Harry Potter Only Male Wizard Fanfiction Lemon

Christina McQuinn, a 16-year-old witch, and her mother, once again change residence out of fear of being exposed to mortals, this time ending up in Italy. Christina is dissatisfied and fed up with constantly moving, but knowing her mother, she has to come to terms with this decision. However, the young witch does not know yet how much her life will change in this country - especially when Christina meets the mysterious Oliver.

After being reborn, I decide to write my younger brother Marcus Jensen's name on the marriage application. This time, I will fulfill Jessica Carter's wishes. In this life, I'm the one who dresses Marcus in the groom's suit and slips the engagement ring onto his finger. I personally orchestrate every encounter between them. When she takes Marcus to Lisbeth, I head south to Humridge College without hesitation. Why am I doing this? Because in my previous life, even after I turned 50, Jessica and our son were still on their knees begging me for a divorce. They wanted me to let her have one final chance at love with Marcus. In this new life, I only want to spread my wings and soar higher. I'm done with romantic entanglements.

The darkest corners of the world hold the secrets the leaders want you to forget. Deep inside a cabin covered with moss and shadows, those secrets are not yet forgotten. Under the moon, light glistens off of shining stones lining the porch and bundles of herbs drying from the rafters. Candlelight emanates from the interior and warmth surrounds the occupant. Inside this cabin was a forrest witch who was chanting a spell as she added herbs to a small caldron. Smoke rises and electricity fills the room. Her raven hair started to rise and the smoke turned glowing green. Leaves outside the cabin started swirling in the air raising around the cabin forming a circle. “None may find me where I reside, safe in the forrest this witch hides. Safe from the evil doers and safe from their men. None may ever find me again.” Cold. Like ice from an iceberg, his skin molded smoothly across his frame. The envelop in his hands was sealed by the Elder Lords sigil pressed into blood red wax. Slipping his long pale finger, breaking the seal, one word was inside. “Urgente.” His particular talents were once again needed.

Left on the doorstep of the Lycan Princess and her Mate, Willow grew up a witch in a werewolf world. She didn't find her place until her uncle, the Lycan King, decided to make her an assassin. Willow kills without remorse until she finds her next mark is the Rogue Alpha himself. Going undercover, she finds herself getting too close to the Rogue Alpha. Is fate bringing them together just to tear them apart? Or will Willow find out the truth about her past and learn to be park of a pack?

Tilla is a witch, who enjoys the simplicity and seclusion that comes with life in a rural village. Little known about her background prior to her appearance in a small country province of Antheon, Tilla is all too content to pass her days caring for the minor needs and ailments of its occupants. Until, one day her peaceful life is stolen from her by the outbreak of war with the neighboring kingdom, Vinhalla. The fighting instigated by a powerful and callous sorceress from the rival kingdom, Tilla is left with little choice but to flee or risk being embroiled in a mystical war of epic proportions. Her life uprooted and destiny uncertain, Tilla enlists the aid of the gruff and handsome werewolf, Luther Bane. The two, discovering trust and even a spark of passion in one another as they struggle to evade the Hunters, monsters, and the likes of kin who seek to harm them. Will their alliance be enough to elude the secrets of their pasts? Or will they find themselves ensnared in a conflict much greater than themselves?

Who would expect a story titled ANTIMAGIC to be about wizards, mystical creatures and fantastic, unusual adventures? Yet, it really is ... It's even more than that. You'll see if you read the story, that there is, beside all this, a spell, mightier than the strongest spells ever, even than Abracadabra. Yes, Antimagic is the most powerful magic of all known and unknown in the wizards' world, because it's a spell that can stop any magic, no matter how powerful it is. The narrative in Antimagic story will succeed not only in helping the children's minds to imagine fantasy worlds or to create their own stories with fairies, princesses, famous wizards or knights, because they already know how to do it, but it will develop even more their thinking and desire to KNOW. Reading this book they'll see and understand what all wizard students got after their decision to study magic at the famous and old Elmbridge School of Magic. What they all got is that they'll become skilled and wise wizards and magicians only through study and long and painstaking search for knowledge. And even more than that, this book will help grown-ups too to remember to dream again, because we, grown-ups, kind of forgot to do that. Therefore, dear readers, young or grown-ups, enjoy the lines of this book and discover with Elizabeth Catherine Edwards and her friends the mysteries of magic. Go through wonderful events with the heroes of this book, more or less unusual, strange. Swim with her friends in the mysterious waters of the Purple Oasis. Run with them from the dangers that are all over the Ancient Forest and into the maze beneath Elmbridge School of Magic. Admire together imposing creatures such as ogres, carticors, fantastic hybrid mole-elephant-badgers, lycanthropes and many others interesting as well.

After my mother shot down my pleas to cover my medical bills the 100th time, I clutched my bone cancer diagnosis papers and trudged to the crematorium. "Hi, I'd like to reserve a cremation slot ahead of time," I muttered to the clerk. Half an hour ticked by before my parents and adopted brother arrived in their car. My dad, a forensic pathologist, cracked me across the face. "You're pulling a fake-death stunt now, just to steal the spotlight from your brother?" My mom, a hospital director, snatched the papers from my hands and shredded them into confetti. "Faking records using my credentials and tying up hospital resources? You've crossed the line!" My brother cried, tugging at their sleeves. "It's all my fault. I'll skip the amusement park forever. I don't need a thing. Just quit riling up Mom and Dad." I spun around, my hand pressed against my throbbing chest, and begged the crematorium staff. "Please, when it's time, cremate me and scatter the ashes in the river. I've got no family left in this world."

To save my wife, my lungs were pierced by a knife, leaving lasting consequences. When I fell ill and struggled to breathe, she said I was dramatic and went on a business trip with her childhood friend. When she returned, I found a man's underwear in her suitcase that did not belong to me. I calmly made the call: "Director, I've made up my mind. I'm going to assist in Avrika." Later, at the airport, she bent down, publicly lowering her head and begging for my forgiveness.

The seventh time Claire Fisher bailed on our marriage license appointment, I finally cut her out of my life—for good. From then on, if she was at a party, I wasn't. When she was scheduled to perform at our college's anniversary celebration, I made sure to leave early. The moment my company announced a collaboration with hers, I resigned without a second thought. Even on Christmas Eve, when she showed up at my parents' house with gifts, I slipped out with a half-hearted excuse about "visiting a friend." I blocked her number. Deleted her from my contacts. Burned every bridge and salted the earth behind me. No calls. No texts. No social media. I didn't reach out. She couldn't reach me. Simple as that. For the better part of my life, I was hopelessly in love with her—waiting on her, caring for her, putting her first in every way that mattered. I gave her all of me without ever holding back. But after the seventh time she left me sitting alone at the City Hall, something inside me broke. I was done. If that meant spending the rest of my life alone, so be it. Better that than sitting in an empty apartment, listening to the silence, holding on to hope for someone who never planned to show up.

Our third wedding anniversary was coming up, but my wife, a programmer at a major tech company, suddenly claimed she had to work overtime to meet deadlines. She said she couldn't go on the trip we'd planned. That very afternoon, however, her intern posted a video on social media. My wife—the same woman who normally wouldn't even open a door for fear of chipping her manicure—was holding a screwdriver, repairing an old flip phone. The caption read: [Having a programmer wife is the best. Even when Grandma's phone breaks, we don't need to pay for repairs.] I chuckled, liked the post, and commented: [Right up her alley.] Within minutes, the company group chat exploded. There were over ninety-nine unread messages speculating on when I'd finally snap. Not long after, my wife called. Her voice was ice-cold. "What was that comment supposed to mean? How is Shawn supposed to face anyone at work now? "His grandma's phone broke, so I fixed it. What's the problem? Your parents have always spoiled you. You can't possibly understand real hardship. "Delete the comment. I'll make it up to you over the New Year; we can take that trip then." The New Year? I'd already waited through two other major public holidays. I'd even taken special leave for this trip, and she still bailed. Now she was dangling empty promises again? I hung up on her. My leave ended around the same time as our divorce cooling-off period.