Summary: Kinktober 2025 Day 6 - Mind Games. Riddle is only attached to one person, even if he wishes it were none. He realises he will soon lose access to her once they graduate, and he really can't have that...
Tags: Toxic behaviour, Manipulation, Fingering, Multiple orgasms, Horcruxes, Being under the influence of a horcrux, Mildly dubious consent, Mentions of murder, Obsessive/Possessive!TomRiddle, Sex magic/Vibration spell, Use your words, Good girl.
Word count: 3.7k
all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3
Authors note: Riddle in this is really toxic and not a good guy!! I wanted to go heavier on the whole mind games thing but I just kept feeling like it was too much like my one Snape fic... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
Riddle had formed an attachment to you by pure accident. He hadn’t even looked your way once when, in the fifth year, the two of you were paired up for prefect patrols. He peripherally registered that you were beautiful, but he didn’t spend much time with thoughts like these generally, just kept them in mind. Beautiful girls could have a lot of influence without realising it, he’d found, so he maintained polite relationships with a few, just in case he should need them for something. It started that way with you, too; he had been polite so that your patrols together could be tolerable, and if he sorely needed a favour from you some day, you may be suggestible to it. Yet, you had surprised him. Initially having dismissed you as nothing but a pretty face, he’d been incredibly surprised to learn you were an excellent healer, talented far beyond your years. The two of you had come across a few second years at the edge of the forbidden forest, one of whom had been badly injured by some vicious magical plant he hadn’t seen in the dark of the night. You had been able to cast some healing charms and use some nearby magical plants to keep the boy stable until Riddle could fetch the matron from the hospital wing to take over. The matron had complimented you profusely, implying that your ability with the spells had saved the boy's life. Riddle’s opinion of you shifted immediately; you were a valuable person to know if he ever found himself in trouble. As the two of you continued your patrol, he subtly questioned you about the display he had just seen. You explained that you were fascinated with all types of healing magic, teaching yourself in your free time and researching ferociously.
From that day onward, Riddle formed an odd fascination with you. Despite him seeing healing magic as a soft subject, he couldn’t deny that no one in Hogwarts, other than himself, was able to teach themself such high-level magic. You were clearly dedicated, and unfortunately, healing was incredibly necessary in his future plans. As the years passed and his ambitions formed, he increasingly pictured you there by his side, healing him as he explored the darkest magic, perhaps providing your services to his Knights, but primarily for him. After that day, the two of you had begun discussing magic and potions during your patrols, building a camaraderie that Riddle had with no one else. You would even listen to his discoveries regarding dark magic, though he posed it as wondering how you might heal someone from such spells. He didn’t know if you were oblivious or just willing to turn a blind eye, but you were always willing to indulge these discussions, often returning to him with research on the topic you’d done in your own time, fascinated by the challenge of healing people from such obscure dark magic.
Although he resented the word, the two of you were undoubtedly friends. He had started to realise his attachment to you had grown out of hand, frequently finding himself distracted by the flush of your cheeks or the curve of your lips as the two of you spoke. He was not easily distracted. Graduation was rapidly approaching, meaning his access to you would likely end. He was sure you would write to him, sentimental as you were, but he needed more than that. You were the only person he trusted to heal him if anything were to go wrong with his plans. Yet, he knew he could not simply come out and ask you to come live with him after graduation. The two of you were not that close; he had seen to that himself, hoping the hold you had over him would disappear with a little distance. It had not, in fact, the longer he was apart from you, the more irritable he felt.
So, slowly, he began spending more time with you. Finding you in the library and sitting down beside you without a word, drawing you away from your friends on Hogsmeade trips with the promise of interesting books to show you, then plying you with coffee and cake to stay with him rather than return to your friends. As exams approach, he invites you to study with him in his dorm for some peace and quiet, as the library is getting busier each passing day. His single dorm, courtesy of his role as Head Boy, gives him a great opportunity to get you accustomed to his presence in close quarters. You spread out to study on his bed, surrounded by his scent as he sits at the desk, smug, because lately you’ve been asking him if you can come here, rather than him inviting you. He would subtly suggest that he’d heard your friends making cruel remarks about you on occasion, thrilled when it worked as planned, and you withdrew from them, coming to spend even more time with him.
The creation of his first Horcrux had been an accident. He had planned to start the process after graduation, intending to seek out his Muggle father and grandparents. But fate had different plans. Every few weeks, he went to check on the Basilisk that resided in the Chamber of Secrets under the school, keeping her fed and loyal until he intended to utilise her sometime after graduation. One evening, upon returning from the Chamber, he noticed that he had himself a witness, Myrtle Warren, who immediately began shrieking. He hadn’t even meant to do it, panicking and speaking parseltongue, unleashing the basilisk onto the girl, who quickly went quiet. He only realised what had happened when he saw a part of his soul split from his body, looking for an object in which to settle. He scrambled; he hadn’t intended for this to happen so early, but he had to make sure he didn’t damage his soul by leaving it without a vessel for too long. He had very little with him, but in his bag, he found a necklace he had been planning to gift to you as a birthday present. He’d been carrying it around since he bought it so that you wouldn’t find it prematurely. Running out of time, he directed the shard of his soul into the necklace.
Only that night, safely hidden now in his room, did he consider what gifting you this necklace might mean. He found he liked the idea of you carrying around a piece of him a little too much, like he was staking a claim. His soul’s constant presence was likely to make you feel even more connected to him, and him to you. The gift of a necklace from Riddle surprised you, but you were drawn to it, admiring it and quickly putting it on, him moving your hair aside and clasping it around your neck for you. He’d told you it looked beautiful on you and you had blushed deeply.
The necklace had unexpected effects on you, the dark magic radiating from it affecting you, making you irritable with others and causing you to want to withdraw socially, amplifying some of your worst impulses. Riddle didn’t mind so much; it was achieving many of his plans for him. The fear caused by the death at Hogwarts, along with the influence of the Horcrux at your neck, had you gravitating toward Riddle more and more to feel safe and calm, convinced nothing bad could happen to you with him there to protect you. Riddle accepts your presence with open arms, glad to get to keep a close eye on both you and the necklace. He has impressed upon you many times to never take off the necklace and to keep it safe, and you had kept your word so far, but he preferred to keep an eye just in case. He subtly reinforced your feelings, telling you that you would always be safe with him, and that you couldn’t trust anybody else, as no one knew how Myrtle had died.
Finally, with the perfect storm of his manipulation, the effect of the Horcrux and the fear he had inadvertently awakened throughout the school, he was able to convince you to stay the night with him in his room. He may have had one of his Knight’s frighten you on your walk back from his room last night, but no matter what he’d done to get here, he finally had you where he wanted you, wanting to spend all your time, even your most vulnerable, with him.
You’d brought a small overnight bag on patrol with you, clinging to Riddle’s arm as the two of you did your rounds, afraid. Riddle almost felt bad for you, but mostly, he just felt a dark satisfaction creeping through him at your reliance on him for a sense of safety. He knew you were in no real danger; he was the threat, and he would never harm you… not physically anyway. He only wanted what was best for you, and by the time his plans came to fruition, the safest place for you would undoubtedly be under his protection. Not to mention how much your presence could benefit his cause and how much he needed to have you close by so he could watch over you and his soul that you took such good care of. He felt a sense of warmth each time you fiddled with the necklace at your neck, as if you were touching his soul. If it had been anyone else, the feeling would have undoubtedly been invasive, repulsive even, but as it was you, he merely felt a little aroused.
As soon as the two of you could feasibly be considered done with your patrol, you dashed off to his Head Boy dorm, making sure not to be caught. Once inside, Riddle wanted to pounce on you, your constant fiddling with the necklace having filled him with need, but he knew he had to wait, taking a calming breath. He couldn’t afford to scare you off, not yet, while you still had places to run and people to seek comfort in. He had to be gentle, romantic even, and you were the only person in the world for whom he was willing to pretend. Besides, he had a plan for tonight that he couldn’t ruin by acting too early. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking down at you.
“The door is locked, darling, no one can get in, we are safe, get yourself ready for bed,” he murmurs in his best attempt at reassurance. His hand trails featherlight to the necklace at your neck, then withdraws. He’d been touchier these last few weeks, getting you gradually used to him, so you don’t flinch despite the intimate touch, merely nodding nervously and heading into the attached toilet. You unpack your small bag, brushing your teeth, washing your face and securing your hair before changing into your nightgown. You blush as you look at yourself in the mirror. You had intentionally packed your shortest nightgown, but now that you were actually here with Riddle, your confidence was faltering. Still, you had nothing else with you, so you crept out into his room and slid into the bed shyly. Riddle’s eyes fix on you curiously, the necklace around your neck running hot as he looks at you. Still trying not to frighten you, he slowly heads into the bathroom, getting himself ready for bed. As he brushes his teeth, he hears distant thunder, smirking to himself. He knew you were quite jumpy, especially lately, so this would give him the perfect opportunity to make you feel safe and secure.
Once he joins you in the bed once more, you’re already trembling nervously, jumping at each thunder clap, convinced it was someone trying to break down the door, despite knowing better. He laughs at you, softly, the mocking not detectable over your intense nerves, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, pleased when you immediately curl into his chest.
“I’m scared,” you squeak, balling your hands into the soft material of his night shirt. He tuts gently.
“I see that, darling, you’re shaking like a little leaf,” he says, rubbing your back slightly. “But I won’t let any harm come to you, ever,” he assures, a dark current running through his voice. You whimper as thunder booms once more, hiding your face in his shoulder. Riddle feels his patience thinning slightly. You were a highly intelligent witch, yet you were so afraid of thunder, even when he had sworn to you that you’d be safe. “Do you hear me?” he asks slowly, trying not to let his annoyance show. He grabs your chin, tilting your head so you’re forced to meet his eye. “No harm will come to you so long as you’re with me, I swear to you, you have no reason to fear, do you hear me?” You nod nervously. Riddle huffs. “Words.”
“Yes… I hear you,” you stammer, clinging to him. His hand drops from your chin, fiddling with your necklace. It’s strange that he cannot feel his own touch on it, yet he is still drawn to the object all the time. “But what about–” you begin.
“No, you are safe with me,” he whispers through his teeth. “Now stop trembling, it’s ridiculous,” Riddle spots from the drop in your expression that he wasn’t meant to say that. He takes a deep breath; he isn’t well practised in this compassion thing, but he’s performing it the best he can. “I just mean that I don’t want you to feel frightened, darling,” he says as softly as he can, pressing a kiss to your hair. This seems to placate you a little. He rubs your side gently, feeling the shape of your body beneath his hand. The feeling of arousal from earlier wakes up within him as he touches your body freely for the first time. And you aren’t stopping him, just looking up at him as he touches you, your trembling subsiding and changing shape into excitement. He can sense it too, and he figures it's time for him to act. “Let me relax you, show you there’s nothing to worry about when I’m around,” he husks, pressing his lips to your temple, just needing to feel your bare flesh beneath his lips somehow. His hand sneaks down to your thigh, settling below the hem of your nightgown. “Would you like that?” When you nod, he huffs. “Words,” he repeats, his voice tight.
“Yes,” you whisper, shy and apologetic, trying to focus on his hand caressing your thigh rather than the sound of thunder.
“Was that so hard?” he tuts, pushing up the hem of your nightgown, his other arm still wrapped firmly around your waist. His hand seeks out the warmth between your legs, pressing against you through the fabric of your underwear. You jolt, not having expected things to escalate so quickly “Focus on me,” he reminds you harshly as your eyes flick to the window at a flash of lightning, rubbing against you forcefully, making you whimper. Your head spins at how fast this has escalated. Riddle’s hand spreads your thighs forcefully, then returns to rubbing at you over your underwear, his fingers swirling over the spot that makes your whole body twitch. You look up at him, not wanting him to tell you off again. His eyes are dark as he looks down at you, full of something you can’t place. As he removes your underwear, you try to lean up and kiss him, but he pulls away, shaking his head. “Not yet, darling,” he chastises, pushing your underwear down to pool at your ankles and returning his hand between your legs, rubbing at your now bare skin. He can feel the sticky arousal pooling as he rubs at your clit roughly yet pleasurably. You whimper softly at the feeling, embarrassment decorating your cheeks, yet you don’t want him to stop. Your necklace feels hot against your skin, your head spinning as Riddle begins to speak once more. “Doesn’t that feel nice? Your body certainly likes it… Only I can make you feel this way,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, breath washing over the side of your neck.
“It feels nice,” you choke out in response, squirming a little, unable to believe how quickly you allowed him to do this. Sure, you’d been attracted to him a long time, but you had been so scared just earlier, and now your body was begging for him, like you were under the influence of something, something deeply desperate.
“That’s a good girl,” he hums, immensely pleased with your compliance. He withdraws his hand for a moment, making you whine, looking up at him in confusion. Riddle grabs his wand from the nightstand, mumbling a few quiet words. You only get a split-second to wonder what he’s cast when you feel a soft buzzing against your clit. Your body jolts in surprise, but the feeling simply follows, making you gasp for breath. Riddle pulls down your squirming hips harshly, holding you in place as his other hand returns between your legs, two of his fingers beginning to ease inside of you without much warning. You gasp, your hips trying to thrash but being unable, the vibrating not faltering for a second. “That’s it, doesn’t that feel good?” he coos, watching his fingers disappear within you with a dark satisfaction. You are most certainly his now. You can’t respond with anything but a breathless whine, the onslaught of sensations barely letting you breathe. You feel your brain turning to mush, no longer able to form cohesive thoughts beyond his fingers pumping in and out of you and the ceaseless vibration on your most sensitive spot. Trying to ground yourself, your nails dig into his arm, a drawn-out moan of his name leaving your lips, legs closing around his arm as his fingers begin to pump faster.
You feel yourself teetering on the precipice, not having the presence of mind to let Riddle know. Your eyes roll back, your toes curling, and your lips parting in a silent shout as the waves of pleasure go through you. You feel dizzy, your hips trying once more to withdraw from the sensations, yet being physically unable. Riddle's lips brush your ear.
“Shhh, shhh, you’re a strong girl, I know you can handle it,” he comforts mockingly, continuing to work you through the waves of pleasure, yet not stopping even as they subside. Your whole body shakes, unable to handle the sensations, even as a warm, syrupy feeling lingers in the pit of your stomach. His fingers press against a soft spot deep within you, making you jolt. You hadn’t realised the sensations could get even more intense. You want to tell him to slow down, but something keeps you quiet, makes you lean into him instead of away and makes you feel warm when he bites your neck to leave a mark. Your mind is hazy from the vibrations, and he knows it. “You’re safe with me,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rough. “You can’t trust anyone but me. I’m all you need,” he grunts, curling his fingers against that spongy spot once more. “You don’t need anyone else, you belong with me and me alone,” he hisses, biting your neck once more. “Say it, you belong to me,” he urges, growling in annoyance when you only whimper. “Say. It.” he demands harshly, his hand on your hips slipping up into your hair, pulling it so you’re forced to look up at him.
“I belong to you,” you choke out, squirming, too hazy to register his words properly, but vulnerable enough to digest them, just as he wants you.
“That you do, good girl,” he growls, rewarding you for your declaration by finally pressing his lips to yours, measuredly gentle amid the onslaught of sensation between your legs. You try to follow him as he pulls away, and he tuts at you. “Only if you say it again,”
“I belong to you,” you moan, desperate for his gentleness, needing him as close as possible. He smirks, pleased that he’s got you. He grants you another gentle kiss, and another and another as you repeat your words over and over. He doesn’t tire of hearing it, especially with that desperation in your voice. His kisses, soft yet burning hot, push you to the edge once more, your hand balling into his pyjama shirt in an attempt to ground yourself again, but it’s no use. The pleasure makes you dizzy all over again, pleading with him against his lips. Your body collapses against the bed heavily; you hadn’t even realised that you’d tensed yourself off of it chasing Riddle’s lips, breathless and oversensitive. Riddle reaches for his wand, ending the vibrating spell, satisfied that you’ve been subjected to his charms enough for the night. You lay there beside him, still clearly out of sorts. He smirks down at you, rubbing your thigh as if to comfort you.
“Alright, my darling?” he asks, knowing that he had just completely overwhelmed you. That had been his intention, and it seemed to have worked like he’d hoped, as you curl into him once more, seeking safety and comfort. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close and letting you feel protected. He was sure he would only have to do this a few more times until you would be ready to hear about his plans for you in the future. You might even be ready now, but it was better to be safe than sorry, and anyway, next time he was going to fuck you properly, have his way with you like he really wants. For that, you had to be ready. He feels you touch your necklace, and it sends a pleasant jolt through him. “What’s got you fiddling?” he asks gently.
“Just felt compelled to touch it,” you shrug, your voice hoarse and weak. He presses a kiss to your forehead. He feels the gentle, warm caresses deep in his soul.
“Touch it all you like, darling, it’s yours after all.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
gryffindor: them on top ϟ daily hole inspections ϟ forbidden forest ϟ muggle technology ϟ tied up ϟ lapdoll ϟ kiss kiss ϟ needy makeout
slytherin: panty tease 𓆙 shared 𓆙 grinding 𓆙 reverse cowgirl 𓆙 just the tip 𓆙 spank 𓆙 common room couch surfing 𓆙 gamer boys
hufflepuff: kitchen fun ♡ tit play ♡ pink cuffs ♡ princess spanks ♡ languid blow jobs ♡ thigh fuck ♡ stomach painting ♡ midnight snack
ravenclaw: study ☾ brat kink ☾ quiet ☾ slow down ☾ steady ☾ good girls ☾ fingers ☾ thigh holding ☾ face down ☾ wet ☾ mutuals
☆ malfoy by name, malfoy by nature. so what's expected of a guy like draco? well an heir of course. one that's fit to rule the slytherin common room with an iron fist and an icy glare to match. the only way he'll get that? breed the fuck out of you.
☆ your just friends right? best friends? friends who cuddle when it's cold and share a bed when your boyfriends out of town. you're still a virgin and theo's kind of obsessed with that, but he's also convinced that there's nothing wrong with having a little fun - because it's not cheating if you don't have sex right?
☆ with an ego the size of the castle itself, blaise isn't one for shying away from having a little fun. his favourite thing? taking you from behind while he films so he can send the video to your boyfriend.
☆ tom has some... strange interests to say the least: like honestly, what normal functioning wizard being would that into dark arts but also display a baby girl kind of personality? his weakness though - you see most people think it's power, but in actuality, he gets weak at the knees whenever he's got the privilege of knotting his fingers through your hair, pounding hard enough into you that you can't help but squeal.
☆ given the chance, barty would have his hands all over you 24/7 if it were possible. at breakfast in the hall, during class, in the library when you both 'should' be studying, after dark. it's a good thing he knows how to use them. his special skill, getting you off with just the use of his fingertips. oh - and he likes to choke too.
☆ everyone's favourite golden boy has an unhealthy fascination with your tits. girl, harry is obsessed; like is tit drunk a thing? anyway, suck, bite, lip, squeeze, fuck; you don't even have to ask these days. the moment your shirts off and your bra's flung across the dorm room, he's eager to greet your tits and play.
☆ for someone who constantly acts like he's in top of the world, there's nothing cedric likes more than when you take the lead and of course, that means you on top. don't get it wrong, he won't let you do all the work but every now and again, he likes to lay back and smirk up at you - bucking his lips when you slow down bouncing on his cock, just to make sure you feel it splitting you.
☆ ron's a lazy lover. well - maybe lazy's the wrong word. it's not just about sex with ron. okay - that's a lie, it is. but sometimes: especially mornings, if he's not fully awake yet and neither are you, a little finger play to get things moving isn't off the cards.
☆ forever one for rizz and pizzazz - george isn't one to shy away from anything you'd ever suggest. so when you introduce him to the muggle invention of the webcam, he's more than happy to play along, even if it means leaning back and taking it easy.
☆ unlike his brother, fred doesn't like to take things easy. oh no - he'll stretch you out and drill into you for hours hard enough that you're struggling to walk right for days.
☆ sometimes, people need encouragement from their best friends - that's how life works right? you seek approval from those closest to you. see the thing with draco and theo though is that at this stage: they are way past the point of approval, they're both happy to threat to get what they want. knife, wand or gun too.
mdni. everything linked is of adults and was posted consensually. it's honestly just for fun. happy what should have been my 800-follower celebration on moscatosin
⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)
Book 4 pt. 12 — [E] Sweet Release
Summary: After Draco had denied your orgasm in the library, you've been trying to forget it ever happened. One evening, he managed to catch you out of class and followed you into an empty classroom. Little did you know, he'll leave you shaking, begging, and shamelessly exposed.
a/n this is a chapter skip from the ‘Can’t You See I'm Here' series. Masterlist or visit AO3 for faster updates
tags — pussy spanking, overstimulation, oral sex (receiver) / cunnilingus (if u wanna b fancy), mildly dubious consent, reader gets a brat treatmenttttt, draco malfoy finally puts that yappetron mouth into good use
The next night, you finally told the trio who you'd be going with. Harry and Ron... did not take it well.
“Malfoy! Draco Malfoy? What were you thinking?” Harry said, furiously pacing back and forth across the Gryffindor common room.
Ron was sitting on the armchair next to him, staring blankly ahead in a total state of shock. He was traumatized both from being brutally rejected by Fleur Delacour—who he had just whimsically confessed to in the middle of the corridor this morning—and the absolute horror of the idea of you going to the ball with Draco.
“Harry—”
“You could’ve gone with me!” Harry burst out, stopping his pacing to look at you, sounding completely stressed.
You winced, feeling a bit guilty. Hermione stepped in, trying to smooth the situation over. “Harry, it’s a dare from last night, and I get not wanting to back down from a Slytherin—”
“It's Malfoy, Hermione! Malfoy!” Harry went on a full rant, throwing his hands in the air. “Ron and I had to ask the Patil sisters on a whim because apparently McGonagall wanted me to choose a partner quickly by noon today! So Cedric got Cho, because apparently he told me he couldn’t ask the one person he actually wanted—I’m still not sure who he meant—and to ease up Ron’s shock after the Fleur disaster, I just had to ask the next girls I saw!”
“Harry—”
“Whatever,” he snapped, shaking his head. He stormed right back toward the boys' dormitories, pulling a completely dazed Ron along by his sleeve.
“Malfoy...” Ron whispered under his breath in pure disbelief as he was dragged away.
You slumped heavily down onto the red sofa, burying your face in your hands. “Ugh! Way to end a friendship.”
“Leave them to cool down,” Hermione said softly, coming over to sit beside you. “They’ll come around eventually.”
“Yeah,” you sighed, dropping your hands. You paused for a moment, a sudden realization hitting you as you turned to eye her. “So... Krum, huh?”
Hermione’s face instantly flushed a bright, burning crimson.
“Do any of the boys know about this yet?” you asked.
“No,” she whispered quickly, looking toward the stairs to make sure no one was coming. “I just told them I already have someone.”
“Nice. Did you purposely throw me to the wolves just to protect your little secret?” you asked, raising a playful brow at her.
“No,” Hermione grinned, her blush deepening, “but I'm glad it’s not me dealing with them right now.”
You both let out a loud laugh.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Over the next few days, the Great Hall was completely transformed. The ceiling had been enchanted to mimic a clear, crisp winter night, letting a gentle, magical snow fall overhead that somehow dissolved just before hitting the long wooden tables. Everything was getting beautifully ready for the ball.
You were walking down the corridor near the courtyard when you passed by Cedric.
“Hey,” he called out, stepping away from a group of Hufflepuffs.
“Hi, Cedric,” you smiled, slowing your pace.
“I heard you have a partner to go to the ball?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, a slightly disappointed look in his eyes.
“Uh, yeah. Sort of.”
“I see. I really wanted to take you,” Cedric admitted softly, looking straight at you. Your heart gave a sudden, heavy thump against your ribs.
“Oh… Cedric, I—”
“I guess I’ll just have to steal a dance from you later instead,” he grinned, his easy charm returning as he tried to lighten the mood.
“Aren’t you going with Cho?”
“I think she actually wanted to go with someone else,” he paused, shaking his head. “But McGonagall was pressing us to give a name by noon that day. I was in the middle of a quidditch practice with Cho when the deadline hit, so I just asked her right then and there.”
You gave a soft laugh. “Sounds like McGonagall is giving all the champions a hard time. Harry was practically pulling his hair out over it.”
“Now, what do we have here?” a drawling voice interrupted.
Draco walked up, his hands shoved into his pockets, eyes narrowed as he stepped right between you and Cedric.
Cedric looked at him coldly. “I’ll see you around,” he told you gently, giving your shoulder a quick pat before leaving Draco standing there.
”Bye, Cedric.”
Draco just sneered at his retreating back before turning his eyes to you. “What was that about?”
“None of your business,” you told him flatly, crossing your arms.
He chuckled, though there was a bit of an edge to it. “I’ve been really trying to be patient here with you lately.”
You shrugged, completely unbothered. “Okay. Your problem, not mine.”
Then Theo and Blaise came walking up the corridor, breaking the tension. “Hey!” Theo said cheerfully, throwing an arm over Draco's shoulder.
“Theo, Blaise,” you smiled, your tone instantly warming up. “Got your dress robes yet?”
“Of course,” Blaise answered smoothly, smoothing down his casual robes. “Pure silk. I don't do off-the-rack.”
“Malfoy? You?” you asked him flatly, turning to your official date.
He scoffed, tilting his chin up. “Yeah. Custom-tailored black velvet with a structured, high collar.”
You scrunched your nose up at the description. “You’ll look like a vicar.”
Theo burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Oh Merlin! That’s so funny. But she’s not wrong, mate, you really did look like one when you tried it on!” Theo reached over and fondly patted your head. “Nice, very nice.”
Blaise grinned, looking at Draco’s annoyed face. “Careful, Draco. If you wear that, people might start asking you to confess their sins instead of dancing.”
Draco glowered at them before snapping his eyes back to you. “And what are you wearing then?”
“Oh, Malfoy. A woman shouldn’t show her dress early. It’s bad luck,” you said with a smirk.
“Don't you dare show up in rags and don’t embarrass me,” Draco snapped.
You scoffed loudly, turning on your heel. “Like I would,” you called back over your shoulder, heading away to your next class.
That evening, you were heading back to your dorm after a long practice session in your empty classroom when you suddenly realized your shoulder felt completely light.
“Shoot,” you muttered, stopping in the middle of the corridor.
You had forgotten your bag.
Turning on your heel, you hurried back toward the room, rounding a sharp corner a little too fast. You clashed right into someone’s solid chest, the impact sending you back a step.
“Oh! Sorry—” you started, looking up.
Oh, just Draco.
“Never mind,” you muttered, instantly trying to side-step past him.
Before you could pass, his hand shot out and held your arm. “Where do you think you’re going this late?”
“I’m trying to get my bag, Malfoy,” you said, gesturing back down the dark hallway.
He hummed, his eyes tracking your face for a second. “I’ll go with you.”
You scoffed, but you didn't have the energy to argue. “Fine.”
You led the way back down the quiet corridor and pushed open the heavy wooden door to the empty classroom. Draco stepped in behind you, his eyes immediately scanning the high stone walls and the space you had set up.
“What is this place?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly.
“It’s a place I use to study and train,” you explained, walking over to a desk where you finally spotted your bag. “I asked McGonagall for permission last year.”
He hummed again, walking deeper into the room. “There’s even a sofa and everything here.”
“Uh—yeah, it’s an old storage room. I cleared the junk out and it’s clean now,” you said, grabbing your things.
Draco sat down on the sofa, leaning his head back against the cushion and watching you. You turned back to the desk, trying to hastily pack up the remainder of your notes, but your hand slipped, and the bag suddenly fell over, spilling ink bottles, parchment, and books all across the dusty floorboards.
You groaned, immediately bending down onto your knees to pick everything up.
“So, no one comes in and out of here except you?” Draco’s voice drifted over.
“Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, busy gathering the fallen quills and shoving the parchment back into the pockets of the bag.
“Okay, I got everything,” you finally said, standing up and slinging the strap on your shoulder. You walked toward him, expecting him to stand up. “Let’s go.”
But as you reached the edge of the sofa, Draco pulled you close and you were suddenly sitting sideways right across his lap.
Your bag hit the floor again with a heavy thud.
“Malfoy?” you gasped. Your knees were draped over his thigh, and his arm immediately wrapped around your waist to lock you against him.
He leaned in. His mouth closed over yours as he deepened the embrace on your waist.
"Mmph!" You protested against his kiss.
His tongue sliding against yours, tasting you until he finally pulled away just an inch, his lips wet and breathing heavy as your tongues parted.
The overwhelming wave of sexual frustration from weeks of tension came rushing back in full force. Your forehead resting against his shoulder as your breathing turned shallow and heavy, your fingers tightening into the fabric of his robes.
He nudged your thighs until your legs were splayed wide over his lap, his knees firmly pushing you open. His hands immediately hiked up your uniform shirt, unbuttoning it with ease to fully expose your breasts to the dim room. Your nipples peaked instantly as the cold air of the classroom hit your bare skin—you gasped.
Your arms trembled trying to stop him, but both of his hands started playing with your breasts. He flicked your nipples, pinching and twisting them painfully, pushing you right to the edge of pain and pleasure.
You couldn’t help but move your hips a little bit against his thigh, a desperate whimper escaping your throat. Looking down at how his hands were moving aggressively on your chest was such a turn-on.
Why am I so shameless?
But, you were absolutely dying for any type of friction.
Your hands shot down, holding his forearms as they played on your nipples, trying to force his hands to move down toward your skirt. “Malfoy please—”
He quickly trapped you close against him, his grip tightening like around your waist so you couldn't move.
“Good girls are patient. What did I tell you? Don't you ever listen?” He whispered in your ear.
“Or do you want me to stop?” his hand trailed down, sliding beneath the hem of your skirt to move under your panties. His fingers slid easily over your folds. “But you’re already soaked down here.”
You threw your head back to rest on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut. “No, don’t... please don’t stop.”
He added two digits inside you, sliding them deep into your core. You were so incredibly sensitive that your entire body shuddered at the sudden invasion. He curled his fingers, hitting your sweet spot instantly.
“You listened to me, right? You haven't touched yourself since the library?” he demanded, his thumb rubbing hard against your clit.
“Yes,” you gasped, your hips bucking to his hand.
“Yes, what?” He suddenly slowed his thrusts, holding his fingers completely still inside you.
You whimpered, a desperate, broken sound as the sudden lack of friction tortured you. “Yes, Malfoy... I listened to you.”
“Good girl,” he murmured darkly against your ear, a low hum vibrating in his chest as he felt how tight you were around him. “See? That wasn't so hard.”
He leaned in and kissed you again, a sloppy, wet kiss, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth to drown out your whimpers. His fingers started moving inside you again, faster and rougher this time, driving you completely crazy as he pulled you closer against his chest.
Then, just as you felt the pressure building to a peak, he abruptly took out his fingers, leaving you completely empty. You whimpered directly into his kiss, your hands gripping his forearm desperately.
You couldn’t stand it—you knew you would absolutely lose your mind if he left you like this again.
He pulled away from the kiss just an inch. A thin string of saliva connected your tongues in the space between your lips as he stared down at your pathetic state.
“Actually, you know what? I really don’t like your attitude lately,” he drawled.
His fingers entered you again, but his thrusts slowed down painfully, just barely dragging inside you. A frustrated sob broke from your throat. “Malfoy, don’t... don't slow down, please.”
He pinched your swollen clit with a harsh, punishing pressure. “Ah!” you gasped, your back arching off his chest.
“Are you the one in charge here?” he reminded you sharply. Before you could even answer, he pulled his wet fingers completely out of you, again. You threw your head back, a suffocating frustration budding in your chest.
“As I was saying, I don’t like your attitude,” Draco continued, his eyes tracking the frantic rise and fall of your exposed chest. “You’ve been acting like a little brat towards me lately. Don't you think that deserves a punishment?”
“Okay, I’m sorry... I'm sorry, Malfoy,” you cried out, completely desperate for him to touch you again.
“There’s that too,” he drawled, casually moving his wet fingers over your slick entrance. He just rubbed the outside, purposefully not entering you, teasing the sensitive skin until the sheer denial started giving you a headache.
“It’s incredibly annoying how you keep calling me by my last name, but you call every other lame bastard in this school sweetly by their first. Isn't that weird?”
“But you call me by my last name too,” you sobbed, your hips twitching uselessly against his palm.
Draco paused, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, fine. I’ll just punish you for the first half of my complaint, okay? I promise I’ll help you finish after.” He leaned in and kissed your tear-stained cheeks gently, his tone suddenly softening just enough to drive you insane.
“Open your legs wider. Hold your own knees up.”
You let out a broken sob, your hands shaking as you reached down to grab the back of your own knees, pulling them toward your chest to expose yourself completely to his gaze above you.
You felt so incredibly bare, so embarrassed by how easily you were obeying him in the empty classroom. He’s humiliating you, and he’s enjoying it. But your brain couldn't think straight anymore—you just desperately needed to release everything that you’ve held back for weeks.
His palm rested right in front of your pussy for a split second before he pulled back and landed a sharp, stinging slap across your folds. A wet, loud echo smacked through the quiet room. You gaped, your breath catching violently in your throat.
Every time he slapped you, the sting was painful, but it sent an unbelievable surge of pleasure straight to your brain.
I'm going blank—
He brought his hand down again, harder this time, his palm fully grazing right over your swollen, sensitive clit.
Your eyes rolled back, your mouth hanging open as a breathless gasp left your lips.
“Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren't you?” Draco murmured. He suddenly plunged two fingers deep inside you before bringing his flat palm down to slap against you again.
You moaned loudly, your hips bucking up against his hand as the dual sensation of the sting and the deep stretch tore through you.
“Look at you. You’re getting even wetter,” he growled, feeling the hot slick coat his knuckles.
“One more,” he whispered. He raised his hand and slapped down hard one last time, his fingers shoving all the way back inside you upon impact.
You let out a loud, undone moan. Without giving you a second to recover, he began thrusting his fingers rapidly, adding a third digit inside your tight walls, stretching you completely.
“Ah! Ah!” you cried out, your fingers digging so hard into your own knees. Your head thrashed against him.
“Try calling my name,” he commanded, leaning over you, his lips pressing messy kisses against your neck before he bit softly at your earlobe. “Let me hear it.”
“Draco!” you choked out, the name tearing from your chest.
The moment his name left your lips, he curled his fingers sharply inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over, while his other hand clamped down to pinch your throbbing clit mercilessly.
The overload was too much. Your mind went completely blank, and you literally saw stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm ripped through you.
Your hold on your knees broke, and you fell heavily to the side of the sofa, your body twitching and shivering uncontrollably from the sheer force of the release.
You lay there panting heavily in the quiet room, completely spent, as you felt your hot, thick slick trailing slowly down the back of your thighs.
Before you could even catch your breath, Draco leaned forward and pulled your legs closer to him. His face dropped straight between your thighs, burying himself in your heat.
He started licking you clean, his tongue sliding flat over your soaked skin. He plunged his tongue deep inside you before moving up to suck and lick your swollen clit. At the same time, he shoved his fingers back inside you, pumping them rapidly to keep you right on the edge of being overstimulated.
“Draco! Stop—ah!” you cried out, your voice cracking as your hips bolted upward off the sofa. "I can't—I can't anymore—"
Every time he moved his mouth down to suck your juices, you could feel his nose heavily grazing right against your sensitive clit. You reached down, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair, unsure whether you were trying to pull him closer or push him away.
Your core clenched violently around his tongue as you kept cumming, again, again, and again, the multiple orgasms crashing over you in relentless waves.
I'm going to die. He's not letting me go—
“Merlin. I could eat you all day,” he groaned against your slit, his voice deep and muffled.
You trembled from head to toe, opening your heavy eyelids to eye him. His mouth and jaw were completely covered in your wet cum, glistening under the dim light of the room. The sight was so incredibly erotic that your head fell straight back against the cushion, a loud moan tearing from your throat as you closed your eyes again bracing for another orgasm.
Draco. Draco. Draco. It was the only word in your mind, and you’re not sure anymore but you might have repeatedly said it out loud.
Finally, he stopped and slowly pulled you up, sliding his arms under your back to lift your trembling body off the sofa and against his chest.
He leaned in and kissed your lips deeply. You could immediately taste your own slick on his tongue. You were still shaking uncontrollably from the aftershocks of the multiple orgasms.
You opened your eyes and looked at his face. Moving your shaking arm up, you gently took the edge of your uniform sleeve and wiped the wetness from his mouth and chin.
Draco’s eyes widened slightly at the gesture. He cleared his throat, pulling your rumpled sweater and button-down back into place over your chest to cover you up, before reaching down to pick up your underwear that had somehow ended up discarded on the ground.
He casually pocketed your underwear into his black robes.
You blinked, trying to find your voice to protest. “Malfoy, that’s my—”
His eyes instantly narrowed. “What did you call me?”
You quickly corrected yourself, your voice dropping into a breathless whisper. “Draco… that’s mine…”
He stared at you for a long moment, a slow smug smirk spreading across his face as he leaned in to press one last quiet kiss to the corner of your lips. “It’s mine now. A little keepsake for the ball.”
He reached down and took your bag from the floor, slinging the strap over his own shoulder.
He moved his arms to your waist and held you up to stand, supporting your weight. “Can you walk?”
You nodded breathlessly, but the moment you tried to take a step forward, your knees completely buckled, and you ended up staggering against him.
He let out a soft sigh. Before you could try again, he bent down and swept you right off the floor into a cradle carry. He carried you easily through the room, like you weigh nothing.
“Draco,” you murmured. Your heart doing somersaults in your ribs at his sudden gesture.
“It’s late,” he muttered. “I don’t feel like getting detention with you again because I had to wait for you to stagger down the halls like a newborn deer.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly closed it back. “Thank you,” you said softly, a small smile touching your lips.
He looked down at you in his arms for a beat before quickly snapping his eyes back to the door ahead. He let out a dismissive hum.
You weren’t entirely sure if you were seeing things right in the dimly classroom, but as a shaft of light hit his face, you could have sworn his ears and the tops of his cheeks carried a faint pink flush.
He pushed open the classroom door and began walking down the dark corridors, which were completely empty and silent this late at night. You could see the shadows dancing on his features and his usually perfect blond hair now completely messy from your grip.
He turned his head down to look at you. “What?”
“Nothing,” you whispered, feeling a sudden, warm blush creeping onto your cheeks. You quickly looked away from his gaze.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, his voice echoing in the quiet hallway.
“Don’t think too much into it,” you replied, trying to sound casual despite how fast your heart was beating.
He just chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that you could feel. He carried you all the way up the moving staircases until he finally dropped you gently onto your feet right in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.
He lingered close for a second, leaning down to press a soft kiss directly to your forehead.
“Good night,” he murmured against your skin.
Before you could even find your words to reply, he turned on his heel, hands slipping back into his pockets as he walked away into the corridor.
Hogsmeade at Halloween was almost unrecognizable, transformed from its usual quaint charm into something darker, more theatrical. Every shopfront was veiled in drifting cobweb charms that shimmered silver when they caught the torchlight. Carved pumpkins—some grinning, some snarling—lined the cobblestones, their jagged mouths flickering with warm orange light that sent shadows leaping across the street. The air was sharp with the bite of autumn, tinged with the sweetness of roasted chestnuts and the faint metallic tang of fog spilling from enchanted cauldrons that gurgled ominously outside Zonko’s. Dry leaves skittered along the ground whenever a draft of wind cut through the village, crunching under hurried footsteps.
Students moved in clusters through the mist, their laughter rising high and nervous, half-delighted and half-afraid. Every so often a cloaked “volunteer” would lunge from a doorway wearing a grotesque mask—fangs dripping, eyes hollow—and the shrieks of startled first-years echoed through the night. Butterbeer sloshed from mugs clutched in too-small hands, foam trailing down sleeves as they tried to look older, braver, than they were. Overhead, the sky was a vast bruise of purple and black, lit only by the pale slice of moon and the occasional firework bursting from the end of a hidden wand. The whole village seemed to breathe with enchantment, as if Halloween itself had come alive in Hogsmeade.
You knew Mattheo had signed up. Of course he had. There was no universe in which he’d pass up the chance to torment his classmates under the guise of school-sanctioned mischief. It was exactly his kind of fun—chaos with permission. Still, knowing it and spotting him weren’t the same thing.
Every time a masked figure lunged from the shadows, your heart stuttered in your chest, the rush of fear tangled with something sharper, warmer. The fog made it impossible to see more than a few steps ahead, and the torchlight distorted every silhouette until they all seemed taller, broader, more dangerous. Cloaks brushed against you in the press of the crowd, and your pulse jumped with the same question over and over again: is it him?
Sometimes you swore you felt his gaze before you saw anyone at all—that prickling awareness between your shoulder blades, the sense of being hunted. The masks grinned too wide, the laughter rang too sharp, and still, every time you caught a flash of dark hair or a glint of eyes behind a disguise, your breath caught in your throat. Was it just another volunteer, or was it Mattheo, lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?
You shouldn’t have worn this costume—not if you’d truly wanted to slip beneath his radar. The witch’s dress was cut shorter than it had any right to be, the bodice laced tight enough to tease at every curve, stockings stopping mid-thigh where the fog seemed eager to curl around bare skin. Under the flicker of jack-o’-lantern light, you might as well have painted a target across yourself.
It was practically begging for trouble.
And if there was one thing Mattheo Riddle couldn’t resist, it was trouble wrapped up in lace and silk. You could almost feel the moment he spotted you, like a tug in your chest, a tightening of the air. The laughter of students around you blurred into background noise, distant and hollow, while your pulse roared in your ears. Somewhere in the mist, a masked figure lingered too long in the shadows, watching—not lunging, not revealing—just waiting.
The fog thickened as you slipped into a narrow alley, the shouts and laughter of the main street fading until they were nothing but muffled echoes. The mist curled at your ankles, damp and clinging, the lanternlight struggling to follow you into the dark.
That was when you felt it—a hand, rough and certain, curling around your wrist.
You froze, breath catching, every nerve sparking. The grip wasn’t tentative; it wasn’t a mistake. Whoever it was knew exactly who they wanted. Heat seared through the thin fabric of your sleeve, his thumb pressing against the frantic thrum of your pulse.
A mask loomed close, too close, the grotesque grin carved into it made all the more menacing by the faint glow of pumpkin light. But it was the eyes you recognized—dark, sharp, glinting with amusement as if your panic were the punchline to a private joke.
You spun, breath catching, and were met with a blank mask. Hollow eyes, a painted grin. For a heartbeat you couldn’t tell if it was him—or just another volunteer hiding behind cheap enchantments.
He said nothing.
The silence was worse than any jump scare. His grip only tightened as he tugged you deeper into the shadows, your shoes scraping against cobblestones slick with mist. The world narrowed to the alley, to the sharp chill of fog seeping under your skirts, to the iron press of fingers around your wrist.
“Mattheo?” you whispered, though you already knew. You’d know the way he touched you anywhere—the certainty in his hand, the way his body loomed close enough to eclipse the world, the silent command threaded through his grip.
The mask tilted at your words, that painted grin catching the faint lanternlight, but he didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, his fingers slid from your wrist to your waist, slow, deliberate, leaving sparks in their wake. You shivered despite the heat flooding your veins, the chill of the brick at your back nothing compared to the warmth pressing closer in front of you.
He liked this—the waiting, the wondering, the way your voice faltered when you already knew the truth. You could feel it in the tension of his body, in the unspoken amusement radiating from him. His silence wasn’t absence—it was control.
Your hands twitched at your sides, torn between pushing him away and fisting his cloak just to feel something solid. His thumb brushed against your hip in the barest movement, enough to send sparks racing up your spine. You exhaled shakily, the mist curling between you like smoke, thin as a veil.
You swallowed hard, deciding to play along. “Oh—oh Merlin—it’s you, isn’t it?” The words cracked on your tongue, trembling, fragile—exactly the way you wanted them to.
His hand flexed against your hip, the smallest movement, but enough to make your pulse jolt. You knew he could feel it, the lie woven into your voice, the way your body betrayed you with every shallow breath. Because while your words shook with feigned dread, your thighs pressed together, restless, aching, and your back arched just slightly into his hold.
He growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through the mask, rough and animal. The grip on your waist hardened, fingers digging in, and then slid lower, dragging the fabric of your skirt with it. Silk bunched in his fist, rising inch by inch until the cool bite of night air kissed the tops of your stockings, prickling your bare skin.
“Scaring me, masked man?” you teased breathlessly, your voice feather-light, trembling just enough to keep up the act. Still pretending, though your pulse thundered with real anticipation. “What if my boyfriend finds out?”
The mask tilted, shadows swallowing half of its grotesque grin, and for a second you couldn’t tell if he was amused or furious. That was the torment of it—the blankness, the distance. You couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t read the curl of his mouth or the flicker in his eyes. All you had was the weight of his silence, the hot press of his body, the rough drag of his fingers bunching your skirt higher and higher.
He pressed closer, close enough that the hard edge of the mask grazed your temple, cold and unyielding. You shivered, unsure if it was from the chill or from the thrill of not having him—his face, his lips, his smirk—only the faceless stranger the mask turned him into.
His reply wasn’t words at first—it was a sharp nip at your throat, the unforgiving edge of the mask digging into your skin just enough to sting. You gasped, the sound catching, as the cold bite of carved wood or charmed plaster contrasted with the heat of his breath bleeding through the slits.
Then came the voice, husky, rough with the strain of holding back. “I think he already knows.” His lips didn’t need to touch you for the words to sink deep, vibrating against your pulse. His hand tightened at your thigh, dragging the hem of your skirt higher still until the night air licked at bare skin. “He’s not a big fan of the skirt, little witch.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs, but your body betrayed you, arching into the press of his palm, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath the shadow of the mask. You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t read the expression you knew was twisting his mouth—but that was the point, wasn’t it? You had only the faceless man, the painted grin, and the merciless certainty of his hands.
The mask scraped your jaw as he shifted lower, the edges biting faintly as though marking you. “But I am.”
Your laugh was shaky, half-choked when his fingers brushed the heat between your thighs. “Maybe I don’t know it’s you…”
That broke him.
With a low growl, he shoved the mask up just enough to bare his mouth, the grotesque grin frozen above his eyes while his lips found yours. The kiss was furious, punishing—teeth catching your bottom lip hard enough to sting, tongue claiming before you could even gasp his name. It was messy and desperate, a clash of hunger and anger, like he needed to prove that of course you knew it was him.
When he tore back, breath ragged, the mask slipped crooked, but not enough to reveal him fully. His smirk, though—feral, unrestrained—was all Mattheo.
“Don’t play with me, sweetheart. You knew the second I touched you.”
And then he was dragging you higher against the wall, lifting as though you weighed nothing, your skirt riding up shamelessly around your hips. The night’s chill no longer mattered—not with his palm slipping beneath lace, fingers purposeful, ruthless, as though he’d waited all evening just to ruin you here.
Each sound you made was stolen by the fog, swallowed before it could reach the street. The air echoed with distant shrieks of laughter and the crackle of fireworks, but in the alley there was only the rough rhythm of your breath, the slick slide of his touch, the scrape of brick against your back as he pinned you mercilessly.
His mask still shadowed his eyes, that painted grin frozen inches above your cheek, making the rasp of his voice at your ear even more devastating.
“Tell me, little witch,” he breathed, each word a hot brand, “do you want Mattheo Riddle…or the monster in the mask?”
The thought should’ve terrified you, but instead it twisted hot and molten through your veins. Because there, in the shadows, in the fog, you weren’t just his classmate, or his girlfriend, or his secret. You were prey—claimed, cornered, undone by a monster who wore his face and yet was something darker. Something you couldn’t stop craving.
“Go on. Keep pretending you don’t know who’s fucking you in the dark. Let’s see how long you can keep it up.”
Your laugh barely had time to escape before his palm was over your mouth, rough and unyielding, smothering the sound into silence. The pressure of it forced your head back against the wall, and the shock of it sent a shiver straight down your spine.
His body caged yours completely, chest pressing into yours, thighs bracketing your legs until you couldn’t so much as twitch without meeting his heat. The mask stared you down—hollow eyes, grotesque grin—eerily calm even as his other hand shoved your skirt back up where he wanted it, until the cool air licked hungrily at your bare skin.
Pinned, silenced, blinded by the mask’s blank expression, you felt utterly undone—your world narrowed to the strength of his grip and the promise in his touch. He pressed in closer, the hard edge of the mask scraping your temple, the muffled rasp of his breath hot against your ear.
“Shh,” he breathed against your ear, voice a low rasp that curled down your spine. “Don’t want anyone finding us, do we?”
You tried to answer, but it came out muffled against his palm, swallowed before it could reach the fog. The sound only made his lips curl beneath the mask, a sharp curve of satisfaction you could feel more than see. He liked you like this—helpless, silenced, your breath hot against his skin as your thighs trembled.
His fingers traced the seam of your panties with deliberate slowness, dragging fire through the thin barrier, every stroke a tease that made your hips jerk against the wall. The mask loomed closer, its hollow eyes fixed on you, and it was impossible to tell where Mattheo ended and the faceless stranger began.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice muffled, dangerous. His thumb pressed down lightly, right where you ached, and your muffled whimper vibrated against his hand. “Is that fear, little witch…or something dirtier?”
The grin painted across the mask stayed fixed, obscene, but the heat in his touch betrayed him. The monster was hungry—and you were offering yourself up, trembling and silent in his hold.
The mask tilted as he looked you over, gaze devouring every inch of your costume. “My dirty little witch,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the words dripped against your ear like a spell. His tone was dark, hungry, every syllable vibrating with restraint he was moments away from losing. “Knew you’d drive me fucking mad in this thing.”
His hand fisted in the bunched fabric, jerking your skirt up as if to punish you for daring to wear it—for letting anyone else catch so much as a glimpse. The lace strained under his grip, threatening to tear, and you gasped against his palm, a muffled sound that only spurred him on.
“You wanted eyes on you, didn’t you?” he rasped, dragging his masked face down your throat, the hard edge scraping your skin like a brand. “Parading around in this little dress, stockings stopping right where I like them…” His laugh was low, ruined. “Merlin, you’re lucky I found you first.”
His fingers pressed harder against the thin cotton of your panties, the heat of his touch undeniable. The mask’s grotesque grin hovered over your cheek as his voice dropped to a growl.
He pressed his knee between your thighs, forcing them wider until the rough brick scraped unforgiving at your back. His hand slipped beneath lace, fingers parting you with ruthless precision, and the sharp intake of his breath turned into a guttural curse, muffled against the night air.
“Merlin, you’re soaked.” His words were jagged, broken with want, the mask making them sound darker, inhuman. His fingers slid through your slick, teasing, testing, making you shudder helplessly against his palm. “You came out here dressed like this just for me, didn’t you?”
The mask’s hollow eyes bored into yours, daring you to deny it, to pretend one second longer. His thumb circled lazily where you ached, the pressure maddeningly light. The painted grin hovered over your mouth, obscene in its stillness while his real smirk curved unseen beneath.
Your muffled whimper against his hand gave you away, and he chuckled low, vicious. “Thought so. My filthy little witch, showing herself off to the whole bloody village—” He pressed harder, making your hips jerk. “—when she belongs to me.”
You whimpered against his palm, nodding, and that was all it took. His composure shattered like glass.
With a low, guttural sound, he shoved your panties aside, not caring if the lace tore in his haste. His fingers drove into you hard and fast, the sudden stretch making your eyes roll back, a muffled cry caught beneath his hand. The sting blurred instantly into molten pleasure, your walls clenching desperately around him as he filled you with ruthless precision.
The mask loomed inches from your face, its hollow eyes unblinking, grin frozen in place while his real hunger poured through his touch. Each thrust of his fingers was punishing, meant to remind you exactly who had you pinned in the shadows.
Your nails scraped helplessly at the brick, the rough stone biting your palms as you tried to ground yourself. He curled his fingers deep, dragging a broken sound from your throat, and the muffled whimper only made his chuckle darker.
“Quiet, baby,” he growled, the rasp of his voice muffled yet sharp against your ear. His hand pressed harder over your mouth, cutting off your cry before it could escape, the rough palm a reminder of just how caged you were. “Be good,” he whispered, plastic grazing the edge of your jaw, “or I’ll make it worse.”
The words alone sent shivers down your spine, and the promise in his tone was undeniable. The mask loomed above you while his fingers worked inside you with relentless precision. Every movement, every brush of skin against brick, was amplified by the muffling, by the faceless intensity of the monster who held you.
Your muffled whimpers vibrated against his palm, and he chuckled low, the sound rough, possessive, almost pleased at your helplessness. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice rasping with strain. “Good girl…you like it when I take control, don’t you?”
The fog thickened around you, carrying the distant shrieks of other students being “scared” by harmless masks. None of them knew what was happening here in the shadows. None of them knew how your body writhed under his touch, your skirt bunched at your hips, his mask back to covering his face as he worked you open with ruthless precision.
“You like this?” he whispered harshly, breath ragged, voice low enough to send shivers through you. You could feel the strain of him pressing against his trousers, a palpable heat that mirrored your own desperate need. “Like me ruining your pretty little costume in the street? You’re fucking crazy.”
His hand tightened inside you, thumb circling, teasing, punishing, while the other pressed bruisingly onto your mouth. You couldn’t see him fully, and that was the point—the anonymity made every touch feel sharper, every rasp of his voice more feral.
Your muffled moan vibrated against his palm, and he chuckled low, dark, a sound that sent shivers curling down your spine.
“Got to be quick,” he said, pulling his fingers free with deliberate slowness, teasing you with the memory of what he’d just done, then fumbling with his belt. The rough scrape of metal against fabric, the sharp hitch in his breath—it made your stomach twist in delicious anticipation.
“Before someone comes looking for us…” The words were half warning, half promise, and the thrill of potential discovery sent heat pooling in your core, spreading through every nerve. Your legs trembled, still parted against the wall, while the mask loomed above you.
He pressed closer, body warm, urgent, and you felt the hard outline of him against your stomach, the promise of the next step teasing, almost unbearable. Every muffled whimper you managed only seemed to excite him further, a reminder that you were his in this fog-swallowed alley, caught between fear, want, and the dangerous thrill of being seen—or not seen.
The next moment he was slamming into you, pressing you impossibly hard against the cold brick, his hand still sealing your mouth as though claiming you completely. The mask shadowed his eyes, hollow and unreadable, while his body moved against yours with a brutal, frantic rhythm, like the fog itself might part at any second and reveal every inch of you to the world.
The sheer size of him filled you in ways that made your knees tremble, the stretch sharp and overstimulating, pulling helpless cries against his palm. Every thrust was merciless, punishing, a reminder that there was no escape—not in body, not in mind. The alley echoed faintly with distant laughter and the crackle of fireworks, but it might as well have been an empty void; you were entirely swallowed by him, by the mask, by the sharp, exquisite ache of how full he made you.
“You knew it was me,” he hissed, hips snapping forward, each thrust a punishing, deliberate claim. “You knew, and you still let me drag you out here. Fucking hell—you love it. My sweet little witch.”
His words drove fire straight through you, your muffled whines vibrating against the palm pressed over your mouth. The mask’s hollow eyes loomed inches from your face, blank and terrifying, while his body slammed into yours relentlessly, filling you to the brink. The sheer size of him stretched you, every hard thrust making your knees tremble and your stomach knot with heat.
His hand moved to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back, the other braced on the brick to pin you completely, and every movement reminded you exactly whose you were—claimed, marked, ruined in the fog-drenched alley. He growled your name through the mask, low and possessive, and the sound made your walls clench even tighter around him, betraying the truth you’d tried to hide: you loved this, loved the monster in the mask almost more than the boy behind it.
You shook under him, his pace relentless, every thrust threatening to undo you. His palm muffled your gasps, his mask hiding his wild expression, but his words gave him away:
“Come on my cock, sweetheart. Let them hear you scream if you can’t hold it in. Let the whole bloody village know it's my girl that showed up in the slutty costume.”
Your walls clenched around him, a shudder rolling through your spine as pleasure coiled impossibly tight. Every thrust was precise, punishing, and impossibly pleasurable, driving you closer to the edge. You clawed at his shoulders, silent cries vibrating against his palm, but he only chuckled low, pressing you harder into the wall.
Your body trembled violently, hips bucking as the coil inside you snapped. Heat, tightness, and bliss exploded through you in sharp, blinding pulses, muffled cries escaping against his palm. Your walls fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as your orgasm tore through you, leaving you trembling and breathless.
Feeling you come undone like that pushed him over the edge. His hips stuttered, then slammed forward one last time, his own release spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, filling you up. A guttural groan tore from his chest, muffled only slightly by the mask, as he collapsed over you, still buried, still trembling.
Your little witch costume clung in all the wrong places—hem bunched, skirt ruined, top slightly askew, and your knickers damp and sticky with evidence of him. You wanted to collapse right there, bury your face in your hands, and beg for mercy.
Mattheo’s dark smirk only widened when he straightened, brushing a stray curl from his damp forehead. “Up, love,” he commanded softly, his hand gripping the small of your back. “We’re not done yet.”
Your protest caught in a whisper, weak and breathless, but he pressed a finger to your lips. “Shh… let them see. Let them know exactly what a mess you are. My mess.”
He guided you out of the alley way, hands firm on your waist as you staggered slightly. The chilly Hogsmeade air made your skin prickle, goosebumps rising over the lingering heat between your thighs. Every step reminded you of him inside you, of your ruined little costume, and of how utterly exposed you were.
Passersby gave curious glances, some just brief, others lingering too long, but Mattheo’s grip tightened, his thumb brushing over the swell of your hip. His voice was low and dangerous, right at your ear: “Every step you take, remember… this is exactly what happens when you’re mine. Wet, trembling, ruined for anyone else. And you love it, don’t you?”
You whined softly, pressing your thighs together in vain, desperate to hide how messy you were. Mattheo chuckled darkly, trailing his hand down to nudge your damp heat through the fabric, just enough to make you shiver against him. Scaring first years was so far out of his mind, all that mattered now was displaying you to the world.
“Come on, love,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “Hold your head high. Little witch, little slut, mine for all to see… let’s enjoy the walk.”
And with that, he led you through Hogsmeade, every step a delicious mixture of embarrassment, desire, and the wicked thrill of being completely ruined—and completely his.
Summary : You hadn’t meant to become theirs. It wasn’t something you planned, or even dreamed about. You were just another student at Hogwarts—clever, calm, composed, a bit mysterious in your own right. You had always kept to the corners of rooms, the quiet spaces of libraries, the in-between places where you didn’t have to be seen unless you wanted to be. Looks across the Great Hall that lingered too long. Brushes of fingertips as they passed by in corridors. Casual conversations that seemed to echo in your mind long after they ended. They drew you in like gravity—pulling you closer, threading themselves into the rhythm of your days, until their presence was something you ached for. It wasn’t just one of them. It was all three. They didn’t fight over you. They didn’t make you choose. They just waited. Until you leaned in too.
Warning : All The Characters is Age up, Smut +18, Dom!Sirius, Dom!James, Dom!Remus, Tits Playing, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Rough Sexs, Creampie, Overstimulation, Little Bit Fluff, Size Kink(?), Praising Kink, Bulge Kink(?).
The Marauders Masterlist.
Wizarding World Masterlist.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
The heavy wooden door creaked as you pushed it open, your body practically aching with exhaustion. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, something floral from Remus’s enchanted soap, and the faint musk of boys who’d spent the last hour goofing off between duels and laughter. You exhaled deeply—a soft, frustrated sigh—and let the door fall shut behind you with a dull click.
Sirius and James were on the floor, their wands pointed toward an apple that was now levitating mid-air and spinning lazily. Their shirts were unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, hair disheveled from a mix of playful hexes and too much confidence. Remus was on James’s bed, legs stretched out, a thick book resting open in his lap, his finger idly stroking the edge of the page as his eyes flicked up to you.
You felt heavy. Like even the air pressing against your skin was too much. Ancient Runes had drained every last drop of your energy—hours spent deciphering archaic symbols, double-checking translations, with Professor Babbling breathing down your neck. Your back ached from leaning over your notes, and your brain felt like melted wax.
The moment James saw you, his boyish grin softened into something warmer. Sweeter. He set his wand aside, nudged Sirius without a word, and stood. His arms opened without hesitation, his chest welcoming. No teasing, no smirking—just him, waiting for you.
You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.
You crossed the room with slow, dragging steps, your heart pounding not from desire, but from relief—because this, right here, was home.
James’s body was solid as you fell into him. Your face pressed into the curve of his neck, right where his pulse thudded strong and steady, and you just breathed. Your fingers gripped the back of his shirt, knuckles white, and you sank deeper into his warmth, like slipping beneath the surface of a still, sunlit lake.
He exhaled shakily into your hair, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other circling your waist, holding you like you might dissolve if he let go. His voice was low, roughened by something more than concern. “You’re tense, baby… what happened?”
You didn’t answer right away. You just let yourself be held.
After a long moment, you whispered against his neck, lips brushing the skin there, “Everything. Ancient Runes. My brain is… fried. My body’s sore. I hate it. I just needed… this.”
James’s grip tightened a fraction. “You’ve got this, sweetheart. You’re brilliant—even when you’re exhausted.”
You shivered. Maybe it was his breath against your skin, or the way Sirius and Remus watched in silence now, the room holding its breath as if they could feel how close you were to breaking.
Sirius stood, stretching with a lazy grace, and crossed to the bed where you and James stood tangled in one another. “C’mon, dove. Let’s get you out of that uniform and into something soft,” he murmured, fingers already brushing your sleeve. His voice was velvet and storm clouds, and something in his touch made you ache differently.
You felt the bed dip behind you. Remus. You didn’t need to look to know. His presence always calmed you. Always grounded you.
“You push too hard,” he murmured, his hand stroking down your arm now. “You carry more than you let on. Let us take care of you tonight.”
You felt like you were unraveling in their hands. The stress, the tiredness, the frustration—it all melted with every soft word, every warm touch. There was nothing rushed, nothing frantic. Just soft intimacy. Devotion in the way James kissed the top of your head. Worship in the way Sirius tucked your hair behind your ear. Steadiness in the way Remus touched you like he was reading your soul, not your body.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” James whispered. “Just let go.”
You stood in the quiet center of their world, the boys moving around you with the kind of gentleness reserved for glass or sacred things. Your limbs felt heavy, your head cloudy from exhaustion, but being here—wrapped in their presence—slowed the spinning in your chest. It was a safe unraveling.
James’s hands slid to your back, warm and sure as he unclasped your bra with practiced ease. His fingertips brushed along your spine in the softest, most reverent trail, as though he were memorizing you all over again. You let out a long sigh, your shoulders sinking, tension bleeding from your bones.
“You’ve been carrying too much,” he said quietly, his lips brushing your shoulder as he slipped the straps down your arms, letting the lace fall away. “Let us hold some of it.”
Before the chill could touch your skin, Sirius was in front of you, his smirk laced with affection. He held out one of his oversized shirts, the fabric soft and worn and smelling like him—like leather, clove, and something unnameably wild.
“Here, sweetheart,” he murmured, helping guide your arms through the sleeves. “Didn’t want you catching cold. You know, unless you wanted a reason to crawl into my bed.”
You laughed, soft and breathy, tilting your head back as he pulled it gently over your head. The hem brushed mid-thigh, just enough to tease, and Sirius’s eyes followed the line of your bare legs with open hunger—but not the kind that devours. The kind that worships.
Remus was already seated behind you on the bed, arms outstretched, and you melted into him like it was instinct. His chest was warm against your back, his hand finding your thigh as the others knelt before you, unfastening the clasp of your skirt with slow, unhurried fingers. The fabric pooled to the floor, leaving you in nothing but Sirius’s shirt and soft black panties.
James inhaled slowly through his nose, dragging his gaze up your thighs like a man studying art. Sirius’s tongue slid across his bottom lip before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss just above your knee. “Look at you,” he whispered, “like a little painting come to life.”
Remus bent his head, his breath hot as it met the curve of your neck. You felt his lips first—featherlight, reverent. Then the slow, warm drag of his mouth against your skin, like he wanted to leave poems behind in kisses only you could read.
“You’re…” he murmured between kisses, his voice raw and thick with emotion. “You’re incredible. Do you know that?”
You chuckled softly, your hand curling around his forearm as your head tilted, exposing more of your neck to him. “I try to be.”
“No,” he said, pressing another kiss just below your ear. “You just are. Even when you’re too tired to hold yourself up, you still shine.”
James sat back on his heels in front of you, his hand resting on your knee, thumb stroking slow circles. His eyes locked on yours—no teasing, no mischief, just adoration. “Let us take it from here, baby.”
You nodded, your heart drumming a slow, content rhythm. You felt like a flame cradled in palms that would never let you burn out.
They didn’t rush. They didn’t strip you bare in hunger—they peeled away the day with every word, every touch. Sirius lay beside you now, his fingers tracing slow lines across your thigh under the hem of his shirt, while Remus’s arms wrapped around you tighter, anchoring you, grounding you. James sat at the foot of the bed, one hand still wrapped around your ankle, as though keeping you tethered.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Remus whispered into your skin.
“Not tonight,” James said, kissing your shin.
“Just be ours,” Sirius added, voice low, threading his fingers through yours. “Just for a little while.”
The dorm was quiet now—quiet in that intimate, breathless way. Moonlight slanted through the tall windows in long silver ribbons, catching the edge of James’s bed where you lay, wrapped in Sirius’s oversized shirt and the arms of three boys who knew you deeper than anyone else ever had.
You’d just shifted to cuddle closer to Remus, your head tucked under his jaw, when Sirius made a low, amused sound. You felt it before you saw it—the slight change in the air, the heat behind you intensifying.
Then his mouth was on your neck.
It started with a single, teasing kiss. Right below your ear, where your skin was warm and sensitive. You giggled, instinctively squirming in Remus’s lap, but Sirius only chuckled into your skin, the sound rich and sinful.
“Hold still, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and thick. “You know I hate being interrupted.”
“She’s mine right now,” Remus teased, tightening his arms around your waist.
Sirius tsked. “Not anymore.”
With a possessive tug, Sirius gripped your hips and gently shifted you, guiding you out of Remus’s arms and into his lap with a confidence that made your pulse skip. You didn’t protest. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that—like you were starlight and sin wrapped into one.
“Let me have her for a bit,” he said over your shoulder to Remus. “You can read your book or something.”
Remus smirked, lounging back against the pillows, his fingers still brushing your thigh. “Only if she wants you to.”
You turned your head just enough to meet Sirius’s gaze, your green eyes playful but soft. “I want to.”
Sirius groaned softly, as if those words flipped something inside him.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
And then he was kissing your neck again—more insistent this time, his mouth dragging over your skin like he was starved for the taste of you. You tilted your head back, giving him space, letting him claim you in the only way he knew how—bold, unfiltered, hungry.
One of his hands cradled your waist, anchoring you in place while the other slowly slid beneath the hem of the shirt you wore—his shirt. His fingers brushed your stomach first, the pad of his thumb circling lazily before drifting higher, higher, until—
You gasped, sharp and soft all at once, when his hand cupped your breast. The sensation was warm, grounding, and intimate—like a secret passed in the dark. His thumb brushed across your nipple and a small moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.
He growled against your neck, the vibration of it lighting fire across your collarbone. “Fuck, baby… the sounds you make.”
Your breath hitched, the moment suddenly heavy with something deeper than arousal—something raw. You felt every part of him: his hand, his breath, the tension in his muscles as if he were holding back for you.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice ragged, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “You walk into the room and it’s like—like nothing else exists. Just you.”
You turned slightly, catching the edge of his mouth with yours, a soft kiss that lingered longer than expected. He groaned again, squeezing gently, drawing another moan from your lips that echoed into his mouth.
“Careful,” you whispered, breathless, playful but trembling beneath the surface. “You’ll ruin me for anyone else.”
“You already ruined me,” he replied, his voice husky, reverent. “Every part of you.”
Behind you, Remus’s fingers traced slow circles into your thigh, his presence quiet but grounding.
James, from across the room, called softly, “Don’t tire her out. I want my turn.”
Sirius smirked against your skin, kissing your collarbone, his hand still beneath your shirt. “Not ruining her. Just reminding her she’s ours.”
You sighed, melting further into him, body humming with sensation and safety all at once.
And for a long, suspended moment, all there was—was the warmth of skin, the softness of breath, and the quiet between heartbeats.
The moon hung high outside the tall windows, silver light catching the lines of Sirius’s face as he stared up at you, pupils wide, his lips swollen from the kisses he’d trailed across your throat. His breath was hot against your skin, his fingers trembling slightly against your waist—not from nerves, but restraint.
“Merlin, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, like gravel wrapped in silk.
He slid his hands up beneath his shirt—your shirt for the night—his fingers slow, almost reverent. Then, with a soft tug at the hem, he opened it, spreading the fabric wide. Cool air kissed your bare skin and you gasped lightly, your chest rising and falling in anticipation.
You giggled breathlessly, the tension melting into warmth, as Sirius gave you that familiar grin—cocky and utterly enamored.
“I should frame this view,” he muttered, eyes locked on you like you were art and ruin and salvation all in one.
Then his mouth was on you.
A sudden, searing heat as his lips wrapped around your nipple, his tongue flicking with agonizing slowness. Your moan was immediate, soft and helpless, echoing in the silence of the dorm. His hand found your other breast, fingers squeezing gently, his palm warm against your flushed skin.
“Sirius…” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. The movement made him groan deep in his throat, the vibration rumbling through you like a distant storm.
You weren’t prepared for what happened next.
Behind you, you heard it—two soft, guttural sounds, almost in unison.
Remus.
James.
They were watching. And they weren’t being subtle about it.
The air thickened, charged with something electric, something shared.
Sirius growled into your skin, his grip on your waist tightening. Without lifting his mouth, he pulled you closer onto his lap, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make your head fall back. Then he sucked harder, possessive, desperate—not in hunger, but in need. His hand squeezed firmer, like he had to ground himself in your body or risk unraveling entirely.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmured between kisses, nipping softly, “Don’t forget who got you like this first.”
His voice was rough, proud, but full of something deeper—vulnerability barely masked beneath the heat. As if the idea of your attention drifting to the others made something primal claw its way up from inside him.
You looked down at him, your fingers still tangled in his dark hair, his mouth still moving over your skin. His eyes were molten, searching, wanting.
“Still yours,” you whispered, letting your hips rock subtly in his lap, barely a motion but enough to drive him mad.
“Damn right,” he muttered, sealing your words with another deep kiss over your breast, his teeth lightly grazing before he softened, pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses across your chest. “But they’ll want their turn too…”
Your breath caught at the promise in his tone—this unspoken understanding between the four of you. It wasn’t just lust. It was something more. Something sacred.
Remus moved behind you again, his hands brushing your back, steady and warm. James’s voice followed, quiet and low, thick with desire. “You’re the only thing that shuts us all up.”
Sirius gave a breathless laugh against your skin. “Not for long.”
The world narrowed to Sirius’s mouth on your chest—the way his tongue moved slow and deliberate, the way his lips latched to you like he was drinking in something vital. His hand cradled the weight of your breast as if it belonged to him, fingers pressing gently, possessively.
Your breath came shallow, warm, caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper as he suckled deeper, pulling soft, aching sounds from you with every drag of his lips. Every now and then, he’d groan softly against you, like he couldn’t believe you were real.
But then James moved.
He had been watching you the whole time, eyes dark, jaw tense with restraint. Now, he crossed the small space between you, one knee sliding onto the bed beside you, his hand curling around your jaw with a quiet sort of desperation.
You barely had time to react before he tilted your face to his and kissed you.
It wasn’t slow or soft—it was hungry. The moment your mouths met, he groaned into you like he’d been waiting hours, days, lifetimes. His lips crushed yours, his tongue parting your mouth in a hot, possessive sweep. You moaned, the sound muffled by him, and shifted instinctively on Sirius’s lap, overwhelmed by the sensation of being surrounded.
The reaction was instant.
Sirius growled deep in his throat, his grip on your waist tightening like a vice. His mouth pulled away from your nipple with a wet pop, breath hot against your skin. “Careful,” he warned, voice low and sharp against your ribs. “You know what that does to me.”
But your body was already moving on its own, hips grinding faintly in his lap just from the pressure, from the kiss, from the heat of all three of them circling you like wolves who had finally cornered their moon.
James pulled away from your lips, just enough to speak, his breath ragged. “She can’t help it,” he said, eyes flickering down your body. “You make her feel too good.”
You whimpered at the truth of it, your thighs trembling slightly, your fingers still twisted in Sirius’s hair.
“Still,” Sirius growled, his hand slipping around to your lower back, palm firm. “She needs to learn how to behave when she’s in my lap.”
There was something thrilling in the way he said it—dominant, but not cruel. Like he liked pushing you, testing your limits, watching you bend beneath his touch. His hand on your hip gave a firm squeeze, grounding you.
“I’m trying,” you whispered, voice breathless, eyes flicking between them. “I just…”
James brushed his thumb across your cheek. “You don’t have to try so hard, love. Just feel it. We’ve got you.”
Remus, now behind you, leaned in then, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You don’t have to think at all,” he murmured, his voice like warm honey. “We’ll do that for you tonight.”
And that was the moment it shifted—when you let go. When your body stopped resisting the pull of their gravity. You were in orbit now—around them.
James kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense, his fingers curling beneath your jaw like you might disappear. Sirius resumed kissing down your chest, lower now, lips trailing fire across your skin. And Remus—he was still behind you, his arms winding around your waist, holding you steady, anchoring you in the storm.
“You’re ours,” Sirius murmured against your ribs. “And we’re going to take care of you.”
“You just have to stay still,” James added, smiling against your mouth. “Or try to.”
“Though we won’t punish you if you don’t,” Remus chuckled. “We quite like it when you squirm.”
You shivered in their arms, feeling adored, worshipped, owned—but in the gentlest, most reverent way. Every hand on your body was familiar, every kiss knew you better than your reflection, and every word spoken into your skin made you feel like you were something sacred.
And in that moon-drenched dormitory, with your heart in their hands and their hearts wrapped around your body, you realized: love could be rough and raw and unrelenting—and still be the softest place you’d ever land.
Sirius’s arms were strong around you, and the moment he shifted, your body moved like it belonged to him. He laid you down gently onto the soft, rumpled bedding, your back sinking into warmth and familiar scent—of firewood, of parchment, and the distinct scent that clung to all three of them like something you’d wear on your skin forever.
Your breath hitched.
Sirius followed you down, but not fully. His hands dragged slowly down your sides, savoring every inch, every curve, before his lips pressed a kiss just below your navel. The way he looked at you—like a man who was both reverent and insatiable—set something wild loose in your chest.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice ragged, “I’ve been dreaming of this all day.”
You barely had time to respond before James leaned in again, his hand cradling your jaw, mouth claiming yours. His kiss was softer now, more lingering. Still deep. Still possessive. But laced with something gentler, like he needed you to feel cherished even as he lost himself in you.
Then you felt Remus.
His hands ghosted up your body, palms warm and rough with callouses earned from nights gripping wands too tightly, and books too long into the dark. They found your breasts, his fingers curving around them with practiced care—like he’d memorized how you liked to be touched and etched it into muscle memory.
He squeezed gently at first. Then firmer.
Your back arched, hips rolling slightly, the moan trapped in your throat swallowed by James’s kiss.
Remus’s mouth brushed the curve of your shoulder. “You sound like music,” he whispered, voice reverent. “I could live in that sound.”
And then Sirius reached your hips.
He looked up from between your legs with that slow, sinful smile—the one that always meant trouble and devotion in equal measure. His fingers looped around the waistband of your panties and, slowly—agonizingly—he tugged them down your thighs, kissing each inch of skin as he exposed it.
“You’re shaking,” he said softly, dark eyes flicking up to yours. “Is that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, barely able to breathe.
“Good,” he growled, before lowering his head.
The first stroke of his tongue was slow—like a tease, like a promise. He moved gently, exploring, savoring. Your hips twitched instinctively, and Sirius gripped them hard to still you.
“Stay still,” he warned, voice muffled against your skin. “Let me taste every bit of what’s mine.”
Your body arched, back lifting from the bed involuntarily as his tongue dragged through your folds again—more firmly this time, and then again, and again. Pressure building, tension twisting. You whimpered, head falling back into the pillows.
James kissed you deeper, trying to hold you grounded. His free hand found your cheek, thumb stroking just beneath your eye. “Breathe,” he whispered, breaking the kiss for only a second. “We’ve got you.”
But you couldn’t focus—not with Remus’s fingers gently rolling your nipple, not with James’s lips brushing against yours, and certainly not with Sirius’s mouth working you open like he was trying to undo you.
Your thighs trembled, one of them lifted instinctively over Sirius’s shoulder, and he groaned at the motion—low, needy.
“Merlin,” he rasped, pulling away just for breath. “You taste like heaven.”
Your moan turned into a cry, your hand reaching down to tangle in his dark hair, and the moment you tugged, Sirius groaned louder, tongue pressing deeper, firmer, faster.
Remus whispered against your throat, kisses soft between words. “They love doing this to you… don’t they?”
You could only nod, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation.
Sirius’s hands tightened on your hips as he brought you closer to the edge, his tongue moving in a rhythm you felt all the way down to your toes. James kissed the moans off your lips. Remus kissed away your shivers.
And in that moment—laid bare beneath their hands, their mouths, their love—you weren’t just theirs.
You were everything.
The room spun in rhythm with your breath—each exhale trembling, each inhale caught on the edge of a moan. You were pinned by their devotion, wrapped in the heat of three hearts beating only for you.
Sirius’s mouth had left your thighs kissed raw and trembling, his lips wet with your arousal. But his fingers… his fingers replaced where his tongue had been—two of them, long and rough, sliding deep into you without warning.
You gasped. No—moaned. Loudly. The kind of sound that made Sirius growl, the kind of sound that had James’s lips crashing down against yours again in a bruising, open-mouthed kiss, like he needed to swallow the noise to keep himself grounded.
“Bloody hell,” Sirius hissed, eyes locked on where his fingers disappeared into you. He curled them just right—just enough to drag a shiver from the very core of you, hitting a place inside that made your hips jerk. “Look at you…”
His voice was gravel and heat. “So wet for us. So tight around my fingers. You like this, don’t you? Being touched everywhere at once?”
You could barely nod.
Remus had you too—his lips closed around your breast, warm and commanding. His tongue flicked against your nipple while one hand gently kneaded the other, the touch reverent yet firm. His other hand was on your waist, keeping you still as Sirius set a merciless rhythm.
You whimpered into James’s kiss, hands flying up to clutch at his hair, trying to hold on to something as your body began to unravel. But it was too much. James’s kiss—possessive and dizzying. Remus’s mouth—sensitive and grounding. And Sirius—his fingers inside you, curling again, again, again…
“You’re squeezing me so tight,” Sirius groaned, voice thick with hunger. “She’s so close, I can feel it.”
“She should be,” Remus murmured against your breast, the vibration of his voice sinking into your skin. “She’s being worshipped.”
You felt the pressure build, a burning knot of sensation between your hips, tightening with every thrust of Sirius’s fingers. Every curl of them sent you higher. And the sight—Sirius, panting between your legs, his fingers working you apart; Remus at your chest, his lips and teeth sending sparks through your nerves; and James—kissing you like he’d die if he stopped—was too much.
You cried out, the sound raw, beautiful, helpless.
“Good girl,” James murmured against your lips, pride dripping from every syllable.
Sirius didn’t stop. He kept moving, kept thrusting those fingers in and out of you, slick and fast, his eyes never leaving your face. “You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what happens when all of us have our hands on you at once.”
Remus lifted his head just slightly, gaze dark and molten as he looked down at you. “You’re perfect like this,” he said, brushing his lips against your cheek. “Completely undone… completely ours.”
And you were.
You were trembling, clutching James like a lifeline, pressing into Remus for warmth, arching into Sirius’s rhythm like you belonged to him—because you did. To all of them.
Every gasp. Every sigh. Every shiver. You were theirs. And they were yours. All of them. And gods, they made you feel like everything.
Your body trembled with the anticipation left in the space Sirius created when he pulled his fingers out—wet, slick, and glistening from your arousal. You whimpered, hips arching instinctively, searching for more, chasing the edge he’d so mercilessly stolen.
He only smirked.
The kind of smirk that held danger and promise all at once.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and rough, threaded with control. “You’re not going to fall apart just yet.”
You whimpered again, this time from the ache—the emptiness. Your body was burning. Desperate. Sirius leaned over you, his breath brushing your cheek, and pressed a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. It was softer than you expected, filled with something deeper—something that lingered just beneath his usual bravado.
Then his hand moved.
He undid the buttons of his trousers with ease, never breaking eye contact. His cock sprung free, thick and aching, and your breath caught at the sight of him. You bit your lip, thighs twitching, your hips subtly shifting toward him—inviting.
Sirius’s smirk deepened.
“Look at you,” he said, gaze flicking down your body. “So desperate for it. You want me to fill you up, yeah? Been so sweet, letting us touch you… kiss you…” He leaned in, brushing the head of his cock against your wetness, dragging a groan from both of you. “But now it’s my turn.”
Your breath hitched at the contact—just a brush, but enough to send a ripple of heat straight through you.
He gripped your hips, grounding you beneath him, and continued teasing, rubbing himself against your folds. Slow. Controlled. Like he wanted to memorize the feeling. You moaned, head falling back into the pillow, fingers digging into the sheets.
“Sirius,” you breathed, voice shaky, desperate.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “Say it again,” he murmured, rubbing himself against you once more. “Say my name when you’re like this.”
“Sirius…”
It broke from you like a prayer, and that was all it took. With a guttural groan, he rolled his hips forward—slow, deep, claiming.
Your back arched as he filled you, inch by inch, the stretch intense, delicious, and exactly what you’d been craving. He didn’t rush. He moved with purpose—watching your every reaction, feeding on every whimper and shiver.
When he was fully inside you, he stilled—his breath heavy against your ear.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You feel… you always feel like home.”
You couldn’t speak. Your body was trying to adjust to the sheer presence of him, your heart thundering in your chest.
His pace was slow at first—deliberate. Each thrust a statement. His dominance wasn’t rushed—it was precise, and he made sure you felt every second of it. The slide of his hips. The warmth of his body pressing into yours. The grounding weight of his hands on your skin.
“You’re mine,” he growled. “Right now… every inch of you. Mine.”
You moaned, high and sweet, and wrapped your arms around him, needing to feel him even closer.
James and Remus watched silently, reverently. James was still close, brushing kisses against your temple, whispering how beautiful you looked. Remus had your hand in his, his thumb stroking your knuckles gently.
But right now—Sirius owned the moment.
His pace deepened, more powerful now, driving into you with rhythm and purpose. Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. He groaned into your neck, kissed the soft skin there before biting gently, claiming more than just your body.
He needed you to know it.
“I’ll never get enough of this,” he breathed. “Of you.”
And as your moans filled the room and your body writhed beneath his, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind— You were his.
The shift in Sirius was sudden.
No warning—just a flash in his eyes and a tightening of his grip on your hips before he snapped his body forward with a brutal, devastating thrust. Your gasp echoed through the dormitory, your back arching like a bow beneath him as the air was stolen from your lungs.
The sweet, teasing rhythm from before was gone. In its place was something raw, something unrestrained—his hips slamming against yours in a brutal cadence, each thrust punching a breathy moan from your lips.
“Oh—Sirius—” you choked, fingers clutching the bedspread in white-knuckled desperation.
He growled low in his throat at the sound of your voice breaking like that, his eyes dark and wild as he looked down at you. He was utterly taken—by your moans, by the heat of your body wrapped around him, by the way your breasts bounced with every hard, merciless movement.
“Fuck,” he muttered, jaw clenched as he thrust even harder, deeper. “Look at you—completely undone for me. You feel this, yeah?” he grunted, his thumb dragging along the slick between your hips. “You were made for this. For me.”
You cried out when he adjusted his angle—just enough to hit that devastating spot inside you again and again with surgical precision. Your eyes fluttered, rolled back, your legs trembling on either side of him as he drove into you relentlessly.
He didn’t stop to give you time to recover.
And you didn’t want him to.
His dominance wasn’t cruel—it was devouring. And you craved every second of it.
You felt the heat building quickly, boiling in your stomach, spiraling with every deep stroke. Your lips parted, breathless whimpers tumbling from you as he pushed you higher, harder, until the world outside your body ceased to exist.
Sirius leaned in closer, his chest brushing against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips.
“You feel how deep I am?” he whispered, his voice rough with strain and possessiveness. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you like this. You’re mine, sweetheart.”
You nodded—needed to nod—because words were lost to the overwhelming pressure building inside you.
“Say it,” he demanded, his thrusts somehow even rougher now. “Say you’re mine.”
“I—I’m yours,” you sobbed, your voice high and wrecked. “Sirius, I’m yours, I’m—oh god—”
His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling your mouth to his in a desperate, consuming kiss, stealing your cry as he continued to drive into you.
Every movement—every sound—every groan that tore from his throat carved your name into his soul. His dominance wasn’t about control. It was about connection.
He needed you to feel it.
The slick sound of his body against yours filled the room, blending with your moans and the creak of the old bed beneath you. James and Remus sat nearby, still, silent, reverent—watching you with dark, heated gazes. But they didn’t interrupt.
This was Sirius’s moment.
And yours.
Your release should’ve been the end.
Your body trembled beneath him, your voice had shattered into broken moans and helpless whimpers. You were sure he’d slow down, let you breathe—maybe even pull you close and cradle you while your mind floated gently back down from the stars.
But Sirius Black had never been gentle when it came to needing you.
His grip tightened on your hips like a man starved, his pace unrelenting. He didn’t ease. He didn’t falter. He just kept going—rough, brutal, with a singular, feral focus.
You cried out, your body still too raw and sensitive, but you didn’t tell him to stop.
You didn’t want him to stop.
“Sirius—” you gasped, your voice cracking as your fingers tangled in the sheets. “It’s too—too much—”
He snarled softly above you, sweat dripping from his temple, strands of his dark hair clinging to his cheek. His eyes were locked on your face, dark and wild with hunger and something deeper—something close to obsession.
“Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “That sweet little face… ruined for me. Just like I wanted.”
Your thighs trembled again when he shifted your hips, driving deeper, rougher, making your spine arch and your breath leave in a broken gasp. You felt every inch of him—thick, hot, pulsing—dragging against places so deep inside you it made your eyes roll.
And still, he didn’t slow.
You barely recognized the sounds falling from your mouth anymore—soft whimpers, his name over and over again, high and sweet and wrecked. He groaned deep in his chest at the sound of it, jaw clenched as his pace faltered for only a second—just long enough for you to catch your breath before he slammed into you again, dragging a sharp cry from your throat.
“Say it,” he panted, his voice rough and strained. “Say my name like that again—let them hear who’s inside you.”
“Sirius—fuck—Sirius—” you moaned, your fingers clawing at his shoulders now, your body trembling beneath him as he drove into you like a man possessed.
He leaned down, lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw, your ear.
“You feel me twitching?” he whispered roughly. “I’m right there, love. So fucking close—and you’re gonna take it. All of it.”
You whimpered his name again, and his hips stuttered—his control cracking at the sound of you so completely gone beneath him.
“Just like that—fuck, yes, just like that.” His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, harder.
You could feel it—his cock thickening, twitching inside you—and your walls clenched around him without mercy. He groaned, low and guttural, his hand sliding from your hip to the back of your neck, grounding you, holding you in place.
Then, with a broken, breathless growl, he drove himself all the way in—deep, to the hilt—his body shuddering violently above yours as he came.
He buried his face into the crook of your neck, panting harshly against your skin as you felt the warmth of him pulse deep inside you, over and over again.
Neither of you moved for a long moment. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heart racing, the soft creak of the bed under both your trembling bodies.
Then finally, Sirius exhaled—a deep, shuddering breath, almost like a sob—and pressed a tender kiss to your neck.
“You drive me fucking mad,” he whispered against your skin. And still, despite the ache, despite how your limbs refused to move—you smiled.
Because this wasn’t just about dominance. This wasn’t just about lust. This was Sirius—desperate, wild, and completely in love with the way you came undone for him.
You barely had time to catch your breath.
Sirius pulled out with a low groan, and your body instinctively clenched at the sudden emptiness, a soft, desperate whine slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Your thighs trembled, overstimulated, aching—and yet the moment James moved, something in you stirred again.
He chuckled low, a sound thick with affection and hunger.
“Still needy, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice brushing against your ear like silk, his hand sliding slowly along the back of your thigh to part your legs wider. “You’re incredible, darling… absolutely wrecked, and still you want more.”
Your heart thudded against your ribs. His praise made something flutter in your chest—and lower, where your body already ached for him again.
Then you felt it—his cock tapping gently against your slick folds.
You gasped, your hips twitching at the contact. He was slower than Sirius, less reckless… but the heat in his eyes? That fire? It burned just as fiercely. If Sirius was wild and consuming, James was the slow fire that smoldered from the inside out.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, almost in awe, dragging the thick head of his cock through your folds again, teasing your sensitive skin. “Can’t tell if it’s you or Sirius dripping out of you. Maybe both.”
You whimpered, arching slightly into him.
“Please, James…”
That was all he needed.
With a slow, deliberate push of his hips, he sank into you—stretching you wide with that thick, perfect cock. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, hands flying to his arms, nails digging into his skin. It wasn’t just the size—it was the way he moved, the way he took his time claiming every inch inside you.
He groaned above you, head falling forward as he buried himself completely.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice strained. “So damn tight—so perfect.”
Your body shivered beneath him, the feeling of fullness almost too much—but somehow just right. He didn’t move, not yet—he just held himself there, letting you adjust, feeling the way you fluttered around him.
James cupped your cheek with one hand, brushing his thumb gently across your flushed skin, his other hand grounding itself beside your head as he slowly began to move.
Not rough. Not fast. Deep. Measured.
He watched every expression flicker across your face—the little gasps, the way your brows furrowed, the way your lips parted with every quiet moan. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and soft and possessive.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “Feel how full you are, sweetheart? That’s me. All of me.”
You nodded helplessly, hands clinging to his back as he began to pick up a gentle rhythm—each thrust purposeful, dragging friction that made you moan louder with every roll of his hips.
“I love watching you like this,” he confessed, his voice low and raw. “So beautiful when you fall apart. So good for us. You take everything we give, and still you want more.”
Your lips found his in a messy, breathless kiss—tongues sliding, teeth grazing, your bodies moving together with building desperation. The kiss muffled your moans as James pressed harder into you, the stretch of him constant, dizzying, perfect.
Behind him, you could hear Sirius groaning, could feel Remus’s warm hand rubbing your thigh—anchoring you, grounding you in all the intensity.
But right now, it was just James.
Just the fire of his mouth on your skin.
Just the way he whispered your name like a prayer each time he sank into you.
And the promise in his breathless voice as he panted, “You’re mine now. Mine to take care of. Mine to love. And I’m never letting you go.”
The air was thick with heat.
Your skin, still sensitive and glowing from Sirius, clung to James’s with every desperate press of your body. His rhythm, which had started so deliberate and tender, was beginning to shift—deeper, sharper.
Rougher.
Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your body arching instinctively into him when a sharp thrust sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight through your core. His breath hitched against your cheek, and he pulled back just enough to look at you.
And then—he saw it.
His eyes flickered down to your lower belly, and something primal darkened his gaze.
“Bloody hell,” James groaned, a sound torn between awe and hunger. “Look at that.”
You followed his line of sight and gasped—a visible bulge where his cock was buried deep inside you. Your cheeks flushed with heat, and your heart stuttered.
“I’m so deep in you, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I can see myself. Fuck…”
Your body clenched around him at his words, and that was all it took.
Suddenly, James’s restraint snapped.
He slammed into you—one brutal thrust that made your entire body jolt, a loud, broken moan tumbling from your lips. You tried to speak his name, to say something—anything—but it dissolved into gasps as he set a punishing pace, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.
“James—!”
The sound of your voice, desperate and shaking, only drove him further. He growled low in his throat and leaned down, capturing one of your breasts in his hand, fingers squeezing tightly, possessively.
“You like this?” he hissed, eyes locked on your flushed face. “Like when I fuck you like I own you?”
Your back arched off the bed. Your hands clawed at his arms, at his back, trying to hold onto something as he pounded into you, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the dorm like thunder. The mattress creaked beneath your bodies, the world narrowing down to just the burning press of him inside you, the growl of your name on his lips, and the way his thumb swept roughly over your nipple before he dipped down and sucked it into his mouth.
You cried out, lost in the intensity.
James didn’t let up.
“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and ragged. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, clinging to him. “I’m yours, James—please don’t stop.”
He kissed you hard, teeth clashing, tongue fierce. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he drove himself into you again and again, deeper than before—his cock dragging perfectly against every sensitive spot inside you, sending your mind spiraling.
His hand flattened against your lower belly again, pressing down.
“Feel me?” he groaned, panting against your mouth. “Right here. You’re so full of me. You were made for this—for me.”
Your body trembled violently, breath catching on another moan as he hit that spot, over and over, without mercy. James watched your face the entire time—watched the way your eyes fluttered, the way your mouth fell open in stunned pleasure, how undone you looked beneath him.
And still, his pace didn’t falter.
Because now, it wasn’t just about him, it was about claiming you and he wasn’t stopping until every part of you knew it.
James was unraveling—and yet, he held on.
Every thrust sent a shockwave through your spine, rough and deliberate, like he needed you to feel the way he was breaking for you. His hands were on your hips now, gripping tightly, grounding you as his cock slammed into that perfect, aching spot again and again.
You cried out, body jolting with each powerful movement. You could feel it—your release curling in your belly like a storm ready to break, the tension unbearable, delicious.
“James—” you whimpered, nails digging into his back.
His pace didn’t slow.
If anything, he grew rougher.
“That’s it,” he growled, voice gravel and fire. “I can feel you. So tight—fuck—you’re close, aren’t you?”
You could only nod, voice too broken with pleasure to form words. He was hitting that spot over and over, deep and merciless, drawing you closer to the edge with a precision that made your thighs tremble around him.
“Don’t hold back,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I want to feel you fall apart. Want to feel you clench around me when you lose it.”
The tension inside you coiled tighter.
Your walls fluttered around him, and James groaned—a deep, desperate sound that shook you to your core. He was so close. You could feel the way his cock twitched inside you, the way his muscles strained with the effort of holding back.
But he wouldn’t let himself go. Not yet.
“Not until you do,” he murmured. “I need to see you shatter for me first.”
The command in his voice broke you.
With a strangled moan, your body snapped—your release crashing through you like fire, muscles clenching around him so tight it stole the breath from his lungs. You gasped his name, over and over, as your body arched and shook beneath him.
James groaned loudly—his head dropping to your neck, kissing your skin feverishly as he held still, letting you ride it out.
“God, you’re so perfect when you come,” he whispered, voice thick with awe.
Your walls kept pulsing around him, milking him, begging him without words.
And then, finally—he let go.
His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, his breath shattered. He buried himself deep inside you with a final growl, his release hitting so hard his entire body trembled above you.
And he stayed there—pressed against you, panting, whispering your name like a prayer.
You were still trembling when James pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his breath still ragged. His fingers brushed down your side with reverence as he slowly slipped out of you. The sudden emptiness made you whine softly, your hips instinctively shifting toward him—toward any of them—for more.
James chuckled low in his throat, brushing your hair back tenderly.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice laced with warmth. “Remus is next.”
You didn’t have to wait long.
Remus was already there, kneeling between your thighs, his hands tender yet firm on your hips. His golden-brown eyes were darker than usual, heavy with hunger—but there was a softness there too, something reverent. He always looked at you like that, like you were precious. Like every part of you was meant to be worshipped.
One of his hands slid up your stomach, resting just below your breast, grounding you. The other held his cock steady as he guided it to your folds, dragging the head slowly through your slickness.
You moaned, your hips twitching at the tease. The sensation made your thighs tremble again, oversensitive yet aching for more.
Remus only smiled softly.
“I know, love,” he said in that low, calm voice that always seemed to wrap around your heart. “But let me have this moment with you. Just like this.”
He leaned forward and kissed you—slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that deepened with every second. His tongue brushed yours, soothing the heat burning through your nerves. His cock nudged at your entrance again, and this time, he began to push in.
Inch by inch.
The stretch made your back arch, a soft gasp spilling from your lips. He was thick like Sirius, long and unyielding, but where Sirius had taken, Remus gave. Each moment of pressure was met with a soothing kiss, his fingers threading through yours, grounding you, anchoring you.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your lips. “Take me… nice and slow.”
Your body pulsed around him, slick and sensitive, still trembling from James’s earlier possession. You squeezed his hand hard as he slid deeper, filling you in a way that felt almost too much—and yet, not enough.
“You feel… so good,” you moaned, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as he finally bottomed out. Remus rested his forehead against yours, his breath catching.
“You’re everything,” he murmured. “Every time… every time it feels like the first. Like I’m coming home.”
Your heart fluttered in your chest.
He didn’t move right away—he stayed there, buried deep, letting you both feel the weight of it, the intensity, the intimacy of being so connected. His thumb brushed gentle circles on your hip. His lips pressed soft kisses along your jaw.
Then—slowly—he began to move.
His thrusts were deep and unhurried, building a rhythm that rocked your body in waves. Every slide of him inside you sent sparks dancing through your veins. He wasn’t trying to dominate. He was trying to feel. To make you feel.
And you did.
Your nails scratched lightly down his back. Your hips rolled to meet him, eyes fluttering closed as he kept whispering soft words into your ear.
“So beautiful… so sweet like this…”
You whimpered, overwhelmed by the slow intensity of it, the way his love burned hot and quiet like embers instead of flames. Not demanding, not consuming. Just there, warm and constant.
“Remus,” you whispered, voice cracking slightly. “Please…”
His lips curved in a gentle smile as he began to move faster—not rough, but purposeful, his cock hitting every sensitive spot with a practiced rhythm.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed, his voice catching with restraint. “Let me take care of you.”
Each thrust, each whisper, each kiss carried the weight of all the things he didn’t always say. The things he gave you like this—through touch, through love, through the way he filled you and cherished you in every breath. You could feel yourself beginning to unravel again… this time in quiet surrender.
The candlelight in the dorm flickered softly, shadows dancing across your skin as Remus’s pace slowly built—not brutal, not demanding, but deliberate. Each thrust was full, meaningful, and achingly slow at first, his hips rolling in the kind of rhythm that made your toes curl and your breath catch.
You moaned helplessly as he hit that perfect spot again and again, his cock sliding against it with every deep push. Your body arched instinctively, your thighs trembling where they wrapped around his waist.
“Right there, love?” he asked softly, voice strained with restraint.
You could only nod, your eyes fluttering shut as your fingers tightened on his shoulders, digging into the faint scars that lined his back like silvered whispers of the wolf inside him.
“Eyes on me,” he murmured gently, tilting your chin with his hand.
You opened your eyes—and the moment you did, he thrust hard, once, purposefully.
Your moan cracked in the air like a spell cast in raw pleasure, your body reacting instantly—hips bucking, breath stuttering, eyes rolling halfway back. The sudden deep, hard push after such controlled movement made your pulse spike.
He chuckled softly at your reaction, but it wasn’t mocking. It was reverent, full of awe.
“Merlin…” he groaned, brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “You should see your face right now.”
You whimpered, caught between a moan and a sob of pleasure, your whole body flushed, burning under the intensity of his gaze. You could feel how he held himself back, how he was fighting every instinct that told him to let go—to take. But Remus… Remus was always the one who gave.
His hips kept moving, slow and deep again, but with a rhythm that sent little shocks of pleasure through you every time he bottomed out. And he kept talking—soft, low, intimate.
“You feel perfect,” he murmured against your throat. “So full of me… stretched so sweet around me…”
His lips grazed your collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat and skin there. You shuddered beneath him, another moan slipping free.
“Remus,” you whispered, the way you said his name trembling with need and affection.
“I know,” he said, his voice so full of emotion it almost broke you. “You don’t have to say anything. I know.”
Another hard thrust, deliberate and deep, made your body jerk with shock and bliss.
And he watched you—his warm golden-brown eyes drinking in every twitch, every flutter of your lashes, every desperate moan you gave him.
“I love seeing you like this,” he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “when you’re completely mine.”
The tension built again, slow and steady like a tide. His thrusts stayed just on the edge—controlled, intimate, rhythmic. But every once in a while, he’d slam into that sweet spot with enough force to make your entire body jump, each time drawing out a strangled sound from your throat.
He groaned as your walls clenched tight around him, his own breath stuttering.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asked softly, brushing his lips against your ear. “I can feel you tightening around me, begging for it…”
You whimpered, your voice caught somewhere between yes and please. Remus groaned again, the tension in his body clear now, his restraint starting to fray.
“Let go, love,” he whispered, kissing your temple with aching affection. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
Remus’s breath hitched the moment he felt it—your body clutching him tighter, squeezing around every inch of him like a velvet vice. It stole the air from his lungs, knocked the control clean from his spine. His slow, steady rhythm faltered for a beat—then snapped.
A groan rumbled low in his chest, more feral than human.
“Bloody—” he gasped, his fingers digging into your hips as his composure shattered.
Then everything changed.
His hips slammed into yours, the calm, careful cadence replaced by something raw and unrestrained. The sudden roughness made your body jolt, a loud moan bursting from your lips as his cock drove into that spot again and again, harder now, more urgent.
“Remus—!” you gasped, nails curling into his back.
He didn’t speak—couldn’t. He was too far gone, his mind clouded with the heat of you around him, the sounds you made, the way your body clung to his like it was made for him.
Every thrust was a command, a claiming, a desperate chase for the edge.
The bed creaked beneath you, your back arching with every hard push. He was deep—so deep—and relentless, groaning through gritted teeth as his control slipped further.
“You drive me mad,” he ground out, voice wrecked with lust and awe. “So—fucking—tight.”
Each word was punctuated with a brutal thrust, and you felt yourself unraveling all over again, your vision blurring as he slammed into you with all the force he’d been holding back.
Remus leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips.
“I’m close,” he growled. “So close—fuck—you feel so good…”
You moaned in response, barely able to form words, your hands tangled in his hair, trying to hold onto something—anything—as he pushed you closer to the edge again.
Then, with a final deep thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs, he stilled—buried to the hilt—his entire body trembling above you.
A low, guttural groan tore from his throat as he came hard, his release hitting him like a wave crashing through him. His muscles tensed, hips twitching as the pleasure raked through him with punishing intensity.
His eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, and he whispered your name like a prayer, like a surrender.
You held him, your body still fluttering around him, the connection between you crackling like lightning in the quiet aftermath.
Remus didn’t move for a long moment, just stayed there—inside you, above you, breath mingling with yours as he slowly came back to earth.
Then his lips brushed your cheek, soft now, reverent.
“Are you alright, love?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and filled with tenderness.
You nodded weakly, a blissful smile tugging at your lips. He smiled back, the kind that held galaxies of affection, and kissed you again—slow, grounding.
“I didn’t mean to lose it like that,” he murmured.
But you just cupped his face and pulled him close, your heart still thudding against his chest.
“I wanted you to,” you whispered.
Your breath came in shallow waves, your chest rising and falling in soft trembles as you lay across the rumpled bed. Every muscle in your body buzzed with exhaustion, the lingering echoes of pleasure still radiating through your limbs like molten honey. Your skin felt warm, kissed raw by their mouths, their hands, their bodies.
Remus slowly eased out of you, careful not to make you wince. His touch, always the gentlest when it mattered most, ran down the curve of your thigh in reverence. You whimpered softly at the emptiness he left behind, and it made him lean down, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead with a soft, “Shh, love… I’ve got you.”
A satisfied chuckle sounded from the edge of the bed.
“Completely ruined her,” Sirius murmured, half in pride, half in awe. “Look at her… absolutely wrecked. Our girl.”
You barely managed to roll onto your side, every movement a reminder of their dominance, of the power they each held and how willingly you’d surrendered it. Your vision blurred slightly until James leaned over you, his hand cupping your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. His lips lingered, tender and grounding.
“You did so well, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual, thick with emotion. “So bloody perfect for us.”
You gave a weak hum, a small smile tugging at your lips as your eyes fluttered shut. Then you felt gentle hands again—Sirius, ever the one who liked to touch, was already slipping your panties back up your thighs with a focused gaze that held none of his usual teasing.
“Can’t let you freeze, princess,” he whispered, pulling the soft fabric gently into place and adjusting them with care, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. “Though seeing you like this… damn. Burned into my brain now.”
James gave him a warning glance but said nothing. Instead, he lay down behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and burying his face in your hair with a sigh that was entirely content.
Remus climbed in next, the mattress dipping under his weight. He slipped beside you, hand settling lightly on your belly, palm warm and grounding.
And Sirius… Sirius crawled in last, not one to miss out, wedging himself against your back on James’s other side, his leg tossed lazily over yours, his hand sliding up your thigh to rest just beneath the hem of your panties.
You were surrounded. Warm. Claimed.
Loved.
“You’re glowing,” Remus whispered, brushing his lips along your bare shoulder.
“She should be,” Sirius added smugly. “We made sure of it.”
“She looks like stardust,” James said, voice low and reverent. “Like she’s been kissed by magic itself.”
Your heart squeezed at that. You couldn’t speak—didn’t want to break the quiet moment. You just buried your face in James’s chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. He held you tighter in response.
“You alright, love?” Remus asked, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your belly.
You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ve never felt more safe… more wanted.”
A silence fell then, thick and golden.
Sirius tightened his arm around you. “You’re ours now,” he said, quieter than usual. “You’ve always been. Just took tonight to show you how deep it runs.”
Remus hummed in agreement. “There’s no going back, you know.”
“I don’t want to,” you whispered, emotion thick in your throat. “I’ve never wanted anything else.”
The three boys pressed closer. You were encased in them, tangled in heat and heartbeat, in whispered touches and shared breaths. It was overwhelming. It was everything.
No words were needed after that. Just the rise and fall of chests, the steady comfort of love tangled with something primal and all-consuming.
And in the arms of your Gryffindor boys, claimed and adored, you drifted into sleep with a soft smile still on your lips.
~~ TW: This contains real pornography. These links will take you to real videos posted by real people. My intention is never to make anyone uncomfortable so if this is something you are not comfortable with I urge you to please click away. ~~
Lazy morning sex with Seb
Seb fingering you in the RoR
Overstimming with Omi
Helping Seb celebrate after winning a quidditch match
Messy tit jobs with Garreth in prof Sharp's classroom
Facesitting with Omi
Alone time with Omi in the Undercroft
Teasing Garreth
Seb fucking you after a stressful day of classes
Make up sex with Seb
Garreth likes it when you take control
Seb can't keep his hands off you after seeing you in his sweater
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, characters are 18+, explicit sexual content, military, breakups, alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex, cockwarming
A/N: Hello! My military knowledge is US based so that’s where this leans! I know I always say this but this is up there for one of my favorite things I’ve ever written (no one can replace you farmhand Seb)
Also huge thank you to @authorellasallow and @moonlitmuggle for helping me figure stuff out with this :)
Summary: At eighteen, love wasn’t enough to keep you together. At twenty-two, you’re given one last chance to find out if it still can be.
Your days had been looking different lately. Ever since graduating high school, there were no more late nights filled with homework and early mornings walking through the bright lights of your school hallways.
Summer was passing by slowly, which you didn’t mind as you were starting school back up in the fall to study nursing and you weren’t looking forward to those study sessions you heard so much about.
You only had wished it hurried up a little more as your boyfriend of one year was away at tech school for the Air Force and you missed him terribly. You’d never forget the look on Sebastian’s face when he told you his plans of enlisting. No one had ever looked so broken but proud at the same time.
And later on this evening, he was flying back after graduation. He had been through basic training and was coming back after his security forces school. It had been a long three months since he had left—filled with lots of letters and the scarce phone call.
But he was coming back and that’s all that mattered.
You paced your room over and over again, trying to pick out the perfect outfit to see him at the airport. What could possibly be cute enough to wrap up the last few months into a piece of clothing? You weren’t even sure something as such could exist.
You settled on a simple white dress you had worn to your own graduation and curled your hair. After swiping on a pink shade of gloss, you admired your work and kissed your parents goodbye as you headed off to the airport.
His car had been parked in your driveway after you dropped him off. Some nights you’d go out there and sit in the passenger seat and remember him—all the kisses you had shared over the console. It still smelled of him.
This time though, you sat in the driver’s seat as you prepared to pick him up. Every mile the car got closer, more nerves filled your belly. At one point you were sure you’d be sick from the butterflies swarming around at an alarming rate.
As you pulled into the lot, your heart was racing as your palms began sweating against the steering wheel.
About ten minutes from now, you’d be in his arms again and your body would feel anew.
The trip inside of the airport felt longer than it should’ve, but the minutes dragged by as you waited outside his gate. Passengers started pouring out of the long terminal, one by one finding their families or leaving alone.
And then you saw a familiar head of tousled brown hair above the crowd. Even from far away, his freckles were still a stark contrast against his skin, illuminated even more after being under the Texas sun.
A breath hitched in your throat as your feet started running before your mind could decide what to do. Step by step, you weaved between the crowd of people heading into the airport until you saw him standing there with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
He was adorned in his service blues—deep blue trousers with the matching jacket. His silver name tag stood out against the navy color, with “Sallow” engraved across the metal.
You stopped for a moment to drink him in. He did the same as he stared you down, not taking his eyes off of you as he placed his bag on the tile floor.
He was too far away to hear but you watched as his mouth formed the words “baby” followed by a breathless smile.
You started running again without stopping this time, not until you were wrapped up in his arms. They surrounded you in the warmest embrace you had felt in a long time, the heat melting the ice wall you had built up ever since he left.
”Sebastian,” you cried into his shoulder.
”Shh, I know, baby, it’s okay,” he cooed into your hair. His hand held your waist tightly against him as the other combed through your hair, cradling your head against him. “I’m here now.”
You shook against him as you sobbed, His hand continued rubbing slow circles against your hips as he held you, with no plans of letting you go.
Your knees gave out beneath you at the sheer intensity of it all and his arms held you as he followed you to the ground. When your legs hit the cool floor, he pulled away to look at you, up close for the first time in months.
His cheeks were strawberry pink and tear stained, his brown eyes glossed over with more tears threatening to escape. He pressed his forehead against yours as he breathed in the same air as you.
“God, I missed you. Your scent,” he said as his lips pressed against yours hastily. “Your lips.”
You pulled him in for another kiss, deeper this time. It was hunger-filled and passionate. The two of you nearly forgot where you were for a moment until he chuckled against your lips.
”I got carried away,” you giggled and sniffled back.
”It’s okay sweetheart, get carried away with me.”
After a few more moments of kneeling with him on the ground, he helped get you back to your feet and walked you out of the airport with his hand woven around yours.
As you stepped into the muggy summer air, he pulled his hat from his pocket and sat it on his head. You knew it was protocol—to wear his hat only outdoors—but he looked too handsome for his own good. Kissing him silly didn’t seem like such a bad idea, no matter where you were.
But you held yourself back and leaned on your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheeks.
”Hey get back here,” he called.
He chased you all the way back to your car until he finally caught up with you and lifted you off the ground.
”No fair! You’re all strong and muscular now,” you squealed as he spun you around.
”Now? What about before?” He teased.
But then he set you down against the door of his car and looked down at you while he tucked a rogue curl behind your ear.
“You look so beautiful,” he whispered.
All that worrying for nothing, of course he was Sebastian and you could’ve shown up in a brown potato sack and hear him say the same thing.
His lips were on yours again as you felt the cool metal behind your back, chilled from the shadows of the parking garage. His hand laced between the strands of your hair as he held you closely against his body as his lips moved on yours.
His lips felt so soft against your own, like two pillows moving against your mouth. He tasted sweet too, of cinnamon gum and cheap airplane coffee. His cologne filled your senses, moving through the quiet breeze of August. You were surrounded by him in every way possible and you felt so at peace.
He was finally home and so were you.
The drive was peaceful. He drove which gave you the perfect opportunity to stare at him the whole way back to your hometown. You hardly noticed as he pulled you into the parking lot of your favorite local restaurant—where you had your first date.
It served Italian and while it wasn’t nearly as good or fancy as places in the city, it was yours. He skipped over to your door and held it open in the slight drizzle, dropping darkening spots on his coat.
The smell of wet pavement filled the air as you stepped out into the evening, illuminated by already-glowing streetlights.
He held your hand the whole way to the front door and even as you were sat.
Neither of you needed menus as many times as you had frequented the place, but you still looked at him over the top of the laminated sheet making eyes at him.
”You know you don’t need that, sweetheart, you’re just going to get the spaghetti,” he quipped.
”You never know, I might switch it up.”
You didn’t, you never did.
Your waitress took your orders and walked away with the menus, leaving the two of you in your own little bubble—tucked in a corner booth.
He looked at you like he had something to say, and he was eager to get it out.
”Okay, Sallow, spill.”
”Am I that obvious?”
”Terribly so,” you laughed.
He laid a hand out on the wooden table, worn with years of use, and you met him in the middle.
His hands weren’t nearly as soft as they used to be either. Though it wasn’t years worth like the table between you, it felt like it. Callouses were driven into his palms from relentless work and they were dried from the heat.
“I’ve been thinking—“
”Oh no,” you teased and you were met with his sweet laughter.
”I know, I know. But really sweetheart, I have. I know it’s quick, and I just got back, but I swear it’s not just because I was gone. Every day, I thought of you, you were what got me through it all, because I knew you were at home waiting for me. And I could never imagine a life where you’re not there on the other side of it all. I-I got my orders. I’m headed to Germany in a week. And I want you to come… as my wife.”
Your heart dropped. Your hearing went out. You loved him, of course you did. A life with him was all you could ever dream of, but you were barely eighteen, you barely lived. You felt the lump form in your throat—a rock you couldn’t swallow.
“Sebastian…” you breathed. Your voice was shaky along with your hand. “I-“
”I know it’s a lot and it’s not ideal, but please baby, will you marry me? We can go to the courthouse tomorrow and—“
”No,” you whispered as you pulled your hand away.
Sebastian’s face contorted in on itself. His chest heaved visibly under his button up.
“I-I can’t, I’m so sorry.”
You slid across the booth as the leather squeaked beneath you.
”Wait!” He called but you were already out the door.
The rain had started to come down harder when you were inside. It began soaking through your dress, dripping water onto the pavement beneath your feet. The door behind you opened with a creak. The rain above you stopped as Sebastian held his jacket over your head.
”Did I do something wrong?” He asked. “Please tell me and I-I’ll fix it I swear it.”
”No Sebastian, you didn’t. I just—“
”Do you not… do you not love me?” He asked as his lip quivered.
”Of course, I do. More than anything.”
”Then why?”
”I-I don’t know…”
”Baby… I asked you to marry me and you said no. I need more than that.”
He was right. You knew he was.
”Sebastian, we-we’re hardly eighteen. I-we haven’t even lived yet and I… I have plans for my life.”
”Without me in them?”
”No, Seb, it’s not like that and you know it.”
”I-I don’t know what to think anymore.”
”I love you, okay? So much it hurts. I ached without you these past few months, but I just can’t uproot my life and move across the ocean. I-I have school coming up, you know how bad I want that.”
”I know,” he replied. “But what did you think would happen when I got back? That I would get to stay here?”
”I don’t know, maybe? I didn’t know you would just up and leave me.”
He scoffed. “Leave you? If you think that’s what is happening then you must not know me very well. I don’t have a choice.”
”You did when you enlisted!” You yelled over the rain, louder than you meant. “You chose that life over me the day you signed your name.”
”I thought it was our life. I thought I was doing what was best for you—best for us!”
”I would never ask you to do that. I don’t want you to leave, why don’t you get that?”
He breathed out a sigh. “Well I have to. And bottom line is if you want to come with me, you have to come as my wife, okay? But if you say no, we’re done here.”
”Sebastian… I-I can’t,” you sobbed.
Tears on his face began running down, mixing with the rain. “So that’s it then? We’re over just like that?”
The way your heart ached you thought it might actually shatter into a thousand pieces. Your hand flew up and you held on tightly to try and hold it together. You could only respond with a small nod, not daring to say the words. Not daring to end everything you had built.
The last year flashed in your mind. From the moment he tugged on your braid in junior math and you turned around to see him grinning, to your first date where he picked you up in his old beater and kissed you on your parents’ porch, to prom where you slow danced under a disco ball, to now: standing in the rain while your world crumbled.
He dropped the coat and pulled you in for a hug, holding you like you might disappear, because he will disappear for who knows how long. You shuddered against him as you choked out a sob. The one person in the world you wanted, the only one who could fix everything, was leaving and you wouldn’t—couldn’t—go with him.
”Promise me you’ll still write me, yeah? I need to know you’re okay,” he said, kissing the top of your wet head.
”I will, I promise I will. You’re my best friend.”
That broke something in him and he began shaking with a cry as he held you. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, so you just huddled against his chest as the rain continued to pour over you, taking everything you had with it.
The drive home was silent as you stared out the window, memories flashing by with each small building. You were soaked to the bone and shivering against his cool leather seats as he pulled in to your driveway.
This was it, the last time you’d see the love of your life. How does one even begin to cope with that feeling? You were numb down to your toes and had cried yourself dry. You turned to look at him one last time, pink nosed and red cheeked. His lips had swollen up from crying too hard, his eyelids were red-rimmed. The sight nearly broke your already torn heart.
”Kiss me one last time?” He asked, without looking at you, scared of what you might say.
”Sebastian…”
”I know, that was stupid of me,” he sniffled and huffed out a laugh.
You leaned over and kissed him anyway, despite how stupid it may have been—despite how hard it wrecked you. It was quick, over before you wanted it to be. It only made you want to kiss him over and over again, but you couldn’t.
”I’m sorry,” you said as you got out of his car, for the last time, and walked up the porch steps.
His car stayed in place until he knew you were safely inside, like always.
After you stepped inside your house, it still took a moment for his car to pull away. As you watched the red taillights become smaller and smaller, you hurt more and more. You sank to the ground inside your mud room and bawled until you woke your mom.
But you didn’t want her comfort, you wanted—needed—his. How could the one person in the world you want be the one person you can’t have?
The next week went by in a blur. You barely spoke to him, except for a few friendly text messages here and there, but it was awkward and tense.
A month went by even slower. But then your first letter from him came, just as he promised.
He spoke of Germany and his job as a security officer, guarding the base day in and day out. He spoke of new foods he got to try and his roommates on base. He seemed happy and that’s all you could ask for.
You had started school, so you told him about that. You told him about a boy in your class who was an even bigger pest than he was, which was saying a lot. You told him how you got a part time job at the library to fill your evenings when you didn’t have class.
Letters were sent back and forth for a while. But the ache never left you. Seeing his scrawly boyish handwriting every couple weeks was starting to get to you. Your wound was too fresh and couldn’t heal as he kept digging in it.
One day, after you received a letter from him, talking about the usual:his job and his friends, you cried yourself to sleep. Normally you’d write back to him right away, but this time took longer. You knew what you had to do, you just couldn’t do it.
Until a few days later, you sat at your desk and with a shaking hand, you put pen to paper.
Dear Sebastian,
I’m sorry.
You crumbled it up and threw it in the trash. You did that several more times until you just let your heart take over.
Dear Sebastian,
I have tried writing this so many times, but no words I can come up with do the right thing. So I just have to come out and say it. Writing to you hurts too much. I miss you more than I ever thought possible and doing this keeps ripping me open. This is the last time I can write to you. I’m sorry. I hope nothing but the best for you.
It sounded so formal, almost too formal for what you were. But if you delved in too much you’d say too much and it needed to be quick—like ripping off a bandaid.
You folded it up and stuck it in an envelope, tasting the bitter glue as you licked the seal. A tear dropped on the paper, crumbling it on contact as you wrote his address on the back.
You never heard from Sebastian again.
Four years later…
It had been a long day in the labor and delivery unit. Your feet were sore from walking around the ward all day, but nothing was more rewarding. It was always a good day when you got to help deliver a baby, but two! That called for a celebration.
”See you at The Beach?” Your coworker asked.
”Obviously,” you replied.
A sex on the beach was calling your name like no other. Nothing could calm your nerves like a good drink.
You finished up charting before clocking out. Your ID badge jingled across your chest as you strolled down the bright white hall. You took a breath of relief as you walked out the double doors and to your car.
It was a short drive home as you had decided to work in your hometown, you actually lived only a few blocks away from your parents now in a place you’ve made home.
You walked in and were greeted by your dog who had been waiting (not so) patiently for your arrival home. You gave him more food and water, pet his fluffy head, and headed towards your room.
Your scrubs were thrown off in haste and tossed into your ever-growing pile of laundry.
”What outfit says ‘I just had an awesome day at work, but I still need a drink after my shift’, Bud?”
Your dog laid on the carpet with a hmph, knowing you were about to leave him again.
”I don’t know either, that’s why I asked you.”
You landed on a white dress, pantyhose, and a denim jacket.
“How do I look?” You asked aloud as you spun in front of your full-length mirror.
Your dog still gave you puppy dog eyes.
”I know, honey, I’ll be back.”
You grabbed your small purse off the dinner table and headed out your back door.
The walk to The Beach wasn’t too far either—perks of living in a small town.
It used to be your favorite restaurant actually, but it had been years since you'd been there. It was recently bought out and turned into a vibrant bar. And Friday nights were karaoke night.
Loud, thumping music was shaking the floor as you stepped inside and found your friends at a table.
”And a sex on the beach for the lovely lady,” one said, handing you the pink drink.
”Oh, you shouldn’t have,” you replied with a smirk.
A few drinks in and you and a couple girls felt bold enough to sign up—for one song.
The DJ showed you his list.
”How about “Don’t Stop Believin’’,” one suggested.
”Boring!” The other chimed in.
”We have to do a classic,” you said. “I vote ‘Super Trouper’.”
Your two friends’ faces lit up instantly.
”We’ll be like Donna and the Dynamos,” one beamed drunkenly.
“Okay hun,” you laughed with a shaking head.
You got a three second countdown and you began singing the intro.
The crowd immediately went crazy, who doesn’t love ABBA?
You were dancing around on stage with your friends. The three of you had silently agreed you’d take the last verse and as you sang “‘Cause somewhere in the crowd there’s you” you dramatically scanned the crowd, that is, until your eyes landed on a familiar body in their military uniform ordering a drink at the bar.
You froze, unable to sing. He looked up and caught your eyes and you felt your chest cave in. Shakily you caught up with the lyrics, that seemed all too fitting. “The sight of you will prove to me I’m still alive.”
You finished the rest of the song in a buzzed haze. You couldn’t get yourself to look towards the bar again, not when he of all people were standing there.
The song ended and you helped bring your friends back to your table. When you went to grab your cup, you realized it was nothing but ice.
”Damn,” you muttered under your breath. “I’ll be back.”
It was like you could hear every footstep as you walked towards the bar. He was sitting on the furthest end of it, but with no people in between you, all you could do was hope he didn’t look up.
”I’ll have a sex on the beach please,” you asked the bartender.
”Is that really you?” you heard that voice ask.
Sebastian Sallow turned to face you. He was wearing a tight fitting beige shirt tucked into his camo uniform pants. It looked like he had just gotten back into town that day. He looked older now, worn by years of military work, but God did he look good. His hair was more managed now than it had been before, but he was still clean shaven. He was still your Sebastian under it all.
”Yeah, it’s me,” you replied.
”Put whatever she got on my tab.”
”You don’t have to do that.”
”Yes I do! Sit sit,” he said, eyeing the barstool next to him. Deep down, you knew your friends were too drunk to even notice your absence, and he did just buy you a drink, so you plopped down on the leather stool beside him.
He even smelled the same, like he still used the same cologne he had in high school—sandalwood. You had told him once that you loved the smell… and you still did.
”So how have you been?” He asked.
”Good!,” you replied as the bartender handed you your drink.
”Are you a nurse now?”
”Yeah, actually a labor and delivery nurse. I just got off my shift and came here with some work friends.” You pointed to where your group was seated. They noticed and started waving and giving thumbs up. “Sorry they’re drunk.”
Sebastian chuckled, deeper than he used to. “It’s okay.” He threw back the amber liquid in his glass—beer presumably—and ordered another.
“Did you just get back? From Germany?”
”Yeah today. My uncle and sister picked me up from the airport. She was a mess,” he laughed. “But I needed a beer, doesn’t compare to the pubs there though.”
”I bet not,” you replied. “Did you notice this used to be—“
”Marco’s? Yeah, sad to see it gone.”
”Me too, but this bar is nice. We needed one, I was tired of going to the next town over.”
”Big drinker are you?” He teased.
”Bold of you to assume.”
He laughed a full belly laugh now. You hated that you missed it.
The conversation began to flow nicely now as he made you laugh harder than you had in a long time.
You were still laughing at a joke he made when he cut through the noise. “So… are you single?” He made eyes at you as he tipped back his beer.
Your laughter ceased. “What?”
”I asked if you were single.”
”But why?”
”Becuase that’s how this works,” he started. “We’re having a nice time and I want to know if I can take you on a date.”
”Sebastian…”
”Is that crazy?”
”Yes! Sebastian we can’t.”
”Why not? Are you not single?”
”No I am, it’s just…”
”Just what?”
You grabbed your purse and headed out of the bar. Sebastian quickly paid his tab and watched you as you walked out of the front door.
It had started to rain when you were inside. You were waiting by a lamp post when the rain suddenly stopped.
Sebastian was standing over you with his jacket hovered above your head.
”Tell me why, please. And I’ll leave you alone.”
“Sebastian…” you breathed. “I just… I’ve moved on. We were kids! Young and stupid. But I’ve grown up. You’ve grown up. We’re different people now.”
”Let me get to know this you. The you that sings ABBA like her life depends on it, the girl who orders a sex on the beach like its water. I want to know that girl.”
You looked at him then, water dripping down his face.
”What if she’s not what she seems?”
”I’m sure she won’t be. We all have secrets, I did things I’m not proud of too.”
You breathed in deeply. “I still can’t.”
”But tell me why!”
You hesitated a moment before blurting out, ”you left me!”
”I left you? You still think that’s what happened? After all these years…”
”You did! I was here and you were gone! I watched your taillights disappear and you never came back!”
”I couldn’t come back! You think after you told me you couldn’t marry me, I wanted to leave? There was nothing more I wanted than to quit and stay here with you. But you know it doesn’t work like that! And when you…” His lip began to shake. “And when you told me that we couldn’t talk anymore, that-that killed me. Your letter wrecked me.”
”You didn’t even fight for me!” You yelled.
”Fight for you? You all but told me to piss off and you wanted me to fight for you?”
”Yes!” You cried. “You don’t know how it feels!”
”I don’t know how it feels? You think I don’t know? I was alone for four years! Four miserable years that I wanted nothing more than to spend with you. And I come back here and can still only think of you, so much so I knew I could only find relief in a drink. And this town only has one damn bar! You think pulling in here I didn’t think of you? The last time I was here?”
You thought of the last time too, every time you found yourself walking in that entrance.
”You think I don’t know how it is when I see the only girl I have ever loved up on stage having the time of her life while I’m still stuck in the past? No, you don’t know how it feels.”
”Sebastian, I-I’m sorry.”
”I just… I just missed you and thought that…”
“You know it hasn’t been easy on me either…”
“It sure as hell seems like it.”
“How dare you!? You really think I didn’t want to go with you? And then have to tell you we can’t talk anymore? Sebastian, I wanted to marry you, so badly. But I couldn’t! I had other dreams too, important ones.”
“More important than me?”
“Yes!” It came out before you could stop it. “I mean… not in the way you’re making it out to be. But yes Sebastian you weren’t my only dream, I wanted the life I’m living so badly. I didn’t want to leave here.”
“Not even for me? For us?”
Tears started stinging your eyes. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“I would have given up everything for you!”
“But I would never ask you to do that! I love you too much!”
He stepped back an inch. “You still love me?” He breathed.
“Fuck!” You spat. “Of course I do. I could never stop loving you no matter how hard I tried. You’re under my skin Sebastian, in all the ways a person can be. I could never scrub you out.”
“Then why did you get so mad at me before? All I did was ask if you were single.”
“I’m scared! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? God I can’t do this! We’re already fighting!” You turned to leave, letting the rain soak you.
“I’m not losing you again, especially here. I can’t stand watching you walk away from me. I will love you until my dying breath, and there’s nothing you can do about that okay? You can’t fight your way out of that one.”
You moved to face him again. His jacket was at his side, dripping water. His shirt clung to his toned body and he was breathing heavy, waiting for your response. He looked so beautiful under the warm streetlight, glowing down on him like the sun.
You cried as your shoulders shook with laughter. “God, we’re a mess.”
He began crying, laughter mixed in too, swiping his hand through his sopping hair.
And then you ran right towards him. Every step pattered with rain. You leapt into his arms and he caught you in a spin. The last four years exploded as your lips caught his in a kiss.
Your mouth moved like a puzzle locking into place against his mouth, like it knew exactly where to go on his lips. His hand trailed into your wet hair and held you against his face as he kissed you back.
“You look as beautiful as the day I left,” he cooed as tears mixed with rain.
You felt your cheeks burn crimson at the compliment as you leaned down to kiss him again.
After a few more moments, he broke the spell. “Let me get you home. Please.”
He set your feet back down on the sidewalk and walked you to his car, all too familiar even in the night.
“You still have it!” You said, referring to his beat up car.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been in Germany for four years, of course I still have it.”
“I just can’t believe it still runs!”
“We’re not that old,” he teased, opening up your car door.
It looked the same on the inside, all leather plush with a black tree freshener dangling from the mirror.
You gave him directions back to your new place.
He stepped out again even in the down pour and opened your door back up, walking you to your front door like teenagers after a first date.
“Maybe I’ll call you?” He asked. “Is your number the same?”
“Why don’t… why don’t you come in?”
“Are you sure?” He asked, as if he wasn’t dying to come inside.
“Yeah, Seb.” You smiled.
You unlocked your front door with a jiggle of your keys and your dog ran to the door. He was attacking you with licks and wagging his tail when he noticed the stranger behind you.
“Who’s this little guy?” Sebastian asked, leaning a hand down to ruffle his head.”
“This is Buddy, he’s my baby,” you replied.
You walked Sebastian further in to your couch.
“Um, you can sit here while I go change. Do you want a towel or something?”
“Yeah, that would be perfect.”
You exited the room and headed towards your bedroom, padding down the carpeted hallway. You towel dried your hair and changed into pajamas when the nerves started setting in.
Sebastian was out there sitting on your couch and you could hardly believe it.
You walked back out with a towel in hand to give to him. Your fingers brushed and it sent electricity shooting down your arm. As you sat next to him on the couch, you watched in a daze as he dried off his hair.
“Now you look a mess,” you laughed.
“Speak for yourself,” he quipped.
You got comfortable next to him, pulling your knees underneath yourself to huddle into a ball.
“So, how was Germany?”
“I hate to say it but it was amazing. It’s beautiful. Oh and the food… it’s to die for. I ate schnitzel almost every day for a week when I first arrived. …You would’ve loved it.”
“It sounds amazing, I-I’m sure I would’ve…” you trailed off. “But—“
“I know,” he interrupted. “I know. Your house is nice, and you have a dog!”
“I do! He’s two.”
As if on cue, Buddy jumped onto your lap and started kissing all over your face. You were a giggling mess when Sebastian spoke up again.
“Sweetheart?”
You looked up at him now. He’d called you that several times by now and each time it broke you more than the last. You moved your dog back to the floor who went off to his bed in the corner. “Yeah?”
“I meant what I said earlier. You look so beautiful, exactly as I remember you.”
“Thank you,” you blushed. “You look the same too.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Very much.”
You moved closer now, almost touching your knee to his. His arm was on the back of the couch and it nearly brushed your shoulder.”
“Did you mean what you said? That you still love me?”
He was illuminated by your lamp in your living room, the warm glow accentuating his freckles. He looked younger almost. It was like you had been taken back four years.
“Y-yes,” you admitted. “I do, but things are still, things are still complicated you know?”
“They don’t have to be. I-I’m not leaving again. I… I decided to join the reserves instead. There’s people here I couldn’t stand being away from again.”
“That doesn’t mean things can just go back to how they were before. We’re different people now.”
“You kissed me out there, in the rain. And you expect me to sit here on your couch, seeing how beautiful you look completely unraveled, and expect me not to want to kiss you again?”
“I—“
“I won’t, you know I won’t unless you want me to. But God I want to kiss you silly,” he whispered as he moved his hand from the couch to your cheek.
You did too, deep down you knew you did. He looked too pretty not to kiss until his lips were swollen. You nuzzled against his warm hand and turned to press a light kiss to his palm.
He visibly swallowed and took in a deep breath at your touch. And then you felt your body gravitating to his like a magnet pull. Nothing could stop you as you leaned in to him.
“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured right before your lips crash landed on his.
It was a soft kiss at first, unlike the one you shared under the lamp post. It was shy and gentle like you were reexploring each other—as if you’d ever forget what he tasted like.
During the kiss, his other hand fell to your waist, drawing small circles under the hem of your shirt with his thumb.
You let him pull you onto his lap where you straddled your legs on each side of his hips, digging into your couch as you pressed against his chest with your own.
The kiss turned heavier then, he licked across your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you granted it. No one could kiss you like he does, no one could even come close.
He groaned into your mouth before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. “I missed you so much. Every night I thought of you, I swear it.”
“Kiss me again,” you pleaded.
It took him all but a second to reconnect his lips to yours. It was deeper, hungrier. His hand slid from your cheek and into your hair, intertwining right at the damp roots. His breath caught in his throat at the contact, the passionateness of your kiss.
“If we don’t stop now, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back from you,” he heaved into your mouth.
“Don’t stop,” you replied and kissed him again.
His lips trailed down your mouth to your jawline, where he left hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. He continued trailing down until his lips were pressed against the sensitive spot below your ear—the spot he knew you loved best.
He nipped at it until you lurched on his lap and then he soothed the area with his tongue. He did it over and over again until you were melting like putty in his hands.
And then he kissed you once more and in one fell swoop, he gathered you up and lifted you off the couch, not removing his lips from yours for a second, as he carried you down the hall into your bedroom.
You ran into the wall a couple of times from the messiness of your kiss, keeping him off balance as he tried to remove his boots at the same time. There was a trail of clothing like a map leading from the living room down the hall.
Your shirt had been discarded in the chaos and once he laid you on your bed, he took you in. His eyes darkened with lust at the sight of you—bra and pajama shorts with messy hair.
He lifted his shirt off of him, throwing it to the ground before crawling over top of you. He was toned. Where a boy had once stood, was now a man, and the sight made you gulp.
His dog tags tickled your skin as he made out with your chest. His hand massaged your breast over your padded bra, your nipples already sensitive against the cloth. He pulled it down and gasped quietly at the sight.
His mouth was around your nipples in the next moment, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive bud until you arched into his touch. He used his other hand to twist and pinch your other nub until it hardened beneath his fingertips.
“Fuck,” you cried.
You reached down and could feel his erection pressing against his camo pants, urging to be released. His hand laid over top of yours and held it there as he continued sucking your breast into his wet mouth.
That is, until you squeezed your hand around his clothed cock once and he shuddered, resting his head against your chest to take a breath.
“Baby,” he murmured against your skin.
You did it again, but this time you moved your hand along his shaft. He groaned and huffed a laugh.
The sound of his belt unbuckling filled the air. He stood up and pulled down his boxers and pants all at once.
His cock was rock hard against his thigh as he stood there watching you watch him. It made your core ache.
“Is this what you wanted?” He asked as he got back onto the bed.
You nodded your head against your duvet. “Y-yes. Please.”
Your hand was around his cock then, warm and hard to the touch. You could feel as the blood pulsed to his tip, making his veins convulse. Your hand started to move up and down on his length making him moan under his breath.
Your hand was left bare in the next moment as he scooted himself against your headboard. “Come here baby,” he cooed.
You followed his instructions and sat with your back against his chest and his cock was pressed roughly against your bare back. He slid your panties and shorts down at the same time and pooled them on the edge of your bed.
The coolness in the air brushed lightly against your heat, causing you to shiver. Sebastian brought a hand around from behind you and traced down your belly until he was right where you wanted him—where you needed him.
“Four years sweetheart. Four years I dreamt of his moment and you’re not leaving this bed until you’re screaming my name. I need to hear it,” he purred directly into your ear. It sent a chill down your spine.
His middle finger started tracing your clit—teasingly slow at first. He started to build up more pressure as he toyed with your sensitive bud. His other hand came around you and held gently onto your neck, not choking you but holding you there. You lulled your head back against his shoulder as he built up speed.
“Sebastian…” you moaned against his jaw.
“That’s a start,” he replied.
He inserted his finger into you and it ached around his skin. After a few pumps to ease you into it, he put in his ring finger alongside his middle. It stretched you out as he pushed inside of you until he was knuckles deep.
He curled his fingers inside of you and pumped in and out, setting a delicious pace while hitting your sensitive spot over and over again. You arched your back against his chest as you felt your core race towards a high.
“That’s it baby, I can feel you squeezing my fingers. You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”
He used his arm to hold you still against him as he fingered you relentlessly. You tried squirming from the feeling but his hold on you was too tight.
You moaned out again, nothing coherent as he picked up his pace.
You were a writhing mess, rubbing skin against skin as he held you as close to him as he could. Already you could feel the winding up in your belly.
“Are you gonna come for me?”
You nodded your head against his shoulder.
“ I wanna hear you,” he replied.
“I-I’m gonna come.”
“Oh yeah? I want you to come all over my fingers. Make me a mess.”
His hand on your throat moved slightly as he began trailing his thumb along your bottom lip, playing with the soft pink skin.
The coil wound too tight and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You released with a loud trembling whimper, filling the quiet room around you. Sebastian watched in awe as you came around his digits as he continued pumping in and out of you, draining you until you slouched against him.
Your eyes landed on his as he reached his fingers up to his mouth and swirled them in his mouth before releasing them with a quiet pop.
A groan was laced with his voice as he said, “you taste even better than I remember.”
Your hands were on his cheeks in an instant and pulling him towards your face and in a hasty scramble. He tasted of your own sweet arousal mixed with the hoppy lager he had drank at the bar.
Keeping your lips on his, you carefully turned around and straddled his lap again, only this time there were no clothes to keep you separated. His cock sprang up and hit your bottom side as you continued kissing him.
Slowly, you started grinding your hips, letting your slit leak all over his cock.
“Don’t tease me, please,” he begged.
You looked at the way his eyes pleaded with you. His face was washed in blue moonlight beaming in from an opening in your curtains. It cut right across his nose and shone solely on one eye, making the honey in his iris glow.
Your lips brushed along his and you cheekily smiled as you reached down and lined his erection up with your entrance. You sat down gradually, seeing the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head as you became completely seated.
You were breathing into each others’ opened mouths for a few moments to allow each other time to adjust. The headboard was cool against your fingers as you moved one hand back to hold yourself steady. Your hips started to rock back and forth across his lap.
Every back thrust had him hitting your spot sending shockwaves radiating to your core. You felt his calloused hands set themselves on each side of your hips as a gentle guide. He held you sweetly and looked up at you as you grinded on him.
“That’s it baby, just like that,” he breathed. “Use me.”
The room was filled with the sound of skin sliding across skin and heavy breaths, mixed with the soft sounds of the crickets chirping outside.
You gained more confidence and increased your speed. His hands wrapped around your back to keep up with the new pace.
“S-Sebastian, fuck you feel so good,” you whined.
“Yeah baby?”
You nodded your head against his lips.
The next thing you felt was being lifted up as Sebastian turned your bodies around so he was hovering over top of you.
He took your legs and hooked his arms under your knees and began pounding into you, at a whole new depth.
You were a moaning mess and you tried to grab a hold of something—anything. They both clung to the pillows on either side of your head and you gave the delicate material a death grip.
“How’s that?” He asked as he rammed into you.
“Good, so fucking good.”
Every thrust had his pelvic bone hitting your clit and alongside with how deep he was hitting you, you were speeding towards another orgasm.
The euphoric feeling made your toes curl and your fingers tighten even harder around your pillows.
“You’re so tight, it’s like you were made for me,” he murmured.
Your hands released the pillows and found their way to his shoulders where you pulled him even closer down to you. As he drilled into you, your nails created moon-shaped divots in his back.
“That’s it sweetheart, mark me.”
His thrusts were starting to become erratic, so you knew he was getting close. And the way you were pulsing around him, you were about to fall apart at the seams.
“Sebastian, I’m so close!”
“Say my name again, louder,” groaned.
“Sebastian!”
You felt your body vibrate around him, sending ripples down your skin. It was electrifying, making your fingers and toes go numb. You closed your eyes and saw stars like fireworks going off behind your lids.
Sebastian grunted and stilled inside of you as he released himself all over your inner walls, painting everything white.
As he started to pull out you stopped him.
“What’s the matter?” He turned his head to glance down at you.
“What if you just… what if you just stayed inside?” You asked shyly.
He smirked and breathed out a small chuckle. “Anything for you my love.”
He laid beside you, spooning you from behind with his cock still buried deep inside of you. You missed his warmth and you weren’t about to let him go that easily.
He pressed light kisses across your bare shoulder blades. “I never thought I’d have this again,” he sighed. “Now I’m never letting you go.”
You settled in against his chest and let sleep find you peacefully, for the first time in a long time.
