This story is going to be quite dark, and is therefore not for the faint of heart.

Some heavy topics will be touched on, such as miscarriages, extreme possessive behaviour, a lot of explicit content, and dubious consent.

Take care of yourself, and don't read this if it might trigger you! x


The Taste of Your Fear.

Chapter 1


You are like clockwork. Predictable, even if you did not try to be. You thought you deserved this, deserved falling back in a routine, so easily, now that the danger was dead or locked in a cell to rot. But you were wrong. Wrong to think I would not find you. That I wouldn't notice that you would be in your office at the Ministry from 8am until 7pm, from Monday to Friday. Grabbing a pint or five with your friends at the pub every Friday evening. Nursing a hangover on Saturday morning, until you left your home to go shopping, coming back with an immeasurable number of sweets you will devour guiltily in front of your muggle box with moving pictures. Spend your Sundays reading books, tidying up your place, eating a meal at the Weasleys. You never changed your routine, and even if something came up, you would always slip back in the arms of your beloved safety as soon as you could.

So it came as no surprise to me, that I saw you Apparate outside your house, a little bit after seven on Tuesday evening. I can tell – with how your shoulders are tense and how your wild mane of hair is starting to escape the bun you fought it in this morning – that you have had a terrible day at work. It's no wonder, you work with a bunch of useless prats, anyone would go crazy. But not you, you saw a challenge, and accepted it head on, didn't you my lion cub? You changed so many laws, helped so many people, even the very same people you spent your wasted childhood running from. You believed in a better world, better treatment, for everyone, human or not, magical or not. So much space in that big heart of yours…

You stopped by your front door, looking behind your shoulder. Can you feel me hiding in the shadows? Can you feel in the deepest of your being that you are being watched? Is your skin prickling? Is the hair on the back of your neck standing up, warning you, letting you know that I'm right where you cannot see me, ready to pounce? Your pretty eyes scanning the trees, and for an agonisingly short second, they look right into mine, although you do not know. How I love to see your breath quickening with dread. I can almost taste your fear from here. And you are right, you should be afraid. That delicate neck of yours could snap in half in my grip. I could end your painfully short life, hear your delicious heartbeat go from the quicker it has ever been, to the stillest it will ever be.

But not today. Today, I will watch you. Like every other day. Waiting for that perfect moment, in that airtight schedule of yours, to wreck your life. Destroy your routine. Keep you on your toes on what exactly will happen next. Don't you worry, my little lion cub, that day is soon. I have spent way too long planning; you would be proud of me. You made it too easy, though. And now watching you walk into your house, your cute little arse barely concealed in your tight work skirt… I cannot wait to claim you for myself. If my cock's twitching is anything to go by, mind and body agree.

Your evening routine is the same on days like these. You undress in your bedroom and put on your fluffy orange bathrobe, it has cat ears on the hood, and it looks quite silly, but on you it's cute. Then you try to cook, and half the time you will burn your meal. Ah, my darling lion cub, you were never made to sustain a household. Another thing I need to change in you. You pour yourself a glass of wine that you drink with your barely edible meal, then you pour another one that you take in the tub with you. Is it bad, that I wish for you to have trying days, just so I can watch you soak it away in your bath? I can hardly blink, as I watch you relax, sighing your contentment. How I love to watch the stubborn wet strands of your hair as they stick to your delicious neck. It should be me, in the water with you, with none of those pesky bubbles you insist on adding that only cloud my view of your body.

Still, what a lovely image you paint. Your cute and perky tits are my favourite thing during bath time. They float to the surface, displaying their rosy peaks to my hungry eyes. Did you ever notice that your nipples are the same shade as your lips? I did. And I want to devour both. For now though, I will simply watch.

My cock is straining in my trousers, and it's getting quite uncomfortable. I like to keep myself shackled in the confines of fabric just to get the illusion that I am being squeezed to death by your tight quim. I'd love nothing more than to ram my entire length inside you. What sort of little noises would you make as I take you as if my life depended on it? I'd love to just hear you scream my name as I drive into you relentlessly, making sure you know that you are mine, inside and out. I long to mark you, leave a long trail of love bites all the way from your neck to your breasts, on the inside of your thighs. I want to feel your fluttering heat coming around my cock, as I myself finish so deep in your womb and coat your insides with my white spend, it would be a miracle that you do not end up carrying my heir.

Watching you on your hard days always ends up in the same way. I stand here Disillusioned as you soak in your bath, try to commit to memory your every breath, willing myself to ignore how tight my trousers are. But like always, I end up just like this, stroking my cock as I drink the view of you, wishing I could be in the bath with you. You would love my cock, I am sure. It is soft, long and thick, thicker than those toys you buy to get yourself off. I know you'd love the feeling of me filling you completely, if the way your eyes widen every time you manage to put one of those toys inside your little pussy was anything to go by. They are like a magic ticket to orgasm-land for you. Massaging your little nub isn't always enough to get you to an earth-shattering orgasm, no, you need to feel filled to the brim. I could do that for you. Every morning, every night, and every moment in between. I could take up permanent residency in your cunt, marking you over and over and over as mine so you never forget who owns you. I could make you so happy my little lion cub, so much so that you will wake up every day wondering how you ever went a single day without me in your life, how you ever could, for even a moment, fear me. You would chant my name over and over like a prayer until I got you right where you want to be. You would forget how it was even like before you met me and let me own you.

You would be taken care of. Each and every one of your needs, I would cater to. I could teach how to cook, or you could just watch me in your little orange cat bathrobe. You could drink a glass of wine as I made you dinner and you told me about your day. I'll have dessert, right on the kitchen table, and savour your pretty little cunt until your whole body is shaking and you're coming around my fingers. I would take you to our room and make love to you until you beg me to make you come again, once, twice, five times, until I spend myself in you.

I would love for us to get a bigger home, because all this fucking I will be doing to you is bound to make you swell with my child. Don't believe me to be a man that gets deterred by pregnancy. I will still use your cunt every day, I will still make you scream my name as I fuck you rough and hard, making sure my little spawn gets enough room to pop out of your delicious cunt when it's ready.

All these dreams I have, I will make them a reality.

I will make you mine.

And today is the day.