#tw enclosed space

[serickswrites]

No Use Crying Over Spilled Blood

Warnings: enclosed spaces, claustrophobia, restraints

“Please, you don’t have to do this,” Whumpee sobbed as Whumper rolled them on their back, quickly hog tying their wrists to their ankles. 

“Oh, I don’t have to, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, “but I want to.” They smiled sadistically as they rolled Whumpee towards the open safe. 

“PLEASE!” Whumpee struggled vainly against the rope, unable to budge an inch. 

“Let’s see if you can make it five minutes,” Whumper said as they shoved Whumpee inside the safe and slammed the door shut. “I’ll be back in five minutes, Whumpee. Just focus on your breathing.”

Whumpee couldn’t breathe as the panic took over. They had never liked enclosed spaces, small spaces either. But dark, small, enclosed spaces were Whumpee’s worst nightmare. And Whumper knew that. “Please,” Whumpee sobbed in the dark, a tremor wracking their body. “Please, let me out.”

The only answer Whumpee got was Whumper’s dark chuckle and the slamming of a door. 

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Something isn’t right with that dude

[jack-o-phantom]

Time for rbfr Sun's fight scene as todays warm up sketch. While Moon might be more straight to the point and blunt

Sun is forceful, more brutal with his movements and more erratic (tribute to his old energetic attitude).

He is so so okay.

[wonderlandmind4]

Matt Murdock is to hallways as Steve Rogers is to elevators.

[hobis-hope94]

the next person to try and sneak in hot food today in my theatre is going to seriously get a telling off from both me and our door supervisor. nobody wants to be sitting next to someone eating a meal during a live production, so don’t be a dick.

[pepsimaxolotl]

when im at home or at my accomodation I’m completely filled with anxiety with a weird comfort but somehow its two completely different flavours

[tiredg0ds]

wren does not enjoy being bound in any way shape or form. he doesn't like being held down or trapped. he's very claustrophobic.

[dilftaroooo]

Request: True form Sukuna claiming his offering in front of her village.

im gonna write this as a drabble :3

★tags/tw: uhh implied cannibalism + cervix fucking + sukuna is pretty misogynistic + fem!reader + discrimination against humans(?) idfk + true form!sukuna + loss of virginity

You delicately sit in the middle of the stage, introducing yourself to the slew of men and women scattered about like spilled salt on a kitchen table. Your legs are spread to present to them your blooming flower--still pink and untouched. It twitches under the many watchful eyes of diverse emotions--horror, confusion, lust, envy. They all poured down on you amid a lethal storm, droplets pounding your skin and soaking you thoroughly. You turn your head to avoid the plethora of wicked gazes. The feeling is overwhelming.

Behind you lies a demon. A great being, an entity that holds more power than anyone close or far. His teeth are sharp, his eyes are beady, and his stomach is hungry for the innocence of a fresh maiden. The people of your village brought you here. They made sure your scent was pleasant and that you were garbed in the cleanest of silk--your uchikake was adorned in floral patterns reminiscent of the trees that bloomed near your home.

They knew you'd be deemed a perfect offering for Sukuna-sama, the King of Curses--you're a sweet girl with a pure body, your breasts are full and your thighs are plump. They were sure if their King ever grew bored of you, he could easily dispose of your youthful frame by savoring your flesh and keeping your skull as a precious souvenir. Innocents always taste sweeter than most.

Though your legs were spread, they weren't spread enough for Sukuna as he already gripped your thighs with a strict pressure you weren't unfamiliar with. The squelch that leaves your pussy parts as he further widens your limbs was a sound everyone managed to capture. You're wet and slimy and maybe somewhat aroused. Your King is an attractive beast with a chiseled chin and a beguiling grin. Intricate, onyx lines surface the apex of his taut muscles and the sight makes you clench around thin air. You ponder on what he'd look like if he were a mere human such as yourself.

"All of you!" He starts, his voice booms through the premises and you're surprised by how powerful the echo is despite not being in an enclosed space. As expected, everyone gears their eyes toward the four-armed monster in preparation for his next words. "I want you mortal freaks to watch me fuck this girl you were so kind to offer me. If it hadn't been for this young duckling I would've already slaughtered this putrid village and watched my militia of curses swallow you whole."

He's quick for his size as he brings you onto his hefty lap, and from there you already feel one of his cocks coat itself against your wet slit. He's huge and lingering at the back of your mind, you wonder if you would die at first thrust. His tip is an angry red, livid from the languid teasing performed by its heaving owner from rubbing it across the length of your weeping cunt. It isn't long before his playful ministrations are seduced into slamming inside you.

You weren't even spared a moment of reconsideration for your hymen was already snapped into two, disintegrating upon impact. It would have been a shame to experience your deflowering with a prominent tummy bulge if it wasn't for how much your mind and soul revere the beast overlapping your weak presence.

You were his and he was his own as he violently hammered himself down to the hilt. You bathed him in the blood of a former virgin while he hits that bruised cervix within you. Your back is against that sculpted chest you worship dearly and his sweat rubs off on you is strong with his pheromones.

"Sukuna-sama," You mewl because he's so deep in your pussy that you can't fight back the urge to call out his name. He responds with a finger to your clit and a hand on your breast, making it his duty to circle a thick finger around your nipple.

"I don't remember granting you permission to speak now, did I?" His tone is dark enough to make you believe you've done something utterly wrong but your apology comes out in a series of wanton moans. He chuckles at how the pathetic always act so miserably.

"But since you're clasping around me so tightly," Burgundy red orbs glare at the side of your left cheek, previously moistened with tears of pain and gratitude. "I'll let your sheer idiocracy go. I don't think any of the past wenches you humans throw at me grip my dick this hard. I assume they were used up til they were nothing but a gaping hole." Then he frowns.

"They must think poorly of me."

Sukuna cherishes the screams rushing out of your throat as you take him inch by overbearing inch, stretching you out to accommodate his length and girth. You're nothing but his plaything.

You practically forget the crowd casted in front of you once you hear subdued chattering coming from multiple voices, all laced with different tones with different perceptions. You feel like a common whore.

Throughout, Sukuna never kissed you. He believes he should not taste the lips of a revolting human for it'll taint his palate. He just fucks into you as you bounce like some ragdoll abandoned by a little girl. But if life has fated you with the opportunity to become Sukuna's, your King's, toy, then may you not change the inevitable.

[tvseries-writings]

Elevators are deadly traps

Wandanat x reader

Plot: You and your girlfriends get trapped in the elevator but the heat makes you faint and Wanda is not the biggest fan of small, enclosed spaces.

TW: fainting, panic attack

You never believed that drinking water was so necessary; you were never a big drinker and although Wanda always told you, nay, begged you, to drink at least the necessary amount you never listened to her but maybe you should have today.

You watch the busy streets of New York, listening to Natasha and Wanda talk while your eyes don't leave for a moment the view that lurks outside the window of the expensive car that only the black widow, of the three of you, dares to drive; you've never even been a great driver...Let alone drive a car that costs two hundred thousand dollars in the busiest city in the world.

The 93 F makes the asphalt scorching, much more than usual; it is so hot that the air ripples from the heat, distorting the images that pass before your eyes.

Natasha turns right and the Avengers tower enters your view, towering over all the buildings around it. It is not the most beautiful building in New York, contrary to what Tony likes to think, but it is definitely the one that makes you feel the safest.

“Is everything okay malyshka?” Natasha looks at you from the mirror, raising her sunglasses for a few seconds to get a better look at you.

“Yes Nat.”

You lean forward, ending up between the two seats and leaving a kiss on the cheek first to the former spy and then to the Sokovian who turns around at the exact moment you turn toward her to receive a real kiss.

“Hey, that's not fair. Next time one of you will drive.”

Natasha moans, giving you a weak elbow in the side that makes you and Wanda pull away.

“Oh come on Nat, you'll be rewarded” Wanda smiles mischievously, letting her hand slide down the blonde's thigh.

You sit back down, giving them an amused look but as you do so, dizziness makes you close your eyes for a few seconds. Apparently the heat has affected you more than you thought since you've risen just a couple of inches.

“Detka?”

Wanda turns to you, her head tilted slightly to the side as she is wont to do when the Sokovian is angry or worried.

“Yes?”

You open your eyes, smiling as if the nausea isn't wearing you down and the dizziness isn't making you sway even while sitting up.

“Are you okay?”

The car stops, you have probably entered the tower garage but you are so focused on not letting her notice that you are sick that you are not completely sure.

“Yes, of course, why?”

Wanda looks at you as if the answer is obvious but before she has a chance to retort, the driver's side door is thrown open by a rather pissed off Iron Man.

“Natasha, I've told you a million times not to take this car, it costs a fortune.”

“I know, Stark, but I remind you that I always told you I'd keep taking it since you bought it. Although I must admit, I'd like to find the keys in the car already and not have to bypass your office's fallacious security system to get them.”

Natasha smiles, stepping out of the car and tossing the keys toward the multimillionaire; the man rolls his eyes, stuffing the keys in his pocket before walking away at a brisk pace, muttering something about “having to implement anti-widow security systems.”

“You're terrible Nat, you'll drive him crazy.”

You say with a smirk, opening the door in turn; you just sit there, still not trusting your body to keep you stable.

Wanda comes around the car and quickly joins you.

Although you are inside the garage, the temperature is just below that outside and certainly much higher than it was inside the car.

“Are you sure you're okay y/n? You're a little pale” Natasha places a hand on your right cheek and you lean into her touch, turning a reassuring smile to her.

“I'm fine Nat, let's go home. If I'm not mistaken, someone needs to be compensated for her chauffeuring services.”

Your joke seems to make her relax a little, and that gives you the confidence to finally put one foot on the ground. You get up and despite the dizziness that hits you as soon as you do, you manage to hide it masterfully, heading toward the elevator with your girls. Although it is only a few meters, when you enter inside it feels like you have traveled at least twenty kilometers.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. take us to the forty-seventh floor please.”

“Right away Ms. Romanoff.”

As soon as the elevator doors close, you lean against the handrail placed on the wall behind you praying that your condition will not worsen. You observe Wanda out of the corner of your eye; the Sokovian hates elevators but is well aware that she cannot climb forty-seven flights of stairs therefore, after an animated conversation about why she could not use her powers to do so, you had convinced her to use that “infernal contraption”-as she likes to call it-to reach your floor.

A loud roar diverts your attention away from the girl, and before you can figure out what's going on, the elevator suddenly stops; if it weren't for Natasha's lightning-fast reflexes, your face would surely be splattered on the floor or the metal wall in front of you, considering the gigantic size of the elevator. Big Tower big elevator, as Tony likes to say.

“Are you all right?”

Natasha watches you both, helps you to your feet and then draws Wanda into a hug.

“Honey, it's okay, the elevator will probably start working again in a few seconds.”

Wanda nods and does not even give you a glance; she is totally focused on not panicking completely. She hates elevators and now she is hating you too since you forced her into them.

Ten minutes pass and you are still stuck inside the elevator. The temperature, which was previously kept under control by the air conditioning, has risen considerably and the dizziness is only getting worse so, although you are the only one, you decide to sit down in the hope that this will help.

The former spy's phone that suddenly and, when Natasha answers, Tony's voice rings out in the metal box you are stuck in.

“Hey Nat, there you see, there's a little problem, I may have knocked out the power to like well...all of Manhattan so you're going to be there for a while but I'm working on it okay? All right, see you later.”

Natasha is not in time to insult him that Tony ends the call. Natasha mumbles something in Russian and although you know few words of her native tongue, you are pretty sure they are not compliments she is paying him.

Wanda's hand is clasped between yours and you speak words of comfort to her as sweat beads your foreheads. You and Natasha take turns, trying to keep her breathing under control; the Sokovian has had panic attacks before and the last thing you need is for her to have one right now.

“Because I let you talk me into it,” Wanda whines, squeezing your hand before standing up abruptly, starting to pace back and forth in the elevator as her breathing quickens.

“Wanda, love, it will be okay, I know you hate elevators but-”

Natasha gets up to join her and you do the same but realize the shit you've done too late; in fact, it takes less than ten seconds for your body to fall to the floor with a thud.

“Y/N!”

Both Natasha and Wanda scream in shock.

“Honey, open your eyes malyshka come on.”

Natasha falls to her knees beside you, placing your head on top of her legs and shaking your sweat-soaked hair from your forehead.

“D-detka open your eyes.”

Wanda caresses your cheeks and although she is still in a panic, she makes an effort to keep herself lucid for at least a few more seconds.

You blink a few times, and when you open your eyes, the metal of the ceiling reminds you where you are.

“Hey, take it easy, Wands do you have any water?”

Natasha whispers, continuing to caress your face as Wanda frantically searches through her bag before shaking her head. Her breathing is quickening again and she is far too quiet to be Wanda.

“I'm fine,” you whisper and then give the blonde a look that admits no reply as you wave her over to your girlfriend.

“You're not fine, you just fainted, you're probably dehydrated, and we're going to be stuck here for who knows how much longer.”

Natasha regrets what she said as soon as she hears a whimper coming from the sokovian before the latter falls to the floor, burying her head between her knees as you clearly hear her breathing shorten alarmingly. Natasha quickly removes her shirt and rests it under your head before moving toward Wanda.

“Don't try to get up y/n, just stand there, I got this.”

You watch her walk over to the sorceress and gently touch her arm.

“Wands, hey, it's me. You have to breathe love, I know it's hard but you have to do it.”

Natasha strokes her back and Wanda's breathing seems to calm slightly as she lifts her head to look at you.

“There you are, good girl, now follow my breathing. In and out, in and out. So good.”

As Natasha focuses on Wanda, you quickly assess your condition before sitting up and trudging toward them.

“I told you not to get up.”

“I'm sitting up and feeling better Nat.”

You whisper, holding Wanda tightly in a hug and letting her listen to your heart beat at a steady pace.

“You are so stubborn, you-”

Another roar brings her to a halt and then, to your relief, the elevator starts up again. In two minutes, the elevator arrives on your floor and when the doors open, Natasha gives you a worried look-Wanda is massaging her chest while you are still sitting on the floor with a complexion so pale as to make the dead envious.

“Wands, do you feel up to walking?”

The Sokovian nods but Natasha equally encircles her hips with her arm before ushering her toward your bedroom but not before issuing you a warning.

“Don't try to move, don't even think about it.”

You watch them walk to the end of the hallway and extend your leg to block the elevator door sensor. As soon as you see them disappear from your sight, you close your eyes and lean your head against the wall behind you, trying to counteract the dizziness and nausea.

After a few minutes you hear hurried footsteps and then a glass is pressed to your lips.

“Drink malyshka,” Natasha whispers, tilting the glass and helping you drink the water inside. When you finish it, Natasha sets the glass on the floor before taking your face in her hands; you stay like this for a few minutes before she speaks.

“Can you get up?”

You nod to her, and after a few seconds, the Russian encircles your sides with her arms and lifts you off the floor, checking you during every step you take to your bedroom.

“How about I call Bruce? At least he'll take a look at you...”

You shake your head and in doing so lean even more against Natasha.

“No, I'm fine Nat. I just drank a little water, that's all.”

Natasha sighs yet does not retort, helping you sit down next to Wanda.

Although you are still lightheaded and dizzy, your stomach twists as you see how much Wanda is still shaken by what has happened.

“Hey love, how are you feeling?”

You reach out to her, taking her hand and intertwining your fingers. Wanda turns to you as soon as she hears your voice and hides her head in the crook of your neck; you leave a few kisses in her hair before the Sokovian speaks.

“I'm fine, I'm sorry for-”

“No, hey, you don't have to apologize, you know it's not something we control. Neither Tasha nor I do, did you ever tell us to apologize for that?”

Wanda shakes her head and both you and Natasha nod.

“That's right honey, so never apologize for that okay?”

Natasha sits on Wanda's other side as Wanda pulls away from you and lies down on the bed, motioning for you to get on her side. You are about to do so but a sharp dizziness causes you to desist and swing dangerously to the side; Wanda's grip on your shirt prevents a disastrous fall.

“Hey y/n, hey!...Nat, did you give her sugar?”

Wanda sits up to support you better as she watches Natasha shake her head.

“No, I...I just gave her water, now I'm going to get it.”

You want to protest but you can't, you can't even keep your eyes open.

“Detka, honey drink this. It will help you.”

Natasha hands Wanda the glass with water and sugar and the Sokovian places it on your lips helping you drink every last sip; after a few minutes the sugar finally takes effect.

“Do you feel better?”

Wanda whispers, drawing small circles on your back as you open your eyes. You nod slowly, resting your head on Natasha's shoulder and turning a small smile to the Sokovian.

“I really think we should all get some rest, and we'll call Bruce later.”

Natasha leaves a kiss on your temple, giving you a look that clearly indicates how much you cannot retort at the moment. From the look on Wanda's face, she agrees too so you surrender to your girls, letting them tuck you in before hugging you on both sides.

“Rest, I love you,” Natasha lets you both have a kiss before lying down and closing your eyes. You reciprocate her “I love you” before following suit.

You three may be a mess but you are definitely a good trio.

Thank you for reading! This piece sucks but I wanted to write something and will probably delete it later anyway...thanks and have a great day!

Support me on ko-fi

Taglist: @wandanatsbaby @bioquake-archives @bioquakeweek @daisyjohnsonx @wandanatsgirlfriend @chaekhan @station19 @resilientpendragon @so-no-kissing-then @thearchpitbullmx @ashadash0904 @kingshitonly @alwaysgoodnight @callistic @xjule @yuleni18 @simpforwandanat @alexxislexi @mrsdanversromanoff @coollemonsaresour @hushed-woodsman @razorscooteer @eponine-xx @maniacallinc @michelle170 @classyig @elenaguarnieri @scarletwidow @tati3001 @cristin-rjd @your-my-mission @mr-nicely @hi-i-1 @anniethurs @ktstwice @scarlet-raccoon @maria-403 @goldfishthegr8 @wandanatfan @looiegirl-blog @bioquake-blog @daisyjohnsonx

[wandasfifthwife]

(3) locker room ✩‧₊˚ competing series

hockey coach!wanda x fem!ex figure skater reader

tw: SMUT MDNI, r has a v&breasts, top wanda, bottom r, service dom!wanda, r is a bit needy, wanda absolutely goes feral once given the green light, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), wanda uses the shower head on r, sort of public sex (locker room shower), cum kink if you squint

a/n: not proofread. THE SMUT IS HERE LMAO. I was a bit too excited to write and publish this, I’ll come back and edit later. Anyways enjoy this filth.

prev chap ✩ ══╡˚m.list˚╞══ ✩ next chap

It was all a performance. Every shy touch pushing the narrative, cultivating confident hand placements. The hand on your shoulder would find itself on your waist, pulling you towards her.

The first time she kissed you she was nervous, her hands holding you close but still at a distance. Every one since then has been pushing you down a dangerous path. They all made you want more, you wanted to fall over the edge with her.

The desire was growing each day. When she kissed you goodnight. When she placed a hand on your inner thigh. When she ran her eyes over your body. It made your legs weak.

Earlier in the day, just as the sun was rising she had been at your apartment. It was an easy Saturday morning, resting in each other with the tv in the background. Light touches almost hovering over each other.

You felt like you were floating, goosebumps lining your body as her fingers drew chills.

She paid you no mind, whether intentional or not she was stirring your emotions. Her eyes were focused on the screen, an occasional whispered compliment on whatever the house designing show had to showcase. It was infuriating almost. Her lips would sometimes touch your neck, a gentle touch here and there. She had strung you up and left you there when she had to leave for an appointment.

You laid where you once were, unsure of what to do until her contact showed up on your phone. She sounded out of breath as she asked you to come to the arena. You clambered into your car, almost speeding down the roads.

You didn’t give much of a hint as to where she was, last thing mention on the phone was that she was in the gym. The problem was that it was empty save for one man on the stair climber. You passed by without a care, feet wondering into where the ground turned into tiles.

There were a multitude of lockers aligning the wall, which were all off except for one. One had a small sign, the red light giving away that it was occupied as opposed to the surrounding green LEDs.

You called out her name, walking towards the showers and not thinking to check behind you. There were enclosed spaces, each separated by a wall. You walked to one, feeling bored so you pull at the level until the water came pouring down. It was in way better condition than you originally assumed.

Wet footprints sounded behind you, slight nerves picking up in fear it might be another woman besides the one you came looking for. They were eased when she came into view, a towel in her hand.

“You got here quick. I was going to try and shower before,” she emphasizes her words by lifting her towel up. Your eyes follow the movement and how it extends her muscles.

You feel your heart pick up, the feeling she had started before coming back to life. You point behind you, nonsense coming from you, “I don’t mind waiting, I could take a shower as well. My water bill is expensive.”

“Okay,” she says and begins to set her stuff at the one right beside the one you were standing at. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you had wished she would make a move. That she would hint at wanting to join you, maybe showing interest in you sexually.

You breathe deep and undress where you are, closing the curtain just before doing so. You reach a hand out to set your clothes on an outside bench. The water was hot, the smoke rising and collecting on the surrounding black tiles. It was much nicer than the shower you had at home and it genuinely surprised you.

She realized before you, calling out and saying she had soap if you needed. Her tone was teasing, asking if you were here to take a dry shower. You called out for her to hand it to you. The curtain made its clinking sound, causing your heart to fall out of your chest. You flinch, freezing as you come face to face with her. Her completely clothed body contrasting yours.

Her eyes flicker between your face and bare skin. No words escape her, face neutral as she hands you the soap and leaves with a jerk to the curtain.

It made your heart jump out of your chest when a second later you hear her curse. She brushes past the curtains again, descending towards you. It was two steps before your back collides with the shower wall.

A protest is taken from you when her lips collide with yours. She spreads your hands out beside you, intertwining them and holding them. There’s a forceful pressure in how you’re held between her body and the wall behind you. A heat builds within you and around the two of you as you drown in each other.

Her lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, pulling a moan from you, “can’t resist, I can’t wait anymore.”

She slides your arms to wrap around her neck, “I need to hear you say you want this. I’ll drop everything if you’re not ready.”

You smile and nod as you vocalize your consent. She’s lifting your left leg with a hand dragging under your thigh and propping it on her waist.

“At any time you need to stop or you want to slow down, tell me please, okay?”

You mumble your confirmation, hands fiddling with her wet hair. She places gentle kisses down your body, starting under your jaw and trailing down towards your inner thigh.

Her attention is completely focused, eyes glazed over already. A whine is pulled from you the second her tongue is licking across your heart. She presses it harder onto your clit, morning when she feels you tug at her hair.

You have a hand in her hair, another pressing against your mouth. A hand on your hip holds you open, barely putting in any effort whenever your hips twitch or try and close around her head.

“You’re so pretty,” she mumbles into you.

She slides the first finger in, a shameful whine coming out from behind your hand. The water falls behind you two, the heat and pressure below pressure you to breathe deep.

When she feels you’re ready, she begins to fit another finger in. She doesn’t miss how you shiver when she angles her fingers.

“Like that, sweet thing?”

A string of yeses fill the room, your tone breathy and sweet. She’s driving them in harder, directing them right at the spot that has your legs quivering.

Her tongue presses against your clit, building pleasure between your legs. You whimper at the sudden bite to your inner thigh. It was then that she decided to slide a third finger.

“Wanda,” you breathe out, back arching to chase after what she had been building.

Her fingers twist, trusting against your upper wall just as she sucks on your thigh.

“Oh my—please.”

You’re tugging at her hair, gasps and incoherent mumbles tumbling out from your lips.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” she sucks at your clit, grinning at how your body reacts, “gonna come?”

Too much time passes and she’s impatient. Wanda thrusts her fingers in harder, a complete contrast of how gentle her voice sounds.

“Love. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you whimper, “don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing so.“

With a final kiss to your clit you’re sent over the edge. You grip at the tile, nails digging into the grooves. Wanda removes her fingers instantly, almost frantic as she brings her mouth to your heat. She soaks up every shiver, tongue swiping until all she can taste is herself.

You mumble her name, “kiss me.”

She’s shooting up, meeting you halfway. A muffle moan sounding from her as soon as you do.

“Mm,” you smile into her lips, “you taste good.”

“It drives me crazy,” she admits and pulls you back into a passionate kiss. A hand comes and strokes at your back, calming you down. It was when you felt your mind begin to clear, the effects of the orgasm fading away when she had started biting around your neck.

“If you continue like that,” you begin, stopping to gasp when she actually bites on your shoulder.

“Or what,” she questions, her eyes look at to the shower head with a shit-eating smile. You follow where she looked and jerk her head back by her hair.

“Every minute I spend with you I swear you just want me to believe you’re a total goof.”

“Is pleasing my girlfriend so bad?

“That’s a shower head.”

“So? Give me a chance,” she gives the worst puppy dog eyes, and yet you still can’t turn her down.

Her hands pull it off of the holder, the smile never leaving her face. Your emotions were apparent on your face. She laughs and kisses you sweetly, “it won’t hurt if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“I don’t think that, I just think you’re crazy sometimes.”

She hums, ignoring you and opening your legs. The water pressure feels like you’re grinding down on a pillow.

“You make the cutest faces,” she murmurs quietly to herself. She tilts her wrist for it to angle just below your clit. The action has your nails tearing into her back.

“Feel good, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine, head falling onto her shoulder, “keep it there, please, please.”

She shushes you, repeating how she’s going to take care of you. She changes the setting, eyes steady on you and each reaction she pulls from you.

“Gonna come already?”

“Keep it there,” you move your head to kiss her chin, “please Wanda.”

“I will,” she whispers, “I will.”

When she realizes you’re coming, she’s hanging the shower head back to not overstimulate you. You’re coming down your high, breathing deep into the space you’ve created between you and her.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t help myself.”

You laugh breathlessly, head tilting back as she kissing around your chest and neck.

The sound filling her heart with joy. You stay cooped in each other’s hold, feeling comfortable not saying anything for a few minutes.

“Was it okay?”

“It was wonderful,” you kiss her nose, “thank you. I feel bad, you haven’t gotten off.”

“You don’t have to, watching you was enough.”

You push her back and stare at her, “did you really come from watching me?”

She pinches under your breasts, “no. I just got myself off when I was eating you out earlier. I wasn’t lying, seeing you come is enough.”

“Speaking of,” wanda grabs at your waist, “do you want to come again?”

You smack her hands away, a warning that if she doesn’t actually shower, you’ll shoo her off to another shower. She does so well for the first part, enjoying herself and being with you.

It was sweet how she checked in, hands gentle washing the soap into your hair. It was when she had to start washing your body that she became suspicious. What set you her was how she was taking too long to wash your breast.

She had stood behind you, hands running down the front of your body while she breathed deep into your ear about how she wanted to take you while someone was in a shower beside you. You realized then that your warning was fake. She too realized, another playful smile finding its way onto her face as she felt your body melt into hers again.

The water had become cold by the two of you came back to reality and finish “showering.”

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[solarmorrigan]

TW: Brief description of a panic attack, mentions of PTSD

-

Post-S3 AU with Steve who, after much badgering (and minor bribery) agrees to drive The Party out to The Good Haunted House outside of town a little before Halloween

He doesn't plan on going in, because after what happened over the summer, having people jumping out at him and screaming while possibly brandishing weapons seems like a bad idea. But then he sees the kids walking off into the dark, swarmed by people who look intentionally threatening, leaving his sight, and he decides "fuck it" and goes in after them

Unfortunately, he was correct, and being in an enclosed, poorly-lit space with occasionally flashing lights where people jump out and scream at him is, indeed, A Bad Idea. Worse, their group gets turned around and Steve gets separated from the kids, and then he's alone, he has no idea where in the house he is, or where the kids are, and he's panicking

It really sets in that he's kinda fucked when he stumbles into the the "haunted hospital" themed room and nearly decks the mad doctor in a bloody face mask and apron that comes out wielding a chainsaw. He catches himself in time, but it still makes Steve feel worse, because it's not this guy's fault that Steve can't handle a jump scare, it's not this guy's fault that Steve shouldn't be here at all, that he's fucked up and he should have known better than to come in, and Steve doesn't want to hurt anyone but he doesn't know how the fuck he's going to get out of there, he really doesn't, and -

Enter haunted house actor Eddie, who is used to being threatened with violence (and has, in fact, been punched once before), but who is less used to people having literal heaving breakdowns in the middle of his room. People get scared, yeah, but this - this is another level. This dude looks like he's about to pass out. He doesn't even really look like he's present; the look in his eyes is uncomfortably distant

So Eddie puts down the chainsaw, pulls off his mask and gloves and approaches Steve slowly. The room is fairly quiet without the revving of the chainsaw, so he manages to get Steve's attention, and asks if he wants Eddie to get him out of there

Steve can only nod

Eddie gets him out the back way, the way customers really aren't supposed to go through, but it's faster, and then they're out in the open air and Steve can almost breathe again. Eddie asks him what he can do, and Steve asks him to talk. To remind Steve of where he is

So Eddie talks; he tells Steve he's somewhere outside of Hawkins at a haunted house, tells Steve what it's like to work there, filling the space with funny stories, and it grounds him. By the time Steve feels like the world isn't caving in on him, he can hear the kids shouting from around the other side of the house, looking for him

He has just enough time to thank Eddie before The Party falls on him and he puts his attitude back on, herding them back towards the car with promises of dinner on the way back "if you can all shut up for five minutes"

In the back of his mind, though, he's wondering if he might just drive back out here on his own tomorrow night. Not to go back in--god, no--but to maybe ask at the front who the mad doctor is. Steve thinks he'd like to thank him for his kindness properly

[reidsbookclub]

Yours Truly Spencer Reid x fem! reader WC: 2555  fluff pure fluff tw: mentions of Gideon's death

AN: ending is a bit rushed but when I copy & pasted here I accidentally deleted it and couldn’t recall everything I wrote 😩

It’s been three months living with the knowledge that Gideon is no longer there. His conversation with Rossi was haunting him in the middle of the night. “I know I’m not being very rational,” he had told Rossi, “but I think about him all the time. And I knew he was always out there, now it just feels empty.” Rossi’s words still echoed in his mind. “Maybe you’ll find something else to fill the empty space.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine finding anything that would fill the void of now knowing that his mentor would no longer be just a call away. He needed to find a way to feel close to him, so he put pen to paper and did what he knew best: he started writing Gideon letters with the intent of them being addressed to fire. He put pen to paper and tried to connect it to the cloudy thoughts of his brain. After a couple of hours he fell asleep with the warmth of the fireplace enclosing him in a hug. 

Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever thing that letter would get read and replied to. 

It had been three months since her godfather Jason had passed away, three months of losing the only father figure she had had. If she didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn that he was still around, his presence felt throughout the small cabin she was inherited.  Stephen, Jason’s son, had delivered a letter stating such. The simple letter in the testament read, “Y/N, just know that a very good friend of mine holds a key to this cabin, he might drop by if he feels the need to feel close to me, or just an escape from the darkness of this world. Be kind to him, Dr. Reid needs some warmth, kindness and love in his life.”  

Days later she found a piece of paper on the floor of the cabin. She really needed to seal the mail slot on the door and install a mailbox.  But she couldn’t help but let out a gasp on who sent it, the Dr. Reid in her godfather's letter. 

Dear Gideon,  It’s been three months since you’ve passed and I can’t help but ask why I never reached out to you when you left the BAU. 

Oh. So he’s a coworker. She wondered if he helped found the BAU alongside Rossi and her godfather, suddenly wondering if Dr. Reid had many stories about her godfather’s younger days.  Silencing her thoughts, she continued reading. 

You know how I’m a specialist at overthinking everything and I just can’t help but wonder if I still have a place in the BAU now that you’ve gone. 

Who is this Dr. Reid? 

Gideon I’m becoming a mastermind at vanishing into the deep thoughts of my brain in the middle of the night. Midnights have now become my afternoons. I miss the talks we used to have. If I’m being honest I’m finding it so hard to find my place with the team now that I can’t just hide in your office. Can you believe Morgan invited me out to the club? Me. 

Club? Was Dr. Reid not an old guy like her godfather or was Morgan just being nice and inviting a mentor out to drinks?  Curiosity getting the best of her, she continued reading the letter, hoping to get more answers on who Dr. Reid really is. 

You always used to say my first degree was running away into the deep thoughts of my mind but I think I have added a fourth Ph.D to my resume and that’s being my own worst enemy. 

Multiple Phds? She couldn’t even finish school. Who was this guy? 

You know how hard it is to admit it to myself but I miss you Gideon. Sometimes I still talk to you when I feel like screaming at the sky, angry that you left me with nothing but a letter, just like everyone else that had ever left me did, but I can't be angry at you.  -SSA Agent Reid…. Yes I know, Gideon. I need to make people respect me. So I guess I’m signing off as, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid. 

He wouldn’t need to make people respect him if he wasn’t young? Would he? Not being able to get her mind off the mysterious Dr. Reid, she decided to write him a letter.

Coming back from a demanding case always felt like a relief and the worst thing in the world at the same time. Relief for finally being home and the worst thing because once you’re home, warm in bed, your mind starts reliving every little thing you could’ve done differently. This night would be different. Spencer was greeted at the door by his Russian Blue cat named Atticus and a tea-stained letter on his mailbox. 

Dr. Spencer Reid, I must admit that receiving a letter addressed to my godfather was surprising, I fully apologize for opening and reading your letter, I assumed you meant for no one to read it. Have you ever been to my godfather Jason’s cabin? If you have, then you must know that there is a small town that is 15 miles away. I went there earlier today and down the block from the main road there is a small antique shop. I stopped and entered, always curious about the stories that old items have, who owned them? Were they special to them or just small trinkets, why did the owner sell them? All these questions. No answers. Anyways, there was a box filled with old drawings and photographs. 25 cents each and I couldn't help but buy some because they all reminded me of you.  You must think I'm insane for saying that something reminded me of you when we have never met, so please don’t profile that too much, anyways, these photographs had me imagining things. It's crazy. Heck, I don’t even know anything about you. Yes, I could look it up but where's the fun in that? Is it crazy that I can’t help myself and imagine who you are? That I cannot help but think of all of these little scenarios making a film about your life. I’ve been rambling too much about nonsense so take care Dr. Reid.   - Hope you stay safe  Y/N

Reid read and re-read the surprise letter. Atticus on his lap sleeping. Goddaughter, why couldn't he recall Gideon ever mentioning a goddaughter. Who was she? Based on the letter she rambled…a lot and got excited about the most random things. Reid let out a soft giggle startling Atticus. “I think…I think I want to write another letter, Atticus. She seems fun to talk to, don't you think?” 

Silence. That is all she heard for three long weeks cursing herself for responding to his letter the way that she did.  He must’ve thought she was nothing but a foolish petulant child with her dreaming and fantasizing about different worlds and what ifs. Just as she was wondering if she should write another letter apologizing she heard the unmistakable sound of papers being thrown into the mail slot. “Thank you!” she shouted through the door to the mailman. One coffee-stained envelope standing out over the spam ads she got.

Dear Y/N, I must admit writing a letter to you seems a bit strange so please bear with me if I seem   awkward,  I promise I am working on it. Shit I spilled some coffee on the paper, hopefully its not that noticeable. Who am I kidding of course it will be noticeable. Well I am hoping you like coffee smells. Ms. Y/N I hope that the letter I sent you did not cause you any more grief, and please feel free to…how did you put it? “ramble much about nonsense” to me at any time. I thought it was cute. Well now I am thankful you cannot see the blush I have because Derek is sure making fun of me at the moment. I’m sorry that it seems like forever since you last replied to me but the case we had was taking a toll on me and I couldn’t seem to taint your sunshineness with the darkness of the case. I just wanted to let you know that the way you make time disappear everytime i re-read your letter brings me calmness, and brings me hope that maybe someday we could become friends. Please always continue telling me about the little what if scenarios that help you make my life seem more interesting than it is. I find it adorably cute that you do these things. Now I can’t help but wonder if you will think I am just a boring old man that sits in the corner of a dark room– I promise I am not. Anyways, a little about myself I have a cat named Atticus, I enjoy stimulating my brain by learning new things which is how I got three Phds. You can always find me with coffee and a good book and—fucking hell I sound boring as fuck and you give off the impression of being this magnetic carefree beautiful person.   Great, now I am overthinking everything I have said so far – everyone knows that afterall i am a specialist at doing so.  Thats all for now  Sincerely, Spencer Reid. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. All throughout the letter Spencer sounded just like the type of person that she would love to get to know further. Someone that in another life would be considered a tortured poet, living amongst the rest of them in the peacefulness of the lakes, someone that would be rubbing elbows with Wordsworth and Austen. As she re-read the letter she was trying to ignore the blush that spread across her cheeks at Spencer using the word cute in reference to her. One thing was certain that she would be holding on to her pen-pal because for some reason he made her feel a way no other person was able to do. 

It had been two months since the initial letter that started this newfound friendship Spencer found himself in. The only thing that has kept him going were the weekly letters that Y/N has been sending him. They’re weekly letters always bringing a smile to his face and giving him the necessary “push” in between cases. This new letter brought an even bigger smile to his face and the sudden urge to finally drive up to that cabin and meet the person that has been holding his mind captive all day. 

Dear Spencer,  How is Atticus doing? I know you were planning on adopting a kitten to keep Atticus company while you are away. May I suggest a cute little white cat? Or a ginger cat? Maybe one named  Arlo or Agatha or something old  literature sounding. How have you been? Are the headaches gone? Today I went down to the small village that is close by and there is this new coffee place and I couldn’t help but think about how much you would like it. Would you be interested in ever meeting me there? Keeping this one short and sweet because i did kinda sorta just ask you out and anxiety is at an all time high  - Y/N

There was one thing that Spencer learned that night and that was that for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope that maybe just maybe the person he was falling for was falling right alongside him. 

Girls night. Oh how she missed her friends ever since moving into the cabin. It had taken a lot of convincing but she had finally managed to get her friends up for the weekend. In the middle of drinks she started gushing about Spencer and their friendship. She was telling her friends about the cute pen-pal she had and how she had taken the leap to ask him out. “Ha. What a loser do you really think that and FBI agent will take the time to come and meet someone as boring as you?” Her so-called best friend Lindsey had said, her words ringing in her ear drink after drink. How could she be so foolish thinking that a guy as smart as Spencer would ever confess his love to her. It had been a cold reminder that she was not the exception, that after years of this happening she had not learned her lesson that fairy tale endings did not happen to girls like her. So, for the first time in the two months they had been communicating instead of answering his letter she burned it, eventually leaving him at the coffee house waiting, glued to his chair instead of meeting her for the first time. The following week the first of many daily letters arrived in which he kept asking her why. 

Dear Y/N, Did I do something wrong? Did you move on? Help me because in my mind I'm still at that coffee shop collecting dust wondering where you are, wondering why you didn’t show up. If you ever think you may have got it wrong and want to meet, I will be at that coffee shop every Friday at 7 waiting for my sunshine to show up.  Yours truly, Spencer 

Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since he had heard from her, so he decided to take the initiative and for the first time since Gideon’s death he used the key he had left him. The drive to the cabin was filled with anxious thoughts. Would she be happy to see him? Did she meet someone while they were writing letters? 

Walking into the cabin he could smell something baking and the unmistaken sound of laughter coming from the small kitchen, making his way around the cabin he caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, “wow you are even more beautiful than I ever thought.” he said catching her off guard. “Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?” she yelled “Oh–i–right yeah i – Spen–Rei–Doctor” he let out a puff of air, “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Gideon actually gave me a key to this place.” he smiled softly as crimson crept across her face. “Oh, hi wh–a–what are you doing here?” “I was worried about you” he mumbled

“Oh” In any other situation awkward silence would have followed but not between them, instead fits of laughter happened. “I’m sorry I blew you off Spencer” taking a deep breath she continued, “its just… a friend reminded me that girls like me don’t get the cute guys” Taking a step close to her spencer began rubbing circles in her wrist with his thumb “Y/N whoever said that is not a friend. I fell for the personality that shined through the letters we exchanged, I couldn’t care less about what you looked like you were already perfect in my mind and now that I am seeing you I can confirm that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met” They spend that whole weekend together, the days consisting of  baking, stargazing and teaching Y/N how to play chess and nights filled with cuddles, kissing and watching movies together.

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[tomorrcwz]

✰ MISS GRUMPY AND HER SUNSHINE, A. ALBON

[ preview ] alex can be a pain in the ass, but he is your pain in the ass — or in which i showcase the grumpy x sunshine trope cause i'm a sucker for it (and alex)

[ tw ] none, female reader (use of girlfriend), just making out in the end

. part two | masterlist .

days in the office, a small not very well isolated room you shared with another colleague of the social marketing, tended to be very long and seemingly never reaching an end but today, today was otherworldly, as you glanced at the small display of the time at the corner of your laptop. the numbers didn't change fast enough. if they even did.

your work had been done an hour or so ago but you weren't allowed to leave as it was still working hours, and maybe, just maybe someone would turn up to let you know there was a video of the crew or the drivers to edit. so you sat there, chair becoming uncomfortable under your ass while you stared into space because you were the only one in department in today, no one there to chat with.

truly heartbreaking, you'd much rather go back to the hotel to sleep for awhile.

as you watched the two turn into a three, silently hummung a song you've heard this morning, the thin grey office door opened, causing you to peep up — the other side revealed a dishevelled looking alex, a bright toothy grin on his lips and excitement glinting in his brown doe eyes. you let out an overdramatic sigh, repositioning yourself on the chair.

"yes, alex, what brings you to the enemy?", you questioned him, face morphed into a bored facade whilst you clasped fingers around the pen you had currently played with.

alas alex wasn't one to shy away from your defensive side, strolling right besides you to plant himself on your desk. "what, can't a man see his beautiful girlfriend?", hands enclosed your much smaller ones. "is it a crime, i wasn't aware of, darling?"

pinching your eyebrows you tabed the pen against his leg. "you can but not while i'm working — as you should too, mind you!" You're painfully aware of the free display, a picture with him and you on the yearly Vietnam holiday staring right back at you, and the no work vibe you had going on — things he'd surly point out.

"m sorry, you seem very busy . . should i come back later after you burned a hole in the screen?", he joked, wearing that stupid grin your mouth instantly wanted to mirror.

little teasing shit, man whom you layed your heart strings openly.

"whatever. . you here to see me for what? in a few hours we're back in bed."

gently his knuckles caressed your cheeks, before his hands land on either other, leaning in to steal a kiss from your lips. his lips were a tad bit tried, probably from being outside most of the day in the heat, but they fit yours and your lips parted to welcome his tongue, while your hands tugged on the hair of his nape.

you broke apart, enjoying the soft gasp that left your throat and the cheeky smirk of his. "i know, just missed you and took a break to see you", he shared. "i also want a coffee, it tastes way better here."

shaking your head, you moved away from his body to prepare him said coffee, caring on the hummung of the song earlier and alex joins in, voice small yet strong enough to make sense out of the words. unconstitutionally, a tiny smile graced your lips, one alex could clearly see.

"bunny, what's got you smiling like that, hm? my singing?", the william's driver teased, crossing the room to stand behind you. he shakes his lean slightly bulky arms around you, pressing a kiss on top of your haircrown.

"ow shut up, al, or you can go back to your shitbox", you grumbled, but your body speaks a different language as you lean into him, sniffing his vanilla and spices perfume, a scent that calmed your nerves and bought good memories.

"but you wouldn't, bunny", he giggled. "you love me so much", the man sung in-between butterfly kisses, "so so much."

turning around in his embrace, you pouted. "should've ignored you back in 'nineteen, would've been a much less busy life f'me." "i was way too cute to ignore, just say you love me."

"whatever", you release a breath.

expectantly, your lover stared down on you.

"okay, fine, i love you", you hushed, neck burning from the outspoken confession. "happy now?"

"oh bunny, with you i'm always happy but hearing those three magical words make me swoon", he pressed the back of his left hand against his forehead, signing dramatically. "now gimme kisses, my grumpy bunny."

the coffee sat long forgotten on the sideboard as alex took your breath away with feverish kisses and wandering hands, caressing down your back to your ass, squeezing it lightly.

[ and then the atmosphere broke. "—ow not again guys", a wide eyed charles stood in the door, causing the pair of you to spring apart. "just two races in the season and i'm already sick of you." ]

SINGULAR DRIVERS — POLY/MULTI DRIVERS

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rina speaks • ₊° ✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ . . [ 🪐 ] ahhh alex albon, the loml, my baby. missed writing for him and i'm actually desperate for other people's writing. we need more aa23 writers!! please let me know if you have more grumpy reader x sunshine alex ideas

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 96)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this has narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 96 next>>

A/N: This contains prose + video. Just mind the arrangement. | 2.4 k words | contains angst

You weren't taking the situation so well, that much Satoru could tell from where he sat at the foot of Mei-Mei's bed. Frustration and anger emanated from you like a dark miasma, ev​ident in the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead and the sound of your strained breathing as if you were suffocating. But he stayed stock-still, uncertainty gnawing at him from the inside out at the thought of what it would do to you if he came any closer.

And so, he merely watched, keeping a safe distance. Watched as you pounded on the door repeatedly, the sound seemingly reflecting the thudding in his chest – heavy, tense. If you were any bigger than you were, the door would probably groan on its hinges, but it remained solid under you constant assaults.

You'd periodically stop, furiously tapping on your phone or calling somebody. "Come on, come on," you repeated through gritted teeth before you'd cuss in frustration, looking about ready to break anything you could put your hands on. Of course, it was to no avail. Satoru knew your shared friends very well. They've most likely had enough of what's going on between the two of you – or the lack thereof – and took matters in their own hands, thinking it would help. They were incorrigible like that, all of them. Even Kento who was against it was obviously not going to do anything about it although for an entirely different reason. Perhaps they thought it was funny or romantic even, trying to keep the pair of you in an enclosed space in hopes you'd settle whatever problems you had.

But it wasn't that simple. Nothing was ever simple with you.

Besides, seeing you now, he couldn't disagree with what Kento said, and quite frankly, he, too, was afraid of the damage it would add to the already messed up situation you're both in. You didn’t want to be with him, and though he felt the opposite of that, he still didn’t want it to happen the way it did. He thought, when the day came the two of you would speak again, it would be of your own volition, not because you were trapped and left without a choice but to face him. And perhaps, Satoru was right not to keep his hopes up even when you responded to him earlier in the day; even when your anger at the moment wasn't exactly directed at him.

"Open this door!" you called out, your voice pretty much drowning in the noise of Mei-Mei's numerous guests and the loud bass coming from the floor below. "Fuck," you swore under your breath, about to kick the door, but opting not to when you realized last minute that you were wearing strappy high heels. You clenched your fist, looking like you were ready to throttle anyone. Turning from the door, you placed your hands on your waist, throwing your head back as you attempted to still your breathing, your face turning red at the effort. Or maybe you were just livid.

Satoru's mood which was already dampened since you walked into the party, soured even more. Throw in the unhappiness and heartbreak he had been living through since you walked away from him, and he was in absolute internal chaos, his emotions seeming to want to break out and overflow. Sukuna was right. He had the right to be pissed off, too, and seeing the way you're acting as if you were burning just being in the same room with him, that's exactly how he felt. You were fine with him, everything was going smoothly. You warmed up to him, there was no doubt about that when you’ve let your guard down and opened up to him, melting all the barriers you held high around you to let him in. So what the fuck happened?

However, that seemed to have fizzled away when you suddenly slumped down on the floor like a newborn calf unable to withstand its weight, eyes closed as you leaned against the door and hit your head against it, once, twice. Not wanting it to happen a third time, Satoru finally moved, kneeling before you in a flash as he placed a hand on the scarce space between your head and the door. He didn’t like that you were hurting yourself over the inconvenience, but then again, maybe that was better for you, enduring some other kind of sensation in comparison to being in the same breathing space as him.

Satoru looked at you as he shook his head, imploring you to stop. "Don't..." His voice trailed off, bracing himself for your retaliation. He held his breath, hanging his head low, ready to back off if you wanted to push him away. Being near him was probably the last thing you wanted. But you didn't do or say anything. You just quietly sat there, letting him retain his place in front of you.

Mustering all the courage, he lifted his head only to be met by your eyes, wide as they gazed upon his. You seemed to have calmed down even in his suddenly hazy vision. And then he felt something warm on his cheeks. It was your hands, cupping his face, both your thumbs swiping just under his eyes.

"You're crying," you murmured, and though your brows furrowed, you sounded gentle, sad. "Why are you crying?"

What? He didn't even realize it until you said it. Why, indeed? The elation he expected at the prospect of having you that close to him again wasn't there. All he felt was the fresh wound in his heart being wrenched open to bleed again, and instead of pain, he felt resentment. He resented that he couldn't get over you, that he still didn't have a reason to hate you no matter how many times you throw his heart to the ground and step on it, too. He resented that you weren't kicking and screaming at the thought of being too close to him again; that you were concerned about why he was shedding tears; resented that you knew why but asked anyway.

But he could be petty, too, right? He deserved at least that even when all he wanted to do was keep you in his arms and never let you go. He could do that. You deserved his anger, too.

Satoru retracted a bit, looking you in the eyes as he said, "You're gonna be okay."

"I –"

"There's no use trying to get out when those bastards set us up to be in here, Y/N. But it's gonna be fine." He tried to blink his tears back, a lump forming in his throat but he couldn't hide his pain when he said, "I... I know you h-hate me, b-but –"

Your hands limply fell to your sides, hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud, cutting him short as the warmth of your palms left him. He followed them with his eyes, a look of longing drawing itself across his features when he realized you were acting distant again.

"I don't hate you, Gojo." You chuckled quietly, resting your head on the door as you stared blankly at him. "I never hated you."

When he didn't speak, you droned on, "Just because I don't feel the same way you do, it doesn't mean I hate you."

He wished you did. Love him back. Hate him. He didn't know anymore. You said one thing and did another. One time, you’d be looking at him in disdain, removing yourself from his touch and pretending he didn’t exist, and then the other, you’re doing little things that showed him you still cared, that somewhere in there, you didn’t completely dismiss the idea of him. Was it guilt? He didn’t want you to feel that, but he somehow felt vindicated at the same time.

Satoru stood up, looming over you, arms akimbo as he started pacing. Why do you even bother to do those things if you were just going to reject him anyway? His lips curled contumeliously, his breathing becoming heavier as everything he felt spilled over. His eyes looked like cold gems when he finally stopped and looked at you, thinking that if you would hear him out, it was his chance. "Alright. You don't hate me. I'm just not worth one shitty explanation, right?"

You frowned. "That's not true –"

"That's how I feel!" he raised his voice to counter yours. "That's how you made me feel! Like I'm not even worth one goddamn answer, because, what, Y/N? I'm just someone you're fucking?"

You also stood up. "No –"

"My feelings don't count? It's all a fucking contract to you?" The words wouldn't stop the moment they fell out of his lips.

"Don’t do this."

He faintly heard you, but his thoughts were too loud to heed yours, and he was too caught up in the moment, finally finding the words to say unlike that time when only you got to say your piece while all he could do was beg. "You don't get to tell me what's true and what's not when you wouldn't even give me the answers I need."

He felt your hand on his arm, gripping tight. "Stop –" But he easily maneuvered the situation so he was holding onto your shoulders instead, backing you up against the door before slamming his fist on the spot just above your head, effectively trapping you in place.

"No, you stop!" Satoru shouted, shaking as he looked at you, fury smoldering in his eyes. "All I was asking for was the reason why. I bared my soul to you. At least, tell me why."

"I can't..."

You averted your gaze downward, but he lifted your face up by the chin, taking care to be gentle despite himself. "You can't what, Y/N?" He was getting so frustrated that he couldn't help but glare at you as he waited for your response, not letting the way your eyes glistened with tears sway him even when he felt his heart lurch unpleasantly at the sight of it.

"Please...just don’t…" You lifted your hands, clutching at the sides of your head as you tried to get the proper words out. “Don’t ask.”

Satoru shook his head, stepping even closer into your space until he could feel your body against his. "You don't get to plead with me when you refused to listen to me all these weeks."

Your tears fell, your hands reaching up to his chest, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt. He shook you slightly. "I should be asking why you are crying. Why, Y/N? Are you hurting, too? Why would you feel that way when you said this is what you wanted?"

"Satoru..."

At that, he chuckled bitterly. "Now it's 'Satoru'?" He hated himself for saying it, but he couldn't help it, all the rage pouring out uncontrollably. "Using my name to get what you want now? You're just so aware of your effect on me, aren't you?” He laughed bitterly. “Yeah, just go ahead and use my name like you do when you're all incoherent in bed under me, why don't you?"

You flashed him an angry look, your pupils constricting rapidly as you leveled with him. "Don't fucking go there," you hissed.

"Shouldn't I?" he taunted. "We're here anyway, and I sure as hell didn't agree to dissolving our contract. Why don't you earn the right to call me by my name again, hmm, sweet cheeks?" His tone dripped with bitterness even as he tenderly ran the back of his fingers over your cheeks, pressing closer. He slotted his leg between yours, making you gasp. "Come on, say it again."

“You’re being ridiculous right now.”

Satoru chuckled against your neck. “Maybe I am, but isn’t our arrangement ridiculous to begin with?” He grabbed you on the hips, pulling you closer towards him. “If this is the only way you’ll have me around, I don’t think it’s too bad.”

You jerked away from his touch even as he started placing kisses from your jawline down to your neck. "Stop..." Your voice wasn't anything above a shaky whisper, feeling your heart crack and losing all the fight in you upon hearing his words. “What have I done to you?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” He shook his head, leaning his forehead against yours, eyes screwed shut as he held you close to him. “You can lie to me, Y/N. I wouldn’t care as long as I get to have you. I’ll forget how I feel about you.”

“Satoru, stop it –”

“You can use me, make me your plaything. Just…just stay with me. Say you want me, too.”

“No…”

“Can’t you love me, too?”

“No.”

“Am I that bad that you can’t?”

“That’s not it. I –”

“I love –”

"Stop it!" you said louder, and this time he listened, growing roots on his spot when he realized what he was doing. Satoru wanted to burn in hell when he momentarily saw panic in your eyes, morphing into a look that screamed agony and utter dejection when his gaze met yours. But then, your hands reached out to clutch at his forearms for support when your knees gave way beneath you, your breaths unsteady.

Shit, he thought. He fucked up big time, the realization of it feeling like a bucket of ice cold water was dumped on him, making him shiver. He held onto you, keeping you on your feet but his heart was telling him to let you go, for him to step back and see what he's wrought. But just when he was about to do that, you held on tighter, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He didn't know why you weren't pushing him away. When the sobering feeling of what he was doing finally dawned on him, he wished you would hurt him again, slap him, condemn him to hell, anything. But instead, you gravitated towards him, your arms sliding to his sides before winding around him, holding him together and keeping him tethered, tight and warm and good, so, so good, that he thought he was hallucinating everything. He wished he was.

Satoru tried to gently pry your arms off him, but you refused, shaking your head against his chest. “Y/N, I…”

“Shh.” Your voice was wobbly with your tears, but you maintained your hold on him, hands lightly running on his back to soothe him. “You don’t have to say anything.” “I’m sorry.” He stepped back, making you let go. “I’m so sorry.”

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© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20240229]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

8/9 God's Away on Business

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

I'm 20 minutes away. You home?

Sure! You're always welcome.

Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.

The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.

Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.

He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.

"You just got back?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.

Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.

"I lost people yesterday."

"Oh. Oh shit."

Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.

"That's… I don't know what to say."

Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.

"23."

"What..?"

"23. The number of people I have lost in total."

Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.

"Is Soap alive?"

"Yeah. Wounded."

Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.

"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."

Thousands of people…

That meant… Wow. Okay.

He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.

Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.

"This world could use another flood."

The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.

He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.

"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.

"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."

"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."

"Is it?"

Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You got any food?"

"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."

She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.

"I like that pasta sauce you make."

"The Bolognese?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what you shall have."

There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.

The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.

She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.

Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.

It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.

She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.

He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.

"You got that Glock here somewhere?"

He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.

It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.

A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.

But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.

***

The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.

It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.

This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.

It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.

Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.

What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.

Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.

She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.

She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.

Fuck… Of course.

How could she be so stupid?

"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."

He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.

She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.

"Have you ever been tortured?"

The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.

"Just ask how many days."

"How many days?"

"98."

She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.

98 days covered over 3 months.

He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.

Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…

"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"

"Simon.. Jesus Christ."

"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.

"If the mind breaks, you're done."

Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.

"This is horrible."

"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."

Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.

Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.

He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.

The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…

Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?

He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…

She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.

"Dove… C'mere."

Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.

He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.

"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."

How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?

Unless he didn't care if he got killed.

Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…

The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.

"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.

"Isn't that what you like about me?"

When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.

How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.

She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.

"C'mon... Tell me you like it."

The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.

"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."

He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.

But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.

"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."

It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.

So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.

"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.

"Never hear that at work."

"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."

He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.

"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."

Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.

It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.

"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."

That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.

"Think you can handle me?"

The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.

"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.

"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."

On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.

"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.

"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.

A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.

"Marry me."

Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…

"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."

A joke… He was joking.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.

He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck…"

It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.

She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.

"Not gonna last long if ya..-"

The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.

He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.

It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.

He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.

"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.

"You had it coming."

Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.

"Really…"

And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…

"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.

"Judging by how wet you are, it does."

He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.

How the hell could one man be so good at everything…

"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.

This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.

"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.

"Serves you right."

He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.

"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.

That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.

"I- I don't think I can."

It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.

"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."

***

The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.

"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."

She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.

"This time, I just wanted to get back."

It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.

Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.

"Are you blaming yourself?"

"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."

"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."

She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.

He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.

"It's not a good sign," he muttered.

"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.

"Right? Simon?"

"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."

That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.

"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.

"Everyone I love, dies."

She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.

"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."

"Who knows."

The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.

But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.

"I admire your courage."

He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.

"I can't do my job if I'm…"

"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.

She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?

"Well, what about… your mom?"

"Dead."

"You have siblings?"

"Dead."

Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.

"What about friends? Like, off work?"

"Not anymore."

Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.

"You have nobody?"

He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.

"I didn't mean for things to go this far."

All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.

It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.

"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.

He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.

"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.

Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.

"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.

But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.

How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?

She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.

Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.

She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.

"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.

"No. Never. You're–"

She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"

He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.

"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.

After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.

Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.

Simon was resigning.

He was fucking leaving.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.

The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.

Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.

The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.

She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.

She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.

He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.

Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.

But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.

She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.

#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x female reader

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Bound - MAJOR UPDATE

The NEWTs can be quite stressfull. Luckily, professor Sharp knows exactly how to make his young sweetheart relax a bit.

Aah, sweet sweet PWP ❤ Huge thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime @tea-withjamandbread who authored several ideas in this smutty story, and to Maarty for her continuous support 🥰

UPDATE! After I posted this two days ago, I re-read it and realised I hated it. So like 70% of it has been rewritten and almost 2k more words appeared. Oops. So it's basically a new fic 😂

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN, srsly

Bound (14.1k words)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), explicit sexual content, lights bdsm, light bondage, blindfolded, body shots, masturbation, oral sex, vaginal sex, comeplay, dirty talking, pwp, corn with feelings

During the NEWT exams, some classrooms were emptier than others. For example Potions and Transfiguration both held only about twenty-five students each, because of the complexity of the subjects. However, the same could not be said about the Charms classroom. The number of Seventh years who partook in the NEWTs exam in Charms was quite high every year, the subject (and its teacher) was not only popular, but universally demanded in most work fields. This year was no different. In fact, it seemed to break the record. 

You felt like a thousand Galleons once you left the stuffy room. While the Charms classroom was usually a very comfortable place to be, spacious and airy, when filled with nearly sixty nervous young adults, one Hogwarts professor, and two overseers from the ministry, it got quite stifling quite fast. You were rather confident that you did well on the written part of the exam, and you weren’t particularly worried about the practical part that was scheduled for tomorrow, but you knew better than to rest on your laurels. After all, it was one of the things your beloved insisted on instilling within you. So, some extra practice it was - you were certain that he would understand why you sought the warmth of his embrace a little later than usual.

You made your way over to the Owlery to let professor Aesop Sharp know that you would take some time after supper to practise your charms up in the Room of Requirement after dinner, before coming to seek him in his chambers. The summer was blooming, and most of the students were enjoying the warm day, many of them nose deep in their books, preparing for the following exams.  

After you’ve climbed the spiral staircase of the tower, you could see Diana was sitting on one of the perches, watching the other owls around her with mild interest. She hooted in greetings once you came into her field of view, and you approached her immediately, letting your finger lightly scratch under her chin. You were the only one allowed to do so for more than a few seconds. 

 “Hello, girl,” you said softly. A year ago, you didn’t think you’d ever get an owl. The school owls you’d use were, more or less, reliable, and you hardly needed a pet cat, seeing as there were dozens upon dozens of them roaming the castle. You weren’t exactly certain your parents would even allow you to get a pet. You weren’t certain of it even as you handed the nice gentleman a decent sum of money for the impressive greater sooty owl you fell in love with the first time you saw her in that shop. One of your greatest decisions ever, you decided.

 —

 Your mother nearly fainted when you returned from your international travels sporting a large cage containing the dark bird. Diana released several rather frustrated noises every now and then, less than thrilled to have to limit herself to the enclosed space. 

“That thing is not staying,” Father had said after he snapped at Mother to take a hold of herself. “That thing is an owl, father,” you replied defiantly yet calmly. Mind, you knew they most likely wouldn’t be anywhere near as excited as yourself with the purchase, but you had hoped there wouldn’t be any hostility. It would seem you thought wrong. The middle aged man was rather red in the face: “I can bloody well see it’s an owl, (F/N), and it has no place here! This is one of the finest houses in Knightsbridge, not some bloody forest!” You took a deep breath. Damn it, you used the phial of Felix Felicis potion you brewed at the end of the previous term on getting your parents to agree to let you travel by yourself, and left the rest of the potion at Hogwarts. If only you were able to use Accio on it all the way from here… 

“Hyde Park’s just around the corner, father. There are plenty of owls there, so it’s not like anyone would think it strange to see one more flying around. Father, please, it’s only for the following month before I go back to school, you won’t even see or hear her.”

 Your father lifted a finger in the air, but before he could resume talking, your mother’s voice cut in: “Let her keep the bird, Lionel. She already paid money for it, and she’s hardly going back to Australia just to return an owl… and besides, it’s not…it’s not that bad. I hear that the DeWitt fellow from Kensington had a live falcon present at a formal evening he hosted in his house, and it was apparently a big success with the guests.” 

You could hear a small tremble in your hervoice, and she was still watching the owl warily, but at that moment you could nearly hug her. Your father fumed for a few moments, his small eyes switching between Diana, your mother and yourself. Finally, he sighed, looking morosely out of the window: “Fine. But I hear one hoot in the middle of the night, I’m throwing the thing out. What a bloody waste of money…”

You hurried to your room with your new companion, before you could bite back that it was your hard earned money you spent. You didn’t want to risk your father retracting his agreement with Diana staying.

—

You grimaced somewhat at the memory, but then sent a smile Diana’s way: “Don’t you worry, girl, we’re not going back there. I rather think the freedom of the Highlands is more of your style than the busy Hyde Park, isn’t it?” The owl hooted softly, as if agreeing with you. You could hardly blame her - you now knew you were the same.

You then held up your hand, showing Diana the short letter you needed her to deliver. 

“You know who it’s for,” a grin adorned your face and in Diana’s expression, you could see the owl equivalent of a good-natured eyeroll. She offered her leg to you to attach the letter to. 

“You be nice to him,” you waved your forefinger in front of the owl in a cheeky warning, and she responded in kind, by gently nipping at the digit and then swiftly spreading her wings and leaping off the Owlery window, prompting you to chuckle.

You gazed after her for several minutes, lost in thought. You couldn’t believe that less than three weeks separated you from graduation. 

In eighteen days, your time at Hogwarts will be over. You’ll empty your dorm room for one last time, have one last breakfast in the Great Hall as a student, and say many heartfelt farewells to the people you’ve met here over the three years. You would of course stay in contact with your closest friends, like Natty, Poppy, Sebastian and Ominis, and Amit… You’ve been through too much together, too much to just say one last goodbye and begin your lives on your own. But some of the others, like Samantha or Imelda, well, who knew when your paths would cross again. 

-

 Sebastian and Natty were both hoping to catch a job as curse breakers at Gringotts, which would offer them a chance to not only become even more capable wizards than they already were in their own rights, but also see the world, get acquainted with more wizarding cultures. Poppy would be joining her Grandmother in her research, as you knew since the day you first met the girl in Beasts class. And Amit was, along with Adelaide, joining her uncle’s business, his desire to learn more about Goblins not having died down over the years in the slightest.

And Ominis? Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do just yet - and which employer would take him in with his condition - but he seemed happy nevertheless. Similarly to yourself, the last thing he wanted was to return to his family, and having already secured himself a different abode, the lad looked content for the time being.

 However, you were certain you were one of the only ones, if not the only one to stay so close to Hogwarts. Even Sebastian planned to leave Feldcroft behind…Seeing as his once home became no more than an empty house, his uncle dead and his sister gone and refusing to speak with him, nothing but memories of his gravest mistake filling the empty rooms, you could hardly blame the Slytherin for wanting to leave it all behind.

And you? Well, you were all set up, weren’t you. A job already waiting for you, and a small house at the edge of Hogsmeade ready for you to move in. Frankly, you were quite excited at the prospect of living by yourself, setting your own rules, running your little household the way you want to, making the space yours. 

Thanks to professor Weasley being the greatest (deputy) Headmistress, you had a special permission to leave the castle a few weeks back, so that you could apparate to London and get various items of furniture and such for your rented house. 

And, interestingly, the Hogwarts potions master was somehow already present when you suddenly appeared in a little hidden alley a bit away from the Leaky Cauldron. 

And since he was already there, he could perhaps tag along to offer advice as to which items he found appealing and appropriately priced in regards to their quality. And since the two of you were already in Diagon Alley, well, you may just as well nip round back to the Leaky Cauldron for spot of lunch, and then why not take a little stroll in some park, arms linked and bodies joined at the hip, enjoying the cool air of early summer. 

 In a way, it was a little taste of what things were going to be like when the two of you no longer needed to hide, when you were free to show your feelings towards one another openly. And not just that. In a way, one that you were a bit too shy to think about just yet, it was like a taste of what things were going to be like one day, when the two of you would join in a shared life permanently… And somehow, this little secret thought was what made you blush during this little encounter of yours…

-

Dinner itself was rather uneventful - every so often, your eyes would travel up to the High table and over to the professor. Occasionally, he was already looking back at you with a small smile on his face, sometimes he was focusing either on his own meal, or on one of his colleagues sitting next to him, chatting. However, it seemed the potions master had the ability to feel your eyes on him, for after a few seconds his head would turn your way, and his own dark eyes bore into your own. 

And each time they did, you felt a little shiver run through you. 

 Somehow you managed to actually climb all the stairs leading onto the Seventh floor instead of immediately sneaking off into Aesop’s rooms following supper.

You made your way towards the training room that materialised in the Room of Requirement the previous year. The large chamber never ceased to amaze you with its ingenuity - as you finished your descent down the stairs, you found the room nearly empty with only one item in the middle. An item you recognised instantly - it was one of the puzzles you’d solve during the Merlin trials! 

Excited, you took off your blazer and rolled up your sleeves, so as to achieve maximum mobility and comfort. 

 ‘Flipendo ,’ you cast on the upper stone non-verbally, piecing together which way you have to turn it. And once you did, once the symbols matched, the whole thing just disappeared into thin air, leaving another object there in its stead - this time it was a broken statue, and you knew what to do immediately.

You sent spell after spell at the various items that appeared before you. You were handling yourself quite well too, being able to react quickly and send the correct enchantment. There was a brief moment of panic at one point, as the room suddenly filled up to the brim with water, which made casting the bubble head charm that much harder, but otherwise you felt confident and calm. 

You only just finished casting a perfect performed Descendo upon a floating training dummy, when you were suddenly plunged into darkness. Quickly casting Lumos, you realised that you were stuck in some sort of… cavern? A stony cavern, that was for certain, and a seemingly inescapable one. A frown riddled your brow.

Stone, stone, what to do with being stuck in a stony prison? 

At first, you tried to transfigure one of the rocks that seemed to be closing you in into a smaller object, which hadn’t worked. Depulso had a similarly dissatisfactory effect. Casting Bombarda or Confingo would’ve been entirely too dangerous to even try in this situation, as they would both recoil off the stone and hurt you… 

It took you a few more seconds until you remembered: the Gouging charm, of course! 

You pointed your wand at one of the stones again and thought as hard as you could: ‘Defodio.’ However, that didn’t seem to do the trick either. But the spell was correct! It had to be! You weren’t aware of there being a different spell you could use in this situation, and as Revelio did not reveal anything special about the stones that had you trapped, you were even more certain that the Gouging charm was the correct one… You just had to cast it right…You squeezed your jaw tighter and tried again.

 ‘Defodio!’

 And again, nothing. Damn it!

You were beginning to feel a little nervous if you were to be honest. The space you were in was rather tight and not exactly well ventilated, and as you attempted to cast the spell again and again, drops of sweat appeared at your hairline.

 “Defodio!” you cried out loud desperately, but all that followed was a light pop, as if a small pebble popped in half somewhere among the rocks. 

 Dear heavens…

Would the Room let you out if you couldn’t perform the spell? Or would you stay trapped inside, slowly losing precious oxygen until you suffocated? Surely not! Deek would come looking for you sooner or later certainly. He’d find you, he’d hopefully be able to get the Room to drop the spell it trapped you with. Wouldn’t he?

“Defodio,” you barely heard, the voice sounding terribly muffled. You had to actually shield your eyes as the stones around you began opening up and the light of the room hit you. 

After a few seconds during which your eyes grew used to the light once more, you finally saw the source of the successfully done spell. Aesop Sharp stood some ten feet away from you, wand raised and a little concerned expression on his ruggedly handsome face. 

 You finally managed to catch your breath which you didn’t even realise grew so laboured and fast during your uncomfortable stay within the cavern: “Th-thank you…”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes, waiting for you to calm down, and only then he spoke, his voice soft and gentle: “Are you alright, (F/N)?” 

You felt colour rush into your cheeks and embarrassment seep to your gut. Your eyes fell to the ground in shame. As if sensing your thoughts, the professor spoke again: “This is a very complicated spell, (F/N), even for many experienced wizards - there’s no point beating yourself over not being able to cast it non-verbally,” he came a little closer, and touched your shoulder with his free hand, his thumb rubbing small circles through your shirt.

“As you perhaps heard just now, I didn’t manage to cast it verbally either,” you replied, your voice quiet. Goodness, and here you were, feeling so bloody confident about the practical exam… What if this spell appeared among those you’ll be examined from? What if you fail then like you failed just now? Could one spell ruin the entire exam?

 “Darling, whatever you’re thinking right now, stop,” Aesop spoke, his large warm hand sliding down your arm until it reached your own hand, and curled around it soothingly: “not being to perform the spell non-verbally several times coupled with being very much stuck inside a pile of rocks is not exactly good on the psyche - I bet by the time you decided to speak the spell out loud, you weren’t nearly as focused on the correct hand movements as before, were you?”

 You didn’t say anything. He was right, though - during your last attempt to cast the spell verbally, you were sort of just wildly flailing your arm rather than doing the short, jerky wrist movement that the spell required. 

 “Let’s try something…” Aesop said, and then stored his wand away. He moved to stand behind you, wrapping his left arm around your waist and taking a hold of your right hand with his own. 

You let him move your hand until it was pointed forward. More rocks materialised out of nowhere and formed something of a small mountain right in the middle of the room. “Why don’t you try to send the spell non-verbally again? If it doesn’t work, take ten seconds to breathe deeply and calm down, then try again. And if that doesn’t work either, another ten second pause, and then send it verbally. The important thing is to perform the spell itself. Non-verbal casting does get you bonus points, but you’ll hardly be chastised if you speak your spells. However, if you stress yourself out because you’re unable to cast the spell without saying the incantation, you’ll find it difficult to cast the spell verbally as well.”

He then gently began moving your hand in the pattern of the Gouging charm, just making sure you remembered the proper movement, before he moved his head to be able to whisper into your ear: “Go on and try. And remember what I told you.” 

You shivered a little at the feeling of his hot damp breath upon your skin.  

You concentrated your hardest upon the stone formation, moved your wand in the pattern he made you practise again earlier, and thought your loudest ‘Defodio’. 

And… nothing.

“Alright - that was a fair enough try,” he spoke, calmly and far from critically, “I could feel your magic, but it was not enough. It was not concentrated enough. Breathe, my sweet,” Aesop whispered again, “Close your eyes, count to ten, and breathe deeply, in and out.”

So you did. You closed your eyes and began counting slowly, timing your breaths so that they were slow, deep and steady.

 “Alright - now focus. Imagine the stones already broken in half, an entrance forming among them, and only when you can clearly see it in your mind’s eye, that’s when you send the spell.”

You listened to the teacher, letting his close proximity calm you down enough to be able to once more fully focus. You stared unblinking at the small mountain in the middle of the room, trying to imagine it opening up into a cavern. 

Just like when you were standing before a treasure vault, or perhaps an ancient tomb in the Highlands, an entrance materialising right in front of you, after you’ve sent the correct spell on the stony key cube. “Steady,” Aesop whispered again.

 ‘Defodio,’ you commanded in your mind, your wrist turning in that jerky pattern, and suddenly…

Crackling and popping could be heard, and a hole started to form in the midst of the rock formation, soon reminding you of an actual entrance to a cave. You couldn’t help but turn your head to grin at Aesop, finding him grinning back at you already. Both his arms now curled around your waist: “Splendid job!” He pressed several prickly kisses on the skin of your neck, prompting you to giggle breathlessly.

 “My knight in shining armour,” you breathed out, leaning into your beloved further, “first you save me from suffocating in The Cavern of Certain Doom, then you save my performance tomorrow… Although I don’t know how we’re going to arrange you standing behind me while I cast this spell,” you finished with a small chuckle, your hands coming to cover his own around your midsection. 

“You’re in luck,” Aesop simply replied, “this spell is not among those that are used during the exam. I can’t tell you anything else, unfortunately. However, I had the chance to watch you for a while before your unfortunate rocky situation, and I wholeheartedly believe you’ve got nothing to fear tomorrow. You’ll be brilliant.” 

You smiled and fully succumbed to the comfort of his embrace. “Not as brilliant as you are,” was your whispered answer as you let your head drop to his shoulder in a silent invitation. One look at your parted lips was all it took for Aesop to seize the moment. His lips moulded against yours in a passionate kiss not a second later.

You pocketed your wand quickly to be able to turn around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. Soon your fingers found their place in his hair, and you promptly began messing it up, dragging your fingernails through the soft locks. You accepted his tongue in your mouth shortly after, letting the older man taste you to his heart’s content and ravish your mouth as he saw fit. 

One of his hands came to take hold of the underside of your thigh, and he effortlessly lifted your leg up to place it over his hip. You lost your balance somewhat, but Aesop held on tight, his strong arms rendering you standing upright right where you were, as well as making you very aware of the effect your heated snogging had on him through this very close proximity. 

You managed to stifle the groan that threatened to escape you, but weren’t able to stop yourself from tugging on his hair harder, which in turn made him produce an unintelligible noise into your own mouth. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” he breathed out, closing his hand tighter on the flesh of your thigh, pressing you even closer, “if we don’t stop now, I think I might actually ravish you right here on the floor. Which I wouldn’t be exactly opposed to, mind, but I’d rather not traumatise our house elf friend was he to appear. For one. 

“For two, the ground is hardly a very comfortable place to rest afterwards…”

Your breath caught in your throat at his sultry voice. A few chosen words, and here you were, quite ready to actually really let him take you right there, right now. 

You were both torn from your little game of seduction by a series of loud sounds coming from one end of the room. You swiftly turned your heads in that direction, watching in bewilderment as a door appeared out of nothing. It was no ordinary door, though - it was camouflaged to look like the wall around it, and had it been closed, you could barely see it was there at all. 

From the entrance of the training room, it was virtually invisible.

“I swear, if that is what I think it is, I’m about to start really doubting this place, “Aesop said with a disbelieving expression on his face, “Vivariums to breed bloody Graphorns is one thing, but making a whole new room solely so that a professor can make love to his student sweetheart on a surface more comfortable than a stone floor? Now that’s ever so slightly questionable.”

You couldn’t help the small fit of giggles that overtook you then. Aesop watched in mild amusement as you covered your mouth. 

“You know,” you said once your laughter died down, “that’s what this place is all about; it provides without judgement. You really need to use the loo, it creates the loo. It feels like you could do with a bath, it makes a bathtub… And now here we are, the two of us very much needing a nice, comfortable and private space, and, of course, the Room is ready to provide.”

The professor pulled back slightly, a sly smirk on his lips as his hands kneaded the flesh of your hips. “Well… In that case, we’d be quite ungrateful not to make use of whatever the Room prepared for us, wouldn’t we?”

Without warning, your feet left the ground as the potions master bent to toss you over his broad shoulder. You barely avoided a collision with his strong back by bracing your hands against it.

 “Aesop!” you squealed out, only prompting him to chuckle smugly and use his free hand to swat gently at your buttocks. “You absolutely incorrigible man…” you sighed then, accepting your fate. You were unable to deny that there was something completely exhilarating about being manhandled like this. 

Several months ago, Aesop would’ve needed at least two phials of Wiggenweld potion to be able to just toss you over his shoulder and walk with you like this without doubling over in pain. However, following the extensive exercising he did while his leg was on the mend, Aesop felt healthier and stronger than ever, and he carried you like you weighed nothing at all.

From your position, you were only aware that Aesop was carrying you towards the newly formed room, but you couldn’t see a thing, despite attempting to turn around as much as your current position allowed you. Finally, the professor stopped in his tracks and whistled: “Well I never… this looks quite enticing indeed…”

Slowly and carefully he lowered you down until your feet once again touched the ground, his hands seemingly accidentally lifting your skirt slightly in the process, running over the backs of your thighs. 

You immediately turned around to see the new room for yourself, and grinned wide right away. Oh yes, you thought, this was indeed quite lovely.

The new room was bathed in a soft moonlight, and there were at least a dozen candles placed around on the various surfaces within. The flames of the candles danced and swayed slowly, creating a very tantalising atmosphere. There were several pieces of furniture. Before the artificial window stood two comfortable looking armchairs, and to the side of the room was a dresser, a white basin with a matching water jug and a few washcloths upon it. 

However, the obvious centrepiece of the room was a (very) large and beautiful bed, with intricate details adorning its dark wooden frame, and covered with deep purple sheets giving off a silky shine. It looked incredibly inviting, and you had to restrain yourself from jumping straight among the copious amount of pillows.

The Room of Requirement outdid itself indeed, it was one of the most beautiful if not the most beautiful bedroom you ever laid your eyes on, and it seemed Aesop agreed with you in this regard: “Now I feel a little self-conscious about your first time being among the mismatched chaos of my aunt’s cottage to be honest…” 

You could not help but grin at the teacher: “Oh, I thought it was quite charming, actually! However, rest assured that it matters very little to me whether we are at your aunt’s cottage, in your chambers, or in this spectacular room. I’m just glad to be there with you.” 

Aesop smiled at your words with the kind of smile that always made butterflies flutter within your stomach, and this time was no exception. You never understood his insistence that you deserved better, someone younger, better looking, who hadn’t made as many mistakes as he. 

In your eyes, he was perfect in his imperfections, and handsome beyond all reason.

You barely noticed your hand glide over his prickly cheek, your thin finger tracing the edge of his lips. His eyes fluttered a little under your tender touch, and his look was devoted and filled with adoration. And when you suddenly gripped his tie just below its knot and pulled him towards you, you were quite surprised to feel a very similar sensation. 

Aesop too held onto your blue and bronze Ravenclaw tie, and he also used it to pull you closer for a passionate, nearly bruising kiss.

The kiss was much too short however, as Aesop parted your lips mere seconds later in order to release a hearty chuckle, for he noticed your accidental synchronisation as well. The pause before another kiss was not horribly long though, and soon the professor was very much snogging the living daylights out of you, something you definitely didn’t mind.

“You know,” he murmured during one of your brief breaks for air, voice low and a little hoarse, “you gave me something of an idea…”  

“Oh? What sort of idea?” you mumbled in reply, your fingers slowly probing at the lapels of his overcoat before sneaking down to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat. The potions master was smiling as he watched your growing desire, and his grin widened even further upon your whispered question. His dominant hand once more closed around your tie, now over the knot itself, and pulled down. The tie grew looser around your neck until it slipped from its knot entirely, remaining hanging in Aesop’s hold. 

“You see, I wondered whether I could perhaps make use of this. And my own tie as well… Tie you by the wrists to the bedposts, spread you nice and wide for me, then have fun making you come apart for me again, and again, and again…” he purred into your ear, marking the end of his sentence with a quick nip at your earlobe, prompting you to shudder noticeably. 

“So?” he whispered again, “what do you say?”

The smug bastard, you thought, grinning. He knew very, very well just by looking at you, that refusal of his proposal was the very last thing on your mind, the first electricity like impulses of impending lust fluttering through your core. Aesop smiled and started kissing a hot trail over your throat, but otherwise made no further advances.

“I need an answer, my love…I need you to say it,” he reminded after another minute or two, and you belatedly understood his restraint in taking things further just yet. 

“Y-yes, Aesop” you finally replied, voice a little shakier than before. 

“Good,” came out of his mouth as little more than a sigh, and his hands slid up to begin undoing your crisp white shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked under the waistband of your skirt in the process. You watched almost mesmerised as his large long fingers made easy work of the small, delicate buttons, all the while his mouth latched onto your neck again. 

He kissed the newly uncovered skin after he’d slipped the soft shirt down your shoulders. Hot tongue glided over your collarbones and the clever fingers slid down the sides of your bosom before taking hold of your waist. His head dropped further and he nuzzled his face into the cleavage of your chemise before kissing at the path in-between your breasts, as much as the silky material covering them allowed him anyway.

He raised his eyes slowly and waited until your gazes connected. While his cheeks were slightly flushed and his dark eyes made even darker by the growing arousal, there was also that cheeky glint within them you were so fond of witnessing. It made another shiver run through your frame. The reason was simple: every other time Aesop had this look in his eyes, you knew he was going to say or do something that would plaster a nearly permanent grin on your face. Utter some deeply ironic quip, long-suffering comment concerning his students, or offer some rather cheesy pick up line. 

However, when he got this look in his eyes as the two of you were about to retire to the sheets, it meant a single thing: You were not leaving this bed tonight.

He bent even further, his lips making contact with one of your nipples, which was visibly perked under the thin chemise following his previous actions. The sharp sting of his crooked teeth on the sensitive tissue made a barely audible mewl escape your open mouth, and when your lover’s tongue circled the teat through the undergarment, your knees buckled somewhat.

 His chuckle against the now damp material of your undershirt didn’t help much either. 

“I can see we best get you to a seating position… Can’t have you tumble down for me just yet, now can we…” he said, sounding very satisfied with himself. 

He guided you to the edge of the bed and sat you down. The mattress felt firm yet comfortable, but you didn’t really have time to ponder about it for too long, as the potions master kneeled before you. He took hold of one of your feet and propped it up on his upper thigh so that he could unfasten the laces on your boot. And once he did, his large hands slid over your leg appreciatively, fingers teasing at the stocking covering it. Your skirt was lifted a bit to reveal the soft, milky skin of your upper thighs, as well as the simple elastic garter holding the hose up. 

Aesop made quick work of it, and seemed to be immensely enjoying slowly peeling both the garter and the stocking off your leg, dragging his nose and lips over the skin of your knee, your shin, your instep. The discarded clothes landed somewhere on the floor behind him, and he focused his attention on your other leg. 

Once you were completely barefoot, he raised a single finger in a silent request for you to give him a moment. He shifted to sit on the ground instead, and started undoing his own heavy boots, haphazardly throwing them to the side once they were loose enough for him to slip his feet out of them. With a barely audible grunt, he stood up again, rose to his full height, and made the height difference between the two of you greater than ever. 

There was a small predatory glint in his eyes as he towered over you, but he remained so gentle still, raising his hand to merely caress your cheek with utmost gentleness. You happily leaned into his touch, turning your head a bit to be able to press a kiss against the heel of his palm. 

“I’m going to need you to scoot further back on the bed, love” he requested in a quiet, unreadable voice, but you didn’t hesitate to comply. 

You only just managed to sit back enough for your entire body to be upon the bed, before your back made sudden contact with the mattress behind you. As it turned out, as soon as there was enough space on the bed, the potions master nearly leapt up upon it and on top of you with the ferocity of a wild thing, using his hands to pin yours above your head on the mattress, before rendering your entire body immobile using his body weight. You felt the low rumble of his laughter all over you, saw the irresistible smirk on his mouth, his face right above yours. Without further ado, you connected your lips again.

You couldn’t help but grin when he finished the kiss with a playful nip at your lower lip and scooted back in order to rid you of the rest of your garments. He popped open the button of your skirt, and unabashedly tugged it down along with your drawers. 

“Aesop Sharp, you truly are an insatiable man…” you muttered amusedly, prompting the teacher to snort. Soon, his palms again covered your thighs and began sliding up, excruciatingly slow, pushing the chemise up inch by inch. He always did this part slowly, almost reverently, lapping up your naked form with his eyes just like he did that very first night… 

And like that first night, you were justly bothered by the obviously unfair difference between your states of undress. You were quite ready to comment on it too, after the last piece of your clothing joined its companions on the floor, but found yourself speechless after your lover moved to straddle your waist, your previously discarded tie in hand along with his own. When did he even take it off?

“May I, dear?” he asked again, taking your hand and moving it above you at a slow pace, in case you had changed your mind about the whole thing. 

You felt your face burn as you nodded: “Yes, Aesop…”

Soon thereafter, Aesop was securing your left wrist to one of the bedposts using your Ravenclaw tie. You noted how careful he was tying you to the bed, constantly making sure the tie wasn’t squeezing your wrist tight enough to cut off your blood flow, but also that there was no way for your hand to get free following any sudden harsh movements. Your other hand was promptly taken care of as well, and Aesop moved back to sit across your hips and admire his handiwork.

The obvious hunger in his eyes made more blood rush into your cheeks, and your hands balled into loose fists.

You were completely naked before him, physically and mentally, vulnerable and defenceless… And yet you felt entirely comfortable with the situation. You felt exhilarated and excited as to what Aesop was about to do to you. The man himself seemed content to simply touch and observe you for a while, his warm hands caressing your body everywhere he could reach, mapping your curves, connecting your freckles and moles using his fingers. 

“Might have to re-tie you later,” he mused out loud in a low voice when he dragged his digits over your arms, making your body break out in goose flesh and making you squirm slightly at the ticklish sensation. “Oh?” you asked, your eyelids heavy with anticipation. You didn’t expect his next words to make a tremble run through you, but they sure did: “in case I want to flip you on your hands and knees instead…” 

Seeing your reaction, another predatory grin spread on Aesop’s features: “Oh, this is going to be fun… For now, though, I think it’s only fair you’re not the only one disrobed.”

Aesop began to take off his clothes then. First to go were his overcoat, jacket, and the waistcoat you unbuttoned previously, all of which the potions master shook down and away in one go. However, then he must’ve decided that a bit more teasing is in order, and each following article of clothing was removed slower than the last one. Aesop was fixing you with a smug smirk as he slowly shrugged the suspenders off his shoulders, and started unbuttoning his own white shirt. 

You licked your lips and your fingers flexed on their own accord as he revealed his hirsute chest.

That made him grin even more. He knew you loved to touch him, that you loved to run your nimble fingers through the hair on his breast, to pull on it, to bury your face in it to inhale his scent. He loved when you did that too. However, right now he was rather enjoying witnessing you like this even more.You remained silent but inhaled shakingly when he started to unfasten his trousers, revealing the sizable bulge in his pants.

A relieved little sigh left his mouth: “Finally. Those were getting uncomfortably tight… Then again, I hope to get into something even tighter later…” The potions master slowly untied the lace of his pants and slowly pulled them down.

His erection sprung out from its cottony confines, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. Your thighs squeezed together as much as they were able to, considering the tall man was still straddling you, and you found yourself perhaps slightly desperate to continue.

Just seeing Aesop like this, half naked, his large cock throbbing, his inhibitions tossed out of the window, and his gaze positively ravenous did inexplicable things to you. Your already swift heartbeat quickened up further and your womanhood dampened with sheer lust. 

You watched in fascination as his own fingers wrapped around the stiff penis, and he began to stroke himself slowly. Merlin, while you weren’t able to touch him, you could recall the feel of him inside of your hand perfectly, the organ hot and thrumming under your fingertips, getting even more sensitive at its mushroom-like pink tip, out of which a small clear droplet of fluid spilled already.  

He shifted somewhat and used his feet to spread your legs a little bit, just enough for him to slide the shaft into the gap that appeared between your thighs, dragging it through your damp folds and over your swelling lovebud deliciously. A noise so quiet you almost struggled to hear it yourself snuck out from your throat and you swallowed heavily, squirming at the teasing. He pumped his hips a few times, enjoying the sweet friction and riling you up further. 

He chuckled then, though it was audible in his voice that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he perhaps pretended to be. His breath was definitely shorter than it had been, and the rise of his eyebrows was absolutely unmistakable.  

He remained stationary for a little while, nestled within your legs, before a low chuckle rolled through him: “My apologies, dear, I seem to be getting terribly ahead of myself.” He braced his arms on the mattress next to your ribs, and slightly awkwardly climbed off the bed, mindful not to trip over his own undone trousers.

He removed his socks, then fully took off the dark breeches, his drawers soon following. He took his sweet time carefully folding each discarded article of clothing, which contrasted with all the other clothes that were haphazardly thrown on the floor previously. 

You watched his every move; someone as tall as Aesop shouldn’t be able to be this elegant in their movements, especially so during an activity as simple as removing one’s clothing, yet he managed perfectly. It was actually nearly mesmerising to watch him.

You heard a dark chuckle when he turned to the dresser to place his folded clothes onto it: “Oh, Room of Requirement indeed! This is exactly what I was thinking about just now,” he said, seemingly more to himself than to you. He slowly turned around to show you what he discovered on the piece of furniture. It was a long stripe of soft-looking deep green fabric, a little wider than a ribbon. It took you several seconds to understand what he intended to do, by which point he was already sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “What do you think? Do you trust me, my love?” he asked gently, reaching out to touch your hot cheek, calloused fingertips dancing over the smooth flushed skin in gentle patterns. You thought about the idea for a little while, swallowing nervously. It all came down to a simple fact: 

You did trust him. You trusted him absolutely.

You didn’t really know what to expect from the experience of being both bound and blindfolded, though. What if not being able to touch him, or even see him at all would make it uncomfortable for you? Or what if the lack of sight would make the sensations too intense? It was yet another unknown for you. But then again, so was sex itself mere months ago. And Aesop was so completely brilliant, guiding you through all of it, holding your hand, and being so patient and sweet with you. Every single day, you discovered together what worked for one and didn’t for the other, staying respectful of one another’s boundaries and feelings.

It was so easy with Aesop. It was amazing with him. 

You knew you needn’t have ever worried. After all -

“If anything starts being too much, if it gets uncomfortable, even a little bit, just say the word and I’ll immediately stop and release you,” Aesop said sincerely, still stroking your cheek tenderly. You couldn’t help but smile at him, channelling all of your love for this man with your eyes.: “I trust you completely, Ace.”

The professor grinned in reply, his hand squeezing the piece of fabric a bit tighter. He leaned down to place a single kiss on your pliant mouth, and then tied the blindfold around your head. It indeed was as soft  and smooth as it appeared, but it blocked out way more light than you would’ve thought a thin stripe of cloth like this one could. That is, you were suddenly plunged into absolute darkness, which disoriented you momentarily.

Nothing happened for at least a full minute, no touching, no kissing, if you didn’t hear Aesop’s soft breathing right in front of you, you would’ve nearly thought he left, which was of course silly.

But then… First thing you felt was a warm body descending upon your own once more, both enticingly and comfortingly, a pair of arms coming to curl around your back. Then, a hot pair of lips claiming yours in a slow kiss. Finally, his breath teased at your earlobe again: “Could you do me a favour, dear?” he asked, sounding more playful than ever. Your mind felt quite clouded over, but you managed a very eloquent ‘huh?’. However, even in your heavily distracted state, you were sure that smug smile was still plastered on his face: “Would you please test your restraints for me?”

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips, but you decided to humour him anyway. At first you tugged at the neckties in several short bursts. That, unsurprisingly, did absolutely nothing. So you decided to truly try, and put your entire strength into an attempt to loosen the restraints enough to get free. You were sweating and breathless by the time you realised there was no way for you to get your hands free. Without magic, that is. 

“So, my dear… Are you able to free yourself?” Aesop whispered against your lips, his large nose dragging against your own in a manner that was contrastingly cute compared to the delectably filthy sound of his voice and the even filthier unspoken promise.

 “No, I’m not.”

”Good.” 

And not a second later were you gasping in surprise which swiftly turned into a moan of pleasure as the professor’s mouth latched itself onto your breast, his teeth worrying your sensitive nipple rather roughly. Aesop bit and he sucked in the way he knew you loved, and he always did so until it became nearly painful, at which point he stopped and focused his attention on your other nipple, giving it the same treatment. 

Normally, you’d be dragging your fingers through his hair and tugging on it, but now all you were able to do was to squirm and accept his merciless ministrations. Every now and then he pulled away slightly in order to blow cool air onto the teat, prompting it to harden even further than it already was.

You could only imagine your nipples being raw red and swollen when he finally lifted his head up again. They felt so very tender, and your quim was throbbing longingly. “Now what do we have here?” he asked lightly, clearly enjoying himself immensely, “another lovely thing I can use…” 

Did the Room create another object? What could it be? 

You gasped loudly when something cold and liquidy hit your collarbone and poured down between your breasts to further spill down your sides and into the little hollow of your belly button. A strong scent hit you then - is that Firewhisky?! While you didn’t enjoy the taste of the liquor, you couldn’t deny its smell and the alcoholic vapour combined with your current state of arousal made for one sensual mix. 

And the mix was made even more sensual when Aesop’s mouth proceeded to lick the alcohol from your skin, being very meticulous in his effort not to let a single drop go to waste. After he’d finished by drinking the last few drops from your belly button, he gave a satisfied grunt: “Hm, my sweet - I don’t think I ever want to drink Firewhisky a different way…”

You were now able to hear soft sounds of skin on skin, and another small sigh left your mouth. You truly wished you could see him, as you didn’t doubt he looked completely delectable. In your mind’s eye, you did see him; he was half hovering over you, half kneeling upon the bed between your own legs, slowly stroking himself while he played you like a violin, plucking at all the right strings. He repeated the process a few more times, pouring and licking the liquor off your body, mindful that it didn't get onto the more sensitive bits, all the while audibly pumping himself and groaning at the combined sensations.

It was complete and utter hedonism, and bloody hell you loved it…

“A-Aesop…” you sighed. You could smell his musk and the Firewhisky, and it was driving you positively ravenous. Not being able to touch him or even see him was only adding to the desperation. “Hmm? What is it, my sweet?” came from above your navel, Aesop’s breath cooling the damp skin and making you shiver, the words very nearly purred. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. You didn’t actually know what exactly you wanted to ask for - the only thought on your mind was him. You just wanted more of him.

There was a bit of shuffling; you felt the change in pressure on the mattress around you, and soon he was straddling you again, this time higher up your chest. He was very careful not to actually sit on you and potentially squeeze something too much. His scent got stronger, and the soft sounds of his hand languidly sliding over his shaft louder. “What would you like, dear?” 

You could feel your cheeks redden impossibly, and were all of a sudden a bit glad for the fact that you couldn’t see him. Noiselessly you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out obscenely. A chuckle was your sole answer before long fingers slid into your hair to stroke it: “I rather think it’s my turn to make you feel good, sweetheart, not vice versa,” he said quietly, but you couldn’t mistake the little tremble in his voice. 

“Please…” you whispered back, before opening your mouth again. Aesop’s hand slid back from your hair and he caressed  your cheek instead, before putting two fingers on your tongue and making you open your mouth even more. You instantly any recognised the next thing to touch your tongue. You closed your lips around the engorged glans, and began to run your tongue around it, rolling it in your mouth and worrying at the slit at the top. You then hollowed out your cheeks to add suction to the movements of your tongue on him. 

His breath shuddered, and the hand on your cheeks tensed somewhat when you began bobbing your head up and down as much as you were able to in your position, releasing soft groans every time you managed to take him in further. Soon his own hips joined into the slow rhythm, and he used his hand to guide your head along even further.

The musky scent of him, the slightly salty taste, his beautiful sounds, oh, he was absolutely intoxicating. You licked along the defined veins of his cock, no doubt looking a right slobbering mess, but neither of you were capable of caring. If your hands were free, you'd be gently kneading at his bollocks, or perhaps toying with his nipples, but you had to admit, being restrained like this made for a very heady experience as well…

“Mhm, f-fuck,” he grit out before a hard thrust forward, one that guided him all the way in. You felt the tickle of his pubic hair on your nose, felt him twitch inside of your throat. You breathed deeply, fighting your gag reflex, the fabric covering your eyes dampening slightly with the tears that burst out following your efforts. You swallowed around the heavy prick, prompting another choked sound from your lover. 

The hand that was holding your cheek before tangled into your hair, and closed into a fist around it just enough to make you feel the pull, but not any pain. “I could just come right now-” he said, his voice low and dripping with pleasure, “paint the inside of your throat…” Your eyes fluttered under the blindfold. You wouldn't mind. The few times he allowed you to actually finish him using your mouth were completely glorious. “But that’s no fun, considering I’m planning to ruin you before I even fill that sweet little cunny of yours…”

 And then, with what seemed like a lot of effort, Aesop loosened his hand on your hair and pulled back and out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva clinging onto his tip still before separating, and falling unceremoniously down on your neck.

You heard him breath heavily for a few minutes, calming himself down a bit to be able to carry on with your little play. He moved back so that his legs framed yours again and his hands braced on the mattress on each side of your head.

 “I rather think it’s time to make you cry out for me , my dear.”

 Before you were able to gather your bearings, he claimed your lips in a filthy hot kiss, his tongue probing and penetrating, immediately overpowering your own into submission. You could taste the Firewhiskey he lapped up off your skin, and were sure he could taste himself on your tongue. You only sighed into the incredible kiss, letting him take absolutely everything he could possibly want. “You are driving me mad, (F/N)...” he muttered against your lips, a sense of urgency in his words, and ran his hands over your arms. They were beginning to feel quite numb if you were honest, but Aesop’s touch still made your skin break out in gooseflesh, and the promise of more pleasure to come made you completely uncaring towards any numbness.

Using his hand, Aesop turned your head to the side to be able to bite down on your pulse point, and he once more began to descend down your form. A trail of kisses and little bites led him back to your breasts, and he couldn't resist flicking his tongue over your poor, oversensitive teats, which made you whine quietly and toss your head around a little. Your thighs were rubbing against one another unconsciously, as you were trying to bring at least a little bit of friction to your soaking wet cunt. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, love,” Aesop said once he noticed your efforts, some of his smugness seeping back now that he wasn’t root-deep in your throat, and forced his own leg between yours, “as I said - my turn.”

You felt terribly cold when he pulled away somewhat, immediately missing the warmth of his strong body. Your legs were then mercilessly spread open, exposing your nearly aching womanhood to the cool air of the chamber and making you gasp. You heard what sounded like a growl leave the man who was currently digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of your thighs where he held them, no doubt leaving small bruises in his wake. 

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he mumbled, further opening your legs, “I wish you could see yourself right now… See yourself the way I see you… So beautiful. So sweet and lovely, all spread out like this. Like a feast ready to be devoured...” 

A single finger slipped across your seam, dipping within your folds teasingly before dragging over your swollen clitoris. “You are absolutely drenched,” Aesop remarked, the urgency in his voice coming back. Though he said his words lightly, airily almost, you could feel what felt like a snare drum in your veins. You were like prey face to face with a predator, and you knew that he would strike any second now. Your thighs trembled in anticipation.

And while you half expected it, it still caught you unawares when he lunged down, burying his face between your thighs. His lips, tongue and teeth all at once began an intense assault on your most primal senses, the relief of having your need finally attended to combined with the need itself forced a choked cry out of your throat, and for a second you couldn't comprehend why you couldn’t feel his hair between your fingers, when your hand was clearly reaching for it. 

No, your hands were instead balled into tight fists and you shuddered violently. Your lover was groaning in pleasure as he licked and sucked at your damp skin before letting his tongue delve into your fluttering opening, one of his hands letting go of your leg and coming in to help. His calloused thumb quickly found your lovebud, and began to rub it in a circular motion, in the same rhythm in which his tongue thrusted inside you.

Because of the absence of sight, it was like you could feel every single sensation twice as intense. Aesop’s little grunts as he devoured you, his thumb relentlessly worrying at your clitoris, that sweet, sweet sting of his beard on your tender skin, and the complete inability to do anything about any of these things, bound as you were, made the little electric sparks that announced an impending climax approach much quicker than usual. Mind, Aesop was perfectly capable of making you come within mere minutes, but the teacher was fond of taking his sweet time riling you up, and in turn making sure you were ready for him to fully take you. 

Two fingers pushed in alongside his tongue in search of that hidden bundle of nerves that never failed to make you moan for him. And find it they did, swiftly and precisely. 

You didn’t expect the orgasm to rip through you the moment the tips of his digits bumped into it, but here you were, crying out embarrassingly loudly and arching your neck and back as much as you were able to, while your toes curled and the sudden pleasure made your body feel like it was on fire. It was obvious your lover didn’t exactly expect it either, if his little gasp was anything to go by. His mouth left you, but his hands remained where they were, the fingers inside you actually pushing against your walls with every contraction of them, stretching them open. 

“My, my…” he said a little smugly as you still writhed under the sensations, your breathing laboured and your heartbeat almost too loud for you to hear him, “that was quite unexpected. However, very, very much welcomed. In fact, I rather think I’d like to do that again.” And without further warning and without you having any time to come down from your high, the teacher dove right back, his mouth returning to your entrance, and his devilishly clever hands doubling their intense assault. And just like that, you were thrown right back into the toe-curling sensations, your body so bloody sensitive, yielding to Aesop like he was its true master. Despite having just climaxed less than two minutes ago, you felt bloody close to the edge once more, and Aesop seemed hellbent on mercilessly shoving you over it again, lapping up at your fluttering entrance like a man starved.

Then however, as his fingers started to pump quicker inside you, making sure to hit that spot again and again, his mouth was forced to retreat, and he instead used it to suck at your lovebud instead. 

Another sudden and earth-shattering orgasm flooded over you in a truly ridiculously short amount of time, and now you were trembling all over, your thighs shaking nearly violently. You weren’t even aware of the surely whorish sounds you were producing, but your sweetheart obviously appreciated them, for you heard him growl: “That’s it, my sweet - sing for me…” 

This time he didn’t stop his ministrations even for a second as you came on his fingers and mouth a second time, and you remained a moaning, blubbering mess. You could feel a film of sweat covering your inflamed form, your own heart hammering in your ears louder that the bells of the Bell tower.

It was… It was actually becoming too much in the span of such a short time, and you were beginning to feel a bit dizzy from the unstopping pleasure, overstimulation setting in. Your dry throat burned from the sounds you made, and as yet another orgasm approached you, fast, intense, and feeling destructive, you knew that your limit would have been reached after that. 

So you gathered up all of your strength, all of the sense you were able to muster at the moment (which wasn’t a lot but it was hopefully enough for you to be able to say a single word), and you took several shallow breaths, fighting more moans that were bubbling in your throat.

“J- ah! J-Jobberknoll!” you managed to squeak out before another powerful burst of pleasure rolled through you and you cried out once more, the cloth over your eyes once again getting wet with your tears, the sensations too much.

Too much! Too much!

However, less than two seconds later, it all stopped entirely, the fingers retreating from your pulsing heat, the mouth ravishing your clit disappearing, and a pair of strong arms taking gentle hold of your hips instead. You shuddered out a soft sound of relief. 

One of those strong hands softly touched your face and caressed your cheek. “Are you alright, (F/N)?” Aesop asked, the concern in his voice winning over the obvious arousal, “did I hurt you?”

 It took you at least a minute but possibly even more to gather your wits about you, to catch a breath, to stop feeling like you were either going to faint right there or climax anyway despite no longer being stimulated. All the while, Aesop’s hand was stroking your cheek, the other holding your hip still, and the teacher daren’t move.

 “I-” you finally managed to grit out, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, shaky and hoarse, “N-no, you didn’t hurt me, b-but… it was becoming too much. I’m sorry…”

 You heard him click his tongue reproachfully: “What did I tell you about apologising for stopping me when you want me to stop?” You took another several seconds to reply: “... Not to.” 

“Exactly. If anything, I’m proud of you for having spoken up,” he said quietly, caressing your hair in praise. You opened your mouth a few times, and we're just about to ask for some water, when something cool touched your lower lip. You swiftly recognised it as the rim of a goblet, and eagerly opened your mouth further. Aesop carefully helped you take several large gulps of water, soothing your dry throat. Once you were done drinking, your lover put the goblet away again, probably where he found it in the first place, and again stroked your cheek.

Do you want to fully stop? It’s absolutely alright if you do,” he said then, his fingers tracing the features of your face with utmost gentleness. “N-no!” you replied, perhaps way too quickly, but completely sincerely, “No, no, I don’t want to stop, I just-... I just need a few minutes.” 

The professor’s body covered your own again, bringing on a beautiful sense of comfort. “You can have as much as you want, dearest… is it alright if I kiss you in the meantime?” he asked, and you could feel yourself melting a bit on the inside.

Yes, the older man very much was capable of turning into nothing less than a ravenous beast during your tender fun, but was completely ready to stop the very moment you showed any discomfort, and even ask permission for a kiss after he just made you come twice, face buried in your quim. 

“P-please,” you whispered only, raising your head a bit in a blind search of his lips. You didn’t have to search for very long at all, as the hot mouth covered your own in a kiss so gentle, it contrasted your previous passion beautifully. However, that doesn’t mean this kiss wasn’t passionate. 

After all, you could taste the proof of your own arousal and pleasure on his lips and tongue, and it was such a strangely heady sensation, you felt your core flutter again.

“Mhm…” your lover groaned between kisses, “can you taste how delicious you are? How amazing you smell? You are like bloody ambrosia to me, and I’ll never stop craving more. I could come just like that, just devouring you like so, forcing those sweet sounds out of you. Almost have, just now…” You proceeded to whimper into the next kiss, his words making the primal thing in you purr happily. 

“A-Aesop… I-... you can continue… please…” you whispered against his lips. You could feel him smile, his hands once more going to your hips and massaging them shortly. “Are you certain, (F/N)? We can wait a little more, if you need. Do you want more water?” he asked.

“N-no…” you replied, “no, I'm fine. Please, continue.”

He pulled back again then, and you could feel his engorged glans against your opening. You were already taking a deep breath, preparing for the penetration, when instead the teacher’s cock slid right along your seam and over your sweet spot, making you shudder in both pleasure and mild frustration. He repeated the motion several times, each one making you feel you’re about to go mad.

“You have to tell me what you want, my love,” your sweetheart whispered, his voice betraying the fact that he was barely restraining himself now too. You were already red as a salamander, but you still felt even more blood rush to your cheeks.

 “F-... Fuck me, Aesop!” You breathed out.

There was a few seconds of pregnant silence, but then the potions master chuckled gleefully: “Merlin’s beard, love… Words one could consider crude, but from your lips… Like a siren’s call… And your call is always my command.” 

However, before he could finally line up with the entrance into your warmth depths, you spoke up once more, a hint of embarrassment colouring your voice: “B-but wait! Can you… uh, can you please take the blindfold off? I need to see you…” 

Instead of laughing or refusing, Aesop gently caressed your cheek and moved his hands to remove the blindfold. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s get this pesky thing off, shall we?”

Even though the room was quite dim, having spent long minutes in complete darkness, it took you some time to adjust to the light. You blinked repeatedly, your vision a little blurry, but soon your eyes focused on your lover. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. Aesop too was smiling down at you, his eyes filled with both love and lust, pupils so dilated they made the teacher’s orbs look entirely black. His cheeks were reddened, and you could see the area around his lips glistening damply with the proof of your desire.

“You know,” he said gently, “I also prefer it when I can see you, see you fully, that is… I love looking into your eyes when you come for me…” 

Once more his hands took hold of your cheeks, and he dipped his head to give you another deep kiss. 

“Ready?” he asked, pushing a strand of your hair out of your eyes and across your sweat-slicked forehead. You beamed up at him, drunk on your pleasure and your love: “You take such good care of me, Aesop… Yes, I’m ready.”

The older man gave you another shiny grin and sat back on his heels. He grabbed his throbbing erection in his right hand, and gave himself several slow strokes, using his index and thumb to play with his foreskin, pulling it over his glistening glans halfway before pulling it back again, your eyes watching his every move and your womanhood fluttering in anticipation. 

“Of course, my love,” he said, “After all; you’re mine. I’ll always take the very best care of you. You can count on that… For now, however… For now I’m going to render you unable to count even to five.”

As much as you could, given your restricted position, you leaned over to watch him guide his prick to your dripping entrance. A sigh left your lips when he shifted forward and the dark pink tip sipped inside, the familiar stretch making you bite down on your lower lip. In a fluid motion, he thrust himself all the way inside, forcing another soft groan from your mouth. It was scary how addictive this feeling was, the feeling of complete fullness, of your bodies being this absolutely connected. You could feel the beat of his heart through his shaft within you, frantic like yours was. “Hmm…” Aesop sighed, his eyebrows rising in the pleasure of being completely enfolded within your plush heat, his voice soft. 

He stayed where he was for several moments, just enjoying the sensation and letting you adjust a little.

Effortlessly, he then lifted your lower body off the bed and placed his legs below your hips and bottom, making you sort of awkwardly sit in his lap while your upper body remained pretty much hanging by the hands secured to the bedposts. You were entirely in his control, unable to move at all. Not that you minded. 

His forehead made contact with your collarbone, and his arms curled around the small of your back, and he shallowly pumped his hips a few times, making the two of you produce soft sounds of pleasure. The rhythm he set was slow at first, the teacher’s mouth again closing around one of your nipples, your breast muffling his soft little grunts as he sheathed his cock within your core repeatedly. 

“Have I told you your breasts are the eighth world wonder, my sweetest?” he purred with a smile when he released the pebbled teat, once more red and sensitive from him rolling it between his teeth on the very verge of pleasure and pain. And while you were in the middle of another pleased sigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

“Oh, Ace…,” you murmured, “I never knew how difficult it would be… Not b-being able to hold you…” Your eyes were partially closed as you enjoyed the sensations of him languidly fucking your tight little quim while worshipping your body. 

The professor smiled softly: “Would you like me to untie you?” You thought about it for a while, but ultimately decided to remain bound - after all, it was not every day you indulged in this kind of play, it’d be a shame to end it prematurely. 

“Mhm… no. No, it’s alright. I can tie you to the bed n-next time…” you whispered, moving your own hips as well as you could given the position, both of you searching for that one magical angle that made you cry out for him. “Now, that, ah…” Aesop groaned upon another thrust, “that’s an idea. Keen to leave me a moaning, trembling mess, are you?” Your eyes fluttered and your lips spread into a smile. “Y-you know how beautiful you are in that state?” you whispered, the image appearing in your mind’s eye. 

Aesop, completely dishevelled, blushing, sweating, whining in the pleasure you were bringing him. All the while being entirely at your mercy.

“Likewise, (F/N),” he growled slowly before suddenly snapping his hips roughly against your own, making you choke out a gasp, “which is why I intend to get you into that state right now .”

And then his pace quickened rapidly, and he finally found that spot that rendered you positively speechless. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips enough to leave small bruises there, and he began to ram into you in earnest. And, just like he promised, you were indeed soon reduced into a state of overwhelming pleasure, but this time you let it claim you fully and entirely, your hips quickly unable to keep up with his, and you could do little more than just lie/hang there and take it. 

The room was filled with the beautifully vulgar sounds of your bodies uniting, again and again, the noises of gratifications that poured from your open mouths, and the banging of the headboard against the wall behind it following Aesop's wild movements. You whined and writhed, your nails digging into your palms when they would normally be making small crescent moon shaped cuts in the skin of the teacher’s muscled back.

He leaned over suddenly, one of his hands curling around the headboard close to your right hand, while the other moved south. His thumb found your lovebud, and he began rolling it roughly in rhythm with his powerful thrusts.

The added sensation to the little pink pearl was like a summoning call to your previously snuffed out climax, and it began to return tenfold, your walls fluttering around the large cock, your entire form beginning to tremble under the delicious assault on your senses. Aesop’s other hand found your own where it was suspended at the bedpost.

“A-Aesop…” you barely managed to wine out, your grasp on the English language lessening rapidly. “I’m g-going to…” your head was thrown back, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head on their own accord, and you needed more.

“I-I’m… I’m close too,” he groaned and increased his pace even more, forcing more filthy noises pour out of your mouth at the dizzying feeling. And as you found yourself dancing upon that edge, your toes curling in on themselves, and the coil in your stomach tightening, Aesop suddenly pulled his hand away from where you were so intimately joined in order to wrap it around your throat. 

He wasn’t squeezing you very hard at all, just sort of pushing, lessening your oxygen supply. You trusted him, though, you trusted him to never hurt you, and right now he was making you feel so, so bloody good. 

The shortness of breath somehow made the chaotic flurry of sensations even stronger, and you gave a half-choked hoarse cry when you felt that knot inside finally explode into blinding white pleasure, one that made all of your muscles spasm. You felt that intoxicating feeling of soaring hot pleasure roll over you like a tidal wave. You let it consume you.

Your following sound turned into something of a sob, because of the sheer intensity. When you somehow managed to open your eyes, all you saw was Aesop, his face directly above yours, his eyebrows knitted and his eyes screwed shut. His mouth was opened, and a string of grunts was leaving it as he too found himself on the very verge.

With a muttered curse that had his voice rising half an octave, his eyes snapped open, and he looked directly at you. His gaze was both frightening and beautiful, he looked wild, like a primal being. He intended to take, and he was clearly past the point of all reason, chasing his pleasure within your contracting depths.

In a quick move, he pulled out, and used the hand he was gripping your neck with to roughly tug at his cock one, two, three times. A guttural growl that reminded you of a predatory animal reverberated through the room, and a hot rope of pearly white come spread over your stomach, followed by another one upon your ribs, reaching your breast even. He then proceeded to roughly thrust himself back into your quim, forcing a desperate whine from your mouth, and you felt more of his hot seed filling you in short bursts, igniting you from within.

Aesop’s forehead landed on your own, hot puffs of his breath landing on your damp lips, the hand that was holding your own tangling into your hair as he still pumped his hips slowly to ride out his orgasm.

You were perfectly marked by him, inside and out, claimed as his own again.

His strength gave a minute later, and he collapsed on top of you heavily, his breathing ragged and his heartbeat frantic.You gratefully accepted the weight and warmth of his body. Waves of gratification still rocked through you, and a sweet afterglow was settling in. 

You turned your head to the left, where Aesop’s face was still buried in the crook of your neck, and pressed several soft kisses against his bearded jaw, nuzzling against his scarred cheek with your nose. One of his hands was still stroking through your hair, damp with perspiration, while the other curled around your back, holding you close.

As you cooled down from your shared ecstasy, your lover finally lifted his head, but only to connect your lips in a satisfied, lazy kiss, the previous lust-crazed passion replaced by sweet tenderness. After several minutes of gentle kisses and soft words, he looked into your eyes. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart? I haven't hurt you, or squeezed you too hard?” the professor asked, his voice low with residue pleasure and slight fatigue. The hand in your hair went to gently stroke at your neck instead, checking for any damage he might’ve caused. You couldn’t do much else than beam back at him: “I’m alright, Aesop… Although I can’t really feel my hands.” Your smile got a little sheepish as you nodded in the direction of your hands, still tied to the bedposts by your and his neckties. 

“Ah,” Aesop hummed, “of course, dear, let me just-” and then, following a wave of his hand, the ties began unknotting themselves before simply sliding off your arms. You felt pins and needles in the limbs as you finally lowered them to rest on Aesop’s strong back, but couldn’t find it in yourself to care, just happy to be finally able to hold him.

You stayed like this for a few more minutes, just enjoying the intimate closeness, before Aesop finally moved to sit up on his heels again, his now soft member leaving your depths. Your lover murmured something under his breath as he looked down on your body and then on his own. And then he smiled: “I made a bit of a mess - I’m sorry dear.” 

His voice betrayed him though, he sounded everything but apologetic.

He was looking at you with a mix of smugness, possessiveness, a hint of renewed desire, and overwhelming love, as he observed the product of his pleasure clinging to both of your stomachs and dripping out of your core. You were blushing heavily, but didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. With a simple wave of his hand, the jug that stood upon the dresser poured water into the washbasin. Another wave, and it floated towards the bedside table, along with one of the soft looking cloths. 

Aesop’s elegant fingers curled around the textile, and brought it into the water. After squeezing out the excess liquid, he set to clean you. You were happy to find the water nicely warm, perfect for your tired, slightly sore body. Aesop very slowly and very carefully washed your torso, making sure to be extra gentle around the more sensitive areas like your tender nipples. He rinsed the cloth and continued lower. 

Many times, a quick Scourgify was enough to get both of you by, but it seemed Aesop was currently intent on prolonging the intimate atmosphere that settled between you, taking the sweet time to clean you up himself. 

Only after he was done with you did he finally use the washcloth on his own body, scrubbing the drying seed from the hair on his stomach and giving himself a quick wipedown. Once he was finally all done, he carelessly tossed the fabric into the basin and curled up next to you on the bed. He helped turn you on your side to face him, and pulled one of your legs over his hip. 

Soon thereafter, a very soft duvet slid upwards to cover your bodies and wrap them in its warmth. Your older lover then gently brought your wrists to his face and frowned momentarily: “If time comes when the two of us want to repeat this experience, I’ll get you some softer and finer restraints.” Your wrists were red where they were tied. “And I’ll get you some ointment for your wrists.”

You smiled at the professor. He was always so concerned for you, always making sure you were alright, even after he made you see stars and experience pleasures you wouldn’t have thought possible. 

“You do take such good care of me, Ace,” you repeated, drunk on your current state of comfort as well as the love you held for the incredible man who held you in his arms, blinking slowly, “but I think I quite want to keep my wrists as they are… As a… little reminder…”

A new wave of possessiveness flashed in his eyes for a second - you knew he adored seeing you embrace the marks he left on your body. You, after all, also loved to see the imprints of your fingernails clearly visible on the skin of his broad back, or the hint of the love bite you left just below his collar. It was clear the two of you had some sort of thing for marking the other as your own, as well as being marked. 

Your eyes closed on their own accord when his large, warm palms enveloped your face in their hold, and he sought your lips in a slow kiss. He helped you mould around his body in a way that was comfortable for both of you. 

“How long do you reckon we can stay here?” you asked softly, the fatigue that followed your most pleasurable love-making turning into outright sleepiness as you snuggled under the duvet. Your hands lazily stroked each other's bodies, your hair spread around your heads on the shared pillow. The moonlight from the artificial window got dimmer, and the flickering candles became the main light of the room, further deepening the intimate atmosphere. 

 Aesop hummed quietly: “I’m not expected anywhere. And I rather think your roommates no longer question your absence at night - after all, we planned to be together tonight anyway.” You huddled further into his warmth: “Good. I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to walk back to your chambers right now anyway.” 

Your responses prompted a small chuckle out of the potions master: “I would’ve gladly carried you all the way back into my chambers, though I suspect the portraits and the ghosts would surely give us some curious looks.” You chuckled as well.

“It’s nearly surreal that in less than three weeks, there will be no more sneaking about… well, as successful as we were actually sneaking about anyway…” you continued, “if I finish my practical exams, that is.” The teacher only smiled at you, squeezing your waist: “You’ll be incredible. I know you will. And, I mean,” he pulled back to look at you, a grin on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes, “we can sneak about recreationally, if you so wish. However, I for one am quite looking forward to not having to do that, and instead be able to court you openly. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Another blush entered your face upon his sweet words: “Always, Aesop…”

“Still,” he spoke again after a while, “shame you’re such a responsible adult, going nearly straight to work following graduation - I would’ve hoped to have you all to myself for the summer. Though I of course realise you, uh, didn’t know whether there was even a possibility of a shared summer when you applied for and accepted the job. Still, if Miss Peck would be able to relieve you for, let’s say, a week… Well, we could go somewhere if you’d like. Devon, for example, is quite lovely this time of year.” 

As he spoke, the older man was fidgeting with your fingers, a hopeful undertone to his voice. You couldn’t help but smile warmly at him: “I think Ellie can miss me for one week, as long as I owl her about the matter in a timely manner… What can you tell me about Devon?”

Aesop’s grin could light up the entire Great Hall, and it certainly made a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter around your stomach, as he turned to lean over you a bit: “Oh, let me tell you…”

Hello, and thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this dirty little story. As always, you can also check this story as well as all of my other stories over at AO3. I adore feedback! ❤