Lily approached him.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Evans.” Dumbledore looked down at her through his half-crescent spectacles. He chuckled lightly as he said, “No need to look so worried. You are not in trouble.”

“Oh,” Lily breathed out. “Oh, good.”

“Rather, it is your counterpart that has found himself in a spot of trouble.”

“My... counterpart?” Lily repeated, confused.

“Yes. your fellow Head Boy - Mr. Joseph Davies,” Dumbledore replied. “Now, I beg you to keep this discrete, but it seems that Mr. Davies has - ah - how do I put this delicately? He has been using his privileges as Head Boy a little too freely. The Professors have expressed some concern to me. After due consideration, I have decided that it would be best to replace our Head Boy.”

“Replace him, Headmaster?” 

“Yes, Ms. Evans. And I was rather hoping you would deliver the message to the newly selected Head Boy.”

Lily waited expectantly.

Dumbledore smiled slightly as he said, “Yes, I am relying on you to welcome the new Head Boy - Mr. James Potter.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

James and the other Marauders were just leaving the Great Hall after a quick lunch to set up yet another prank. 

You were sitting back at the Gryffindor table, poring over your Transfiguration textbook - still trying to figuring out the Bird Conjuration Spell. James found it exasperating to see how seriously you took your studies, but at the same time, he respected you highly for it. However, he found that his time was better spent “applying” magic - that is, creating ever-more-egregious pranks.

As James exited the Great Hall, he was talking excitedly with the other Marauders, and not at all looking at where he was going when he accidentally bumped straight into someone. 

“Excuse you,” a light, but unmistakably cold voice, spoke out.

James blinked, surprised by the person’s total arrogance. He looked up to see none other than Cyrille Lestrange, a fellow seventh-year in Slytherin. 

“I think the term is ‘excuse you,” James replied, laying particular emphasis on the “you” to indicate that Cyrille was at fault for bumping into him. 

Cyrille lifted an eyebrow at James. “Don’t your kind of purebloods teach any manners?” 

“What?” James said, his voice dropping into a serious tone. 

“Well, I suppose it’s obvious that they don’t,” Cyrille said smoothly. “After all, most gentlemen don’t look at other girls when they’re holding their girlfriend’s hand.”

The blood drained from James’ face. 

Cyrille continued, “How can you lead her on like that? Even if you don’t love her, don’t you pity her at all?”

James’ hands gripped into tight fists. His knuckles white, James began shaking with anger from head to toe. 

Sirius reached out to grasp James’ shoulder. Remus and Peter shot each other alarmed looks. James never got angry. He got annoyed, sure, but never angry. 

“Naturally, I wouldn’t expect the likes of you to apologize for bumping into someone at the door, not when you have no shame for cheating openly on your girl.”

Wham!

Leaping forward, James threw off Sirius’ hand and jabbed his fist straight into Cyrille’s cheek. 

“James!” Remus shouted, shocked. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sirius said. He hurriedly stepped forward and pulled James back. 

But Sirius’ eyes narrowed when he saw a flash of silver come from Cyrille’s robes. Recognizing it as Cyrille’s wand, Sirius pulled out his own wand and pointed it at Cyrille first. “Don’t even try it,” Sirius growled threateningly. 

“POTTER!” A voice screeched. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Eyes aflame, hair flying behind her, hands on her hips - literally the complete picture of anger except for the missing steam from her ears, Lily marched up to the group. She could not believe it. I’m supposed to recruit James-bloody-Potter as Head Boy, and before I’ve even told him the news, I find him physically assaulting someone? Oh, what an auspicious beginning - NOT! Merlin’s beard, this is truly just my luck.  

Upon seeing Lily, Cyrille suddenly gave a low chuckle. Throwing a knowing look at James, Cyrille moved off quickly, heading towards the Slytherin table before Lily could reach them.

“Lily, I’m really not in the mood to be yelled at by you right now,” James said, determinedly not looking at her.

“Trust me,” Lily said tartly. “This is hardly my idea of a perfect lunch date either.”

“Then let’s just drop it,” James replied. 

“I can’t,” Lily said honestly. 

“Evans- ”Sirius began, throwing a concerned look at his best friend, but Lily shook her head at him.

“I promised Dumbledore I’d give Potter a message,” she explained.

Peter frowned. “A message from Dumbledore?” 

“Fine,” James sighed. “Let’s have it. What is it?” 

Lily looked up at him and said stoutly, “Potter, you’re Head Boy.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. James’ eyes were wide open. 

Then, the flurry of comments came in all at once.

“Dumbledore’s off his rocker,” Remus muttered. “First me as prefect, now you as Head Boy?”

“Ridiculous!” said Peter faintly. “You, Prongs? You as Head Boy?” 

Then, Sirius said gleefully, “We’ll never have another detention for the rest of the year!” 

Lily glared at all of them before turning her hard gaze back at James. “I’m supposed to start training you today, so meet me in the Gryffindor common room tonight at seven o’clock sharp.”

With that, she turned away from the lot of them, cursing Dumbledore’s tomfoolery in her head. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You sighed as you toppled over into James’ bed. You were exhausted after a long night of what felt like fruitless studying.

James was sitting in his bed, back against the headboard, with his Potions textbook open in his lap, but it was clear to you within seconds that he was certainly not paying attention to Potions.

You were lying down next to him, your head on his pillow. You looked up at James. “Earth to James?” you called.

James looked down at you.

You gave him a confused smile. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly.

You sat up, sitting up on your knees and turning sideways to look at him. “You sure about that?” you asked him.

James seemed to waver as to what to say to you next. There was a strange sort-of tension in his energy tonight - a certain strain replacing his usual carefreeness. You reached out to him. “James? I’m right here...”

When your fingertips touched his shoulder, James suddenly snapped. Grasping your wrist in his hand, James abruptly pushed you back against the headboard, pinning your hand against the wooden board. With his other hand, he quickly found your other wrist and dragged it up too, and anchored both of your wrists to the bed’s headboard above you. 

Your mind was spinning. You hadn’t even really comprehended what was going on when you felt James’ lips abruptly ravaging your neck, kissing and sucking passionately at your soft skin.

“James?” you tried to call to him, but his name came out as a soft, strangled moan. The way his warm, grasping lips moved against your neck set your mind aflame. James was an amazing kisser, so wherever his mouth was - pleasure followed soon afterwards.

“I know you’re here,” James promised you ardently between kisses. “I know you’re with me, love. You always have been.”

He suddenly exhaled heavily and murmured, “Merlin. I don’t deserve you.”

“Jamie?” you mumbled aloud, confused. 

As James pressed his lips all down the side of your neck, his hands slowly slid down from your wrists to your shoulders, slowly but surely pushing your top open. Though he couldn’t quite get it open enough to slip off your shoulders, he held your shirt apart enough for him to continue kissing you all over your chest.

He worked his way down your neck and to your chest and to your collarbone, sucking at your skin harshly. You shivered slightly as he sucked quite hard at your skin.

Finally, sliding his hands around you and to the middle of your back, James pushed you from behind slightly, forcing you to arch your back and present yourself for him. Your head naturally tilting back, your breath caught as your breathing was suddenly restricted by your pose. 

James buried his head against your breasts, kissing the tops of your breasts through your blouse, which had straining buttons because of the way you had arched your back. You felt quite vulnerable in this position, with you draped back in his grasp, with only his large, warm hands supporting you. You felt almost as though you were suddenly offering your body to him. And with the way your back was arched, your hair ran down your shoulders and back, and neck, chest, and breasts were completely vulnerable to James.

And he was taking full advantage of it - marking you as his with his lips and teeth, sucking hard enough to leave bruises all over your skin...

“James,” you breathed out, “baby, wait....”

“Mm, but I want you. You’re so beautiful,” James told you, almost brusquely. He reached forward and grasping the neckline of your blouse, he carelessly ripped it out.

You gasped as the buttons of your shirt popped open and scattered all over the bed, and your chest and breasts were exposed. At least your bra was on... But even as you thought that, James had aggressively yanked down the front of your bra to fully expose your breasts. With a soft groan, he bent his head down to press kisses all over your breasts and then, he sucked hard on your nipples. 

His lips moved greedily against your sensitive, tender skin - sucking at it, grasping it, and wetting it. And he was biting at your breasts so much - not enough to hurt you, but definitely enough to leave marks everywhere.

When you felt his teeth gently grasp at your breasts, you cried out softly, “Ah...”

With his mouth still pressed wetly against your breasts, James moaned out, “You’re my girl. Mine.”

“James...” you moaned. Trying desperately to think straight, you murmured, “If you... If you need to talk- ”

“No, I don’t. I just want to kiss your body all over,” he mumbled back, with his lips still pressed against your breasts. “You’re so soft, and you taste so pretty...”

“But if we need to - to talk- ” you tried to insist.

“What I need is to kiss you all over and then to fuck you silly,” James replied, not missing a beat.

“But - oh, James, uhn...”

“Don’t you want that too?” James asked you, half-taunting and half-pleading with you. With his mouth still pressed against your breasts, he looked up at you. 

You were breathing hard as you looked back down at him, your lashes long and thick enough to cast little shadows on your skin.

“Give me some credit,” you moaned out pitifully. “I’m trying to look after - after you - oh Merlin, forget it - !”

“I love your mouth,” you suddenly babbled, unable to hold back anymore. “I fucking love your mouth on me, James.”

Your fingers entangled themselves tightly in his messy hair and you pushed him harder against your body, against your breasts.

“Kiss me,” you moaned, pleading for him to continue to use his mouth all over your body.

James’ tongue eagerly flicked out against your nipple and then swirled against it, pressing at it. At the same time, James reached up with his other hand and began to roughly grope your other breast, massaging it and pressing his palm against your nipple.

“Oh,” you exhaled loudly.

“Mmm, I love to worship this body,” James murmured, biting gently at your nipple. “I’m going to make you cum over and over again tonight - so you never forget that you’re mine. All fucking mine.”

His words sent an alarm bell ringing in your head. James could be quite dominant - but there was a certain edge of his possessiveness tonight that was almost angry, and you didn’t know why that was.

But it was hard to think straight with the way that he was devouring your body. Even though there were brief flashes of pain as he sucked so hard against your skin,  it was mostly complete bliss and pleasure. 

Your eyes were slipping shut. You wanted to lose yourself in this sensation, to lose yourself in his touch. His teeth pulled slightly at your erect nipple, and you bit down on your lower lip at the sensation of your boyfriend tugging on you, heightening your sense of desire... But you knew that something wasn’t right, that James wasn’t himself...

“James, James, wait,” you said breathlessly. His teeth still clamped gently around your nipple, James shook his head at you. Then, he dragged his mouth over to your other breast, replacing his hand with his hot, wet mouth kissing all over your beautiful, soft mounds.

But no... I’ve got to - uhn, I’ve got to... make sure he’s all- all right first.

Reaching down, you managed to pull his face up to yours.

“Why? You don’t like it?” James asked, suddenly worried. “Am I hurting you?”

“No... It feels - It feels good,” you assured him, panting as your chest and breasts rose up and down from the effort drawing breath. “But... what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. I just want you,” James replied, almost defensively. “What? Can’t I want you this way?”

“Of course you can want me this way,” you told him. “You can have me however you want. I’m yours, baby. But if something’s bothering you...”

James just gazed at your lips, both wanting to kiss you numb and wanting to hide his emotions. The only thing was - he was terrible at hiding his emotions. 

You paused, unsure of how to respond. “I just... If there’s something else going on...” you began uncertainly.

“Nothing’s going on.”

You hesitated again. But seeing the look in his eyes, you decided to insist. You said as coaxingly as you could, but without giving any ground, “Baby, I can tell when you’re lying. Something’s wrong. You’re not being honest with me. And I can’t lose myself to you when I know you’re not okay.”

At this, James sighed and pulled away from you. A rush of cold air wrapped itself around your body without his warm, strong presence surrounding you.

You hugged your arms to yourself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“James?” you said, and your voice was embarrassingly small.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he sighed. 

“Did I do something?” you wondered. 

James looked over at you. Then, seeing you hugging yourself, his eyes widened, and he quickly lifted his covers and wrapped them securely around you.

“Sorry,” he repeated sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m all right,” you told him kindly. “I just wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, I will,” James responded. “Just... let me think about what to say.”

You waited patiently for him to find his words.

Finally, he asked you, “Can you promise me something?”

“Promise you what?”

“Don’t hang around Cyrille Lestrange.”

You scrunched up your nose as you looked at your boyfriend, bewildered. I would never have guessed that he would say that. “What? Where in the world is this coming from?”

“Just promise me.”

You blinked a couple times, trying to figure out if this was the lead-up to some kind-of joke or something. But James seemed dead serious - and he was not taking your silent response well.

“He’s a jerk, and he says nonsensical things,” James said, and his voice slowly rose in intensity, becoming angrier. “Don’t go anywhere near him.”

“James,” you smurmured finally, “look at me.”

When his eyes met yours, you frowned a little at how frustrated James looked.

“Jamie,” you said softly, using your nickname for him, “I can’t imagine any scenario where I’d be hanging around Cyrille Lestrange, of all people.”

“Good,” James replied shortly. He looked away from you again.

You hesitated before reaching out and putting your hand on James’ shoulder. “But I don’t like that he’s bothering you so much,” you remarked quietly. “What happened between you two? Did he say something to you?”

James was very still under your touch - which meant that he was thinking quite hard. After a long moment, James shook his head. “Nothing happened. I just... don’t like him.”

“Baby,” you murmured lovingly. You reached up and placing your hand on his jaw and cheek, you gently turned his face so that he would look at you. You gazed at him, wondering what was bothering him so badly and wishing that you could make him feel better. What can I say to make him feel better? What can I say so that he knows he can trust me with anything?  

The words slipped out of your lips before you’d thought them through. You told him with utmost sincerity,  “I love you.”

You waited with bated breath.

James hesitated. His eyes darkened slightly, but they searched yours - looking for something, but you weren’t sure what.

You held his gaze anyways, trying to express that you were there for him, by not dropping your warm and tender gaze.

James slowly pushed you down on the bed and reaching down, lifted both of your thighs. He positioned himself so that when he pressed his thighs down into you, his cock, underneath his pants was pressed against the slit of cloth between your thighs, just barely covering your pussy. You tensed slightly and almost unconsciously helped James to hold your thighs down, spreading them apart ever so slightly to feel more of him pressed against you.  

Yes, you thought, this is what we both need... 

James pressed his forehead gently against your eyes and looked down at your eyes. Reaching down, he slowly stripped away the blanket between you, having you reveal yourself to him again. His eyes took you in - how beautiful you were, all bare for him, and lying back... And it would be so easy and so utterly pleasurable to reach down and get rid of your panties and his pants and to just push his cock inside of your waiting pussy...

You breathed out slowly, your exhale stuttering a bit. 

James’ lips parted. “I...”

Suddenly, the clock on the wall chimed.

James sighed. He closed his eyes and whispered, in an almost pained voice, “I have to go.”

“You do? Why?” you said, surprised. It was seven in the evening. It was far too late for Quidditch practice. And by the way he was acting, he didn’t sound like he was going to set up a prank, either.

“I’m actually... Well, I’ve been selected as Head Boy,” James admitted.

You blinked, stunned. “What? That’s amazing. Why didn’t you tell me before?” You moved your head back a little, sinking into the bed a bit, and gently pushed James away from you just a couple inches, so you could look up at James’ face. You expected him to look exuberant, gleeful, or at least proud of himself. But he didn’t look like anything of these things. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you reached up and traced your fingers against his shoulder as you asked him quietly, “Do you not want to be Head Boy?”

James shook his head. “No, it’s an honor, really. Though I can’t imagine why Dumbledore chose me. It’s just that- ”

A sharp rap! sounded out on the dormitory door. You and James both paused. Then, Lily’s voice floated in through the door as she said crossly. “You’re already late! Did you forget you have Head Boy duties tonight? I’m taking extra time out of my evening to show you the ropes. The least you can do it show up on time!”

Oh, you realized, right. Lily’s Head Girl.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to go,” James said softly.

“Yeah, a pretty obvious cue, I’d say,” you tried to joke. But you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Your hand slipped off of his shoulder and your legs fell away from his waist.

“Will you be here when I come back?” James asked you, watching you carefully.

“Maybe. When will you be back?” you asked him.

“Probably in an hour.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“An hour’s a bit...” Your voice trailed off. You reached down and pulled the covers back up over yourself. Then, you said simply, “I’ll probably be doing homework, or asleep.”

“All right.” James leaned down and kissed you on the forehead. “Sweetheart, I’m so thankful I have you. I need you to know that. You’re the only girl for me, and I- ”

“Potter!”

“Merlin,” James cursed. Then, he hurried out of bed and snatching up his wand and shoving on his shoes, he yelled back in an equally annoyed voice, “I’m coming!” He wrenched open his dormitory door and left. He did not look back at you.

Immediately, you could hear him and Lily bickering all the way down the stairs. You slowly turned over onto your side. After a moment, you dragged James’ pillow into your arms and buried your face against it. I can’t be weak. I won’t project my insecurities onto James... or Lily, for that matter.

But there was a sinking feeling in your heart, telling you that you’d already lost.

No, but James always says that I’m the only girl for him... I believe him. I believe him more than anyone.

Right? 

Then, a sly voice in your head sounded out - Even more than yourself? Even more than your own intuition?

 All at once, you chucked away the pillow and got up from James’ bed. You grabbed your wand from the bedside table and pointing it at your ripped-open shirt, you murmured, “Reparo.” The Charm worked, thankfully, and your shirt mended itself - buttons and all.

Feeling utterly restless, you left James’ dormitory room, slipping down the staircase and out of the boys’ dormitory.

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