#Painted boot room furniture

[carlamathew00]

Living Room Console Table | Painted Bookcases | Boot Room Furnitures

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[girlrotterr]

꒰ lick it up, fucking eat. ᮫ ⭒

married!ellie x interior designer! reader Summary: Ellie hires you to bring her shitty wife’s so-called "dream home" to life, but you end up fufilling something else.

The house was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning, which flowed through the sprawling, half-renovated living room. You stood in front of a swatch of paint samples, holding each one up to the fading light from the bay window. The sun dipped low, casting golden fingers across the unfinished floorboards, hinting at what the space might look like when it was finally complete. Ellie watched you from across the room, leaning casually against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her gaze drifting between you and the wall.

“That one,” she muttered, jerking her chin toward the beige sample you held. Her voice was laced with something close to disdain. “She thinks it’s ‘elegant.’ "

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the shade—a flat, muted tone that felt as lifeless as the drywall it would cover. "Well," you replied, “if she wants ‘elegant,’ I’m sure we can do more than beige."

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glint of something both dark and playful in them. She pushed off the wall, coming a little closer, her boots scuffing against the rough wood. "Exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, her gaze lingering on you a second too long before shifting to the wall.

You let out a quiet breath, suddenly very aware of the way her presence filled the room, heavy and warm, with a pull that seemed to demand attention. Her sleeves were pushed up, revealing her tattooed forearm—faintly smudged paint stains and a few scratches etched across her knuckles. Her messy hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away, glancing down at the floorboards as if they might give her the answers she was looking for.

“So… if it were completely up to you,” she continued, her voice softer now, “what would you do with the place?”

You felt a small jolt of excitement, surprised that she cared enough to ask your opinion. You took a slow breath, letting yourself look around the room with fresh eyes. "Something warm, to make the room feel alive. Maybe custom furniture, something that doesn’t look like it’s from a catalog."

She nodded slowly, her gaze following yours as you spoke, but there was something deeper, something unspoken in the way she looked at you. Like this wasn’t about the walls or the furniture.

"We could go for that," she said, and her voice dropped, quiet, the weight of her words sinking into the empty space between you. "Anything that makes this place feel less… hers."

Your heart fluttered at the faint edge of bitterness in her voice, the quiet rebellion hiding beneath her sarcasm. She was closer now, close enough that you could feel her warmth radiating toward you in the cooling room, close enough that you could see every detail of her: the subtle flecks of green in her eyes, the faint line of a scar near her temple.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over a scratch on the windowsill. "This place could be incredible. It just needs to feel lived in, loved.”

Ellie swallowed, her eyes following your hand. “Can you fullfill that?,” she murmured, and there was a softness in her voice now, something that made your stomach flip.

Your breath caught, pulse quickening as you felt the subtle shift in the air between you. The moment held a thread of tension, tight and fragile, like something waiting to be snapped. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’d love to show you. Just need a little… freedom with the choices.”

Ellie’s smirk returned, faint but laced with something deeper, "Freedom, huh?" She stepped back, giving you a lingering once-over before nodding, her voice a low murmur. "Yeah… I think we can work something out."

She pulled her gaze away reluctantly, as if forcing herself to break the spell, and you felt the strange tug of her absence, the fading warmth of her presence as she retreated toward the hallway. "Just… no beige," she added, her back already turned, her voice drifting down the hall like an invitation. 

You stood there, the glow of the setting sun washing over you, you realized you felt a thrill. 

The days passed in a blur of decisions, late-night calls with suppliers, and a dozen small, carefully calculated adjustments to make the space feel warmer, more vibrant—despite the rigid input from Ellie’s wife. You’d spent the afternoon with her, going over fixture placements and fabric swatches. She was precise, clinical, every suggestion an opportunity to correct, to refine, to turn down anything that dared to stand out.

Ellie’s wife stood in the middle of the room, studying the sofa with a critical eye. She let out a sigh, her fingers skimming over the velvet, dismissing it as though it were somehow beneath her. “I thought I made it clear I wanted something more sophisticated. This feels… almost flashy.” Her gaze landed on you, thinly veiled irritation simmering beneath her smile.

You opened your mouth to explain the intention behind the choice when the front door opened. Ellie walked in, still in her work clothes, a slight weariness to her step. Her gaze moved from you to her wife.

Ellie’s wife immediately turned to her, her posture stiffening. “There you are. I was just telling our designer here that this,” she gestured to the room around her with an air of distaste, “is not what we discussed.”

Ellie’s face tightened, a frustrated, almost exasperated look clouding her eyes. “ A little color wouldn’t kill you.”

“Yes, but I expected you’d listen to what I actually wanted.” She crossed her arms, her gaze pointed. “This was supposed to be tasteful, Ellie. Not… whatever this is.”

Ellie let out a dry laugh, brushing past her, stepping closer to you as she took in the room. “And by ‘tasteful,’ you mean dull walls and soulless furniture. Right?” 

Her wife’s eyes flashed, and she folded her arms tighter. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand the concept of refinement.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, her hand flexing at her side. “God, do you even hear yourself? It’s a fucking home, not a damn workplace. Just—" she glanced over at you, her face softening briefly as if realizing you were caught in the middle. "Never mind.”

You held your breath, feeling the tension swell, a raw kind of frustration radiating between them. But Ellie’s wife was relentless, her voice sharp and dismissive. “Oh, here we go again. You act like I’m asking for something ridiculous. Just admit it—you’re the one who’s never satisfied. You’re the one who thinks everything has to be some big, meaningful statement. Not everything’s about you, Ellie!”

Ellie’s face flushed, her eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. She opened her mouth, then closed it, a defeated breath slipping past her lips as she seemed to reconsider. She cast one last glance at you, and you felt that familiar pull between you—a silent, unspoken understanding—and then, with a shake of her head, Ellie stormed off, her shoes echoing down the hallway until the door slammed behind her.

Silence swallowed the room, leaving you and her wife alone once more. 

“See what I have to deal with?” she muttered, shaking her head. "She gets these weird ideas about what’s ‘creative’ or ‘cool’ and just… doesn’t listen to reason. She doesn’t even understand what it takes to make a space look sophisticated. Her taste—it’s like a teenager trying to decorate a dorm room."

You felt your grip tighten on the sample book, but you forced yourself to stay professional. “Well, Ellie did mention she wanted something with a bit more character.”

Her wife snorted, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “Exactly. Character. She’s so out of touch with what a home needs to feel welcoming. She can’t just accept that maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t know better than me.”

She flipped past a deep, velvety forest green swatch Ellie had specifically loved. “This green? I mean, it’s hideous. Who even wants a dark color like that in their home? It’s depressing.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the swatch she’d just discarded. “It could add some depth to the space. Sometimes dark colors bring a warmth that—”

Her wife gave you a sharp look, like you’d crossed some invisible line. She forced a tight smile. “Trust me,” she said, voice dripping with condescension, “there’s nothing to ‘deepen’ here. I know what I want, and I don’t need Ellie’s… outlandish tastes cluttering up my vision.”

The house had transformed into a hive of activity, buzzing with the sounds of hammers, paint rollers, and snippets of conversation as workers bustled around. Every corner of the room felt alive with movement, a stark contrast to the emptiness you’d felt days prior. Furniture was being hauled in, drapes were hung, and the walls were beginning to take on their new colors. Yet despite the flurry of activity, your attention was divided, searching the room more often than not for a familiar face.

And then, as if on cue, Ellie appeared.

She wove through the workers, carrying a crumpled paper bag in one hand and balancing two cups of coffee in the other. She wore a smile, her messy hair peeking out from under a faded baseball cap, a glimmer of excitement lighting up her face as she caught your eye. She slipped between a worker with a paint can and another adjusting a lamp, until finally, she stopped in front of you. 

Ellie held up the bag with a faint smile. “Thought you could use a break,” she said, nudging the bag into your hands. “There’s a place around the corner that makes delicious pastries.”

Surprised and a little touched, you opened the bag, the warm, sweet scent wafting out immediately. “Thank you.”

The noise of the workers faded into a distant hum, becoming a mere backdrop to the moment as you took a bite of the pastry. The warm sweetness melted on your tongue, rich and comforting, drawing a soft sigh from your lips. But in your enjoyment, you didn’t notice the crumb that fell, catching just at the corner of your lips. 

Ellie did, though.

In the midst of all the clamor—the sharp buzz of saws cutting through wood, the metallic clinking of hammers striking nails, and the sound of her wife’s sharp voice scolding a worker about the paint application—Ellie stepped closer, her expression suddenly serious.

Her fingers were careful, warm, and impossibly soft as they brushed the crumb from your lips. You felt her fingertip linger there, feather-light, barely skimming your skin, but enough to make your breath catch.

Her gaze held yours, deep green eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion that pulled you in. Ellie’s fingers felt electric against your skin, her knuckles resting against your cheek, the warmth radiating from her touch contrasting with the cool air of the room. Ellie’s eyes dropped for just a heartbeat, shifting from your gaze to your mouth, where her thumb hovered near your lip. You could feel your heart racing, each beat echoing in your ears as she lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

You could hear her breath hitch slightly as her fingers finally pulled away, leaving your skin cold in their absence.

“Fuck” she murmured, voice low and just a little hoarse. Her gaze drifted to your lips one last time, almost on purpose, before she forced her eyes to focus anywhere but on you. 

You remember when the affair began.

It was a cold winter, the kind that seeped into your bones, making everything feel heavy and muffled. Snow blanketed the world outside, a serene white glow through the window. 

Ellie was pressed against you, her body radiating heat as she leaned in closer, her face achingly near yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with the cool air between you. Her hands flexed around your hips, desperate to grip them, to anchor herself to you. 

There was a desperation.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” She pleaded, her voice strained,  a wish that perhaps if you rejected her, if you spoke the words she needed to hear, the desires swirling for you would vanish. 

But as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch, the world around you blurred.  A shiver raced down your spine, igniting something deep within you—a spark that flared into a flame, daring you to give in. 

“I need you,” Ellie breathed, the urgency in her voice sending warmth pooling in your stomach. Her words ghosted over your skin, leaving a trail of heat that made it impossible to think straight. “I need to feel you, to taste you. Please, let me have you…” 

You could see it in her eyes—the hunger, the need. 

Your lips touched Ellie’s, slowly, tentatively at first. You hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that this was a mistake. But all you found was a dark hunger reflected in her gaze, a need that mirrored your own. The soft sound of falling snow outside barely registered as you leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of her body.

Ellie’s lips then pressed against yours, slow and soft, “Oh, fuck.” she gasped, her breath warm against your mouth. 

It was all you needed. 

You kissed her again, this time deeper and more sensual, losing yourself in the taste of her. Every brush of your lips was a question, every stroke of your tongue an answer. Savoring the way her tongue stroked against yours with caresses that left you breathless.

“God, you taste amazing,” she murmured against your lips. The way she spoke made you feel seen, desired, as if every part of you was exactly what she craved.

“Ellie…” you breathed, her name slipped from your lips so easily. 

Ellie’s kisses grew more urgent, each one a desperate plea for more as her hands gripped your hips with bruising force, anchoring you against the wall. Her lips trailed down your neck, gasping as her teeth grazed over your skin.  And then, without warning, she sucked hard, her mouth forming a seal against your neck. 

“Oh fuck..” you breathed, your voice aching to be more than a whisper. 

Ellie was already lost in her own world, her focus entirely on you, on the way your body responded to her touch.

"Shhh, we need to be quiet," she whispered, her voice low with need, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with lust, a fiery spark that made your stomach knot.

Her hands wandered down your body, fingers tracing the contours of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as she pulled you closer, digging into your skin and leaving dents where her grip tightened.

"God, I can’t get enough of you." she breathed, her hands slipping to unbutton your jeans. Her fingers teased the waistband of your panties, dipping just beneath the fabric to caress your folds, igniting a heat through you. She kissed and nipped at your neck, her tongue flicking out to taste your sweat-slicked skin.

Her hand slid further into your panties, her fingers parting your slick folds to stroke your sensitive clit. You gasped, your mouth agape as she circled the swollen nub with a feather-light touch. Her other hand slid up your body, cupping your tit and kneading the soft mound. Her fingers found your hardened nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between her thumb and index finger.

"Oh fuck.." you hiccuped, “please.." 

Leaning down, ellie’s hot breath hovered over your sensitive skin before she took your nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She moaned against your nipple, her tongue flicking against the hardened bud as she sucked hard, her teeth grazing your skin, making you gasp.

"Ellie," you begged, your voice strained with need. "I need more.”

Her eyes darkened with lust as she gazed at you, turned on by your desperate pleas. "Beg for it," she groaned, her voice low. Ellie's fingers stroked your slick folds, teasing your entrance but not yet delving inside. She circled your clit with light touches, making you buck your hips, seeking more friction.

“Please," you moaned. "Please, fuck me."

Apparently she didn’t need much convincing.

With an urgency, Ellie plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaking cunt, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you. The lewd sound of your juices squelching filled the air as she pumped her fingers in and out, stroking your inner walls with each thrust, her thumb rubbing soft circles around your aching clit.

"Atta girl.." Ellie groaned, her voice thick with desire. "Ride my fucking fingers."

"fuuck, right there," you moaned, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

You reached down to slide your hand to unbutton ellie’s jeans. Her belt clinking as her hips bucked forward. Your fingers crept beneath the waistband of her boxers, feeling the slick flesh of her dripping hole.

"Fuuck me," Ellie moaned, grinding her hips against your hand, spreading her thighs wider to give you more access to her aching cunt. Her movements were desperate, urging you to rub her swollen clit, the sensitive nub pulsing beneath your touch.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," she groaned, her perky tits bouncing slightly with each thrust. Her head rolling back in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself.

"Yes, just like that," You moaned, ellie’s fingers pumping faster in and out of your dripping cunt. She could feel your slick coating her fingers, your juices dripping down her wrist. Your hips jerked erratically, your stomach beginning to knot. With a sharp cry, you came, your pussy spasming around her fingers as you rode out your orgasm.

"That's it, cum for me," she moaned, rubbing your clit faster to prolong your pleasure. "Come all over my fucking fingers." Your body shuddered, your walls clenching around her as you milked her fingers for all they were worth. She could feel your juices gushing out, coating her hand and dripping onto the floor. Your moans filled the room, echoing obscenely off the walls.

Ellie slowly withdrew her fingers, feeling your walls clench around her as she pulled them out. Your juices coated her hand, glistening in the low light of the room.

She grabbed your shoulders, pushing you down to your knees. She hooked her thumbs in her waistband, shimmying her boxers down her thighs before stepping out of them. Ellie's pussy was glistening, she parted her folds to reveal her throbbing clit. She straddled your face, her dripping cunt hovering just above your mouth

“Fuck I -" Ellie moaned, grinding her hips down to press her pussy against your lips. “Fucking taste me.” Ellie's juices coated your mouth as you flicked your tongue out, lathering it along her slick folds before delving inside her dripping hole. Ellie's poor thighs trembled, her hands gripping your hair as she rode your face frantically, bringing her fingers to her lips, sucking your slick off of them with a low moan.

“You’re so fucking good," She groaned, her juices coating your mouth, dripping down your chin.

"That's it, right there," Ellie panted, her thighs trembling around your head. "Fuck, your tongue feels so good." Her hands gripped your hair, pulling you closer as she rutted against your mouth. 

"That's it, fuck, I'm gonna cum-," Ellie moaned, her hips jerking erratically. You plunged two fingers deep into Ellie's soaked cunt, her walls clenching around quickly, her juices gushing out. You sucked ellie's clit faster, feeling it twitch beneath your tounge as she came. 

“What the fuck!?” ellie’s wife excalimed. 

She had walked in, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene before her. 

Ellie was still straddling your face, her dripping pussy pressed against your mouth. The obsecene sounds of slurping and moaning filled the room, leaving no doubt as to what had been happening. 

You remember when the affair began. 

You remember when the affair ended.

[joesjewelryinternational]

Handmade Solid Pine Painted Bedroom Furniture | Painted Oak Drawers

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[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW Reaction to You Taking the BDSM Test

Warnings: Implied Smut, MW Characters Being Down Bad & Feral, Mean! MW, Rough! MW, Dominant! MW, Submissive! MW, Teasing, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

His laugh is gruff from over your shoulder. A glower, if you listen closely enough. His hands, rough and calloused with the weight of his atrocities, clamp down on your shoulders. He squeezes them. Tight. Tighter.

“You don’t need a test to find out what you’re into, Love.”

He stands closer. From your position on the couch, you can feel something hard pressing between your shoulder blades. He rolls against you, his grip tightening. You whimper, wince, and he lets go a hum.

His hands drop from your shoulders to the front of your shirt. There, he grips the seam and rips it open. You jump, gasping, the buttons flying off into god-knows where — corners of the room, pinging off furniture.

His hands are on your chest, kneading, needing. He’s rough. He needs you now — he can’t even stop to remember to be gentle.

“I can do that,” he lowers his lips to your ear. His breath is hot.

“And more.”

König

König had sat with you while you took the test, curious to see what you’d choose — what your heart truly desired.

Of course, despite how close the two of you were, you did try to retain what little of your dignity you could by choosing answers that didn’t make you look insane. Or nymphomanic.

Little did you know that König could see right through you, his lips stretching into a smile whenever he saw your fingers itching to choose the highest values for kinks he absolutely knew you had (whether you were aware of his knowing or not).

When the test was over and you got your results, you thought you’d walked it. “See?” You showed your results to König. “Told you I wasn’t into anything—“ you searched for the term he’d used. “Extreme.”

“Oh, Maus,” König said, almost growling. Purring, perhaps. His eyes were narrowed, feline. “We both know that’s not true.”

König took your phone and placed it somewhere out of your reach. Frozen with anticipation, you gave no fight as König took you by your shoulders and laid you down, pressing you into the floor. He brought his thighs over you, caged you beneath him. His hands either side of your head, he smiled.

“You needn’t be evasive with me, Darling.” His hips dipped down. Something hard pressed against your abdomen. König’s eye twitched. ”Now then, let’s see how many of your answers were true, shall we?”

Soap

Johnny looks at you with what you could only construe as confidence. A challenge. You could feel the sly remark creeping up his throat as you tried to explain away the results of your test, trying not to paint yourself as someone whose answers suited them a little too well.

“Oh aye, Bonnie — I believe you,” came Johnny. With all the genuity in the world. “I just don’t think you do.”

When you gave him a queer look, his smile grew.

“What I’m sayin’ is you know there’s more to sex than that test’ll have you believe.”

Johnny shifted closer to you, eye-level with you. His hand came up to your chin, taking it between his fingers. He held you there.

“And I’d be more than happy to show ya what you’re missing out on.”

Valeria

“Looks like mi Cariño’s had a little too much screen time.”

She’s on you before you can even escape to your lock screen, a viper-strike hand plucking your phone from your grip and throwing it over Valeria’s shoulder. It cracks, somewhere, but her frame is all you can see as she pushes you to the floor.

“Seems like you’ve forgotten your place,” she grunts as she forces you to the ground, watching you fall flat on your backside. The carpet is enough to cushion your fall, but there isn’t a material in the known universe that can withstand the fire in Valeria’s eyes.

“Seems to me that you need to be reminded what you like.” Valeria bites her lip, coming to stand over you. Her shadow roves over you, almost as if to grope you, feel you.

She brings her boot onto your chest. Keeps you down.

“And where you like it.”

Price

“So you think I’m vanilla, Hm?” Price’s voice carried a weight you were not unfamiliar with, but the way in which he spoke suggested something unknown. His ankle sat atop his knee, arms crossed over his chest.

You’d gotten him to take the BDSM Test — “For science!” you’d told him. And, to nobody’s surprise, John’s results had come back relatively tame. Yours, however, were a different story.

John leaned back in his chair, his cigar lying in the ashtray, embers fading.

“Why don’t you come over here,” John said, voice low. He spread his legs, patted the expanse of his covered thigh. His eyes glinted with all the light of a black mirror.

“And teach this old dog some new tricks.”

Horangi

Hong-jin had seen your results by accident and had decided that teasing you about it would provide him with enough of a distraction to stop himself from salivating at the possibilities they opened.

Sure, it started off tame. The odd comment here and there about you seeming to be ‘tied up’ with whatever task you were doing, that you were doing such a good job of completing your work, etc.

Anything to get you hot under the collar.

And, luckily for Hong-jin, it worked. You came to him, frustrated and very much in need of relief.

Hong-Jin hummed, putting you on his lap. He ground his thigh between your legs, calling you his “Good little pet — behaving so well for me.”

His eyes almost seem to glimmer as he tells you how much he should reward you for being able to hold out for so long. Something to the tune of an oddly specific interest you knew you’d never told him. But that’s alright; your scores told him everything he needed to know.

Alejandro

He was NOT expecting the answers you got on your BDSM test. And you weren’t fully prepared for what you found on his.

Yes, Alejandro leans towards taking the dominant role in bed. Sure, not all the time, but enough that one look at the two of you could definitively conclude which of you wore the pants in bed.

Which, until tonight, neither of you had questioned.

“You know, Corazón,” came Alejandro. He sat beside you, not looking away from the TV. “It couldn’t hurt to…test some of our weaker areas.”

You looked at him, eyebrow raised. Then, it clicked.

“Oh,” you said, leaning closer, smiling. Knowing. Alejandro looked down at you. You could see him biting back a wide grin.

That night was spent with Alejandro bottoming while you went to town making him cry, whimper and beg for more.

Rodolfo

You’d assumed that Rodolfo’s results would be, at most, rather banal. In spite of his military background, he was gentle — loving — when it was just you, him and the late hours of the night.

So, when you saw his results and discovered that, oh you’re kind of depraved, actually (in a loving, non-judgemental way; you just weren’t expecting how much his results told you he was into), you wanted to test Rudy’s limits.

A whole day of teasing, complete with a healthy side of blue-balling, had, eventually, caused Rudy to grab you and drag you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. He threw you to the bed, his strength masked by his lamb-like disposition.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. He stood over you, arms crossed over his chest. “And I know why you’re doing it. You’re trying to make me cave — trying to get me to ruin you.”

You couldn’t have put it better yourself. But he could. He approached you, came down to your level, crawling over the bed. You backed up until you hit the headboard (for the first of many times, you suspected), and Rudy, with a dark glint in his eye, gripped the headboard behind you, trapping you.

“Trust me, Amour,” he said, bringing his face level with yours, his voice low.  “With the way you’re acting, you’ll be lucky if there’s anything left of you to ruin by the time I’m done with you.”

Graves

Bless your cotton socks — you’d forgotten to close the tab on Graves’ phone that had your results splashed across it. Hence, Phillip was having a good old laugh about it now in the confines of his office. Though, the longer he studied your results, the stronger the throbbing between his legs became.

Of course, he sought you out. And of course, he made now secret of your faux pas. And, of course, you tried to explain it away. ‘I took it for fun’, ‘It was for a laugh’, ‘I didn’t t think you’d find it—‘

“Ah, there we go. The truth, coveted as it is,” said Graves, smiling from ear to ear. He stepped over the threshold of your bedroom, backing you up against the edge of the bed. He kicked the door shut behind him. No escape.

“Now,” he drawled, approaching you. “You’re gonna show me exactly what you’re into, where you like it,” He stood chest-to-chest with you now, watching you lose your balance as you fell back onto the bed. He all but pounced on you, taking your wrists and pressing them into the mattress.

His eyes were ablaze with a lustful vengeance as he pressed down on you. Into you.

“Or I’m gonna fuck it outta ya.”

Gaz

“Didn’t know you were into…” Gaz squinted, looking over your results from over your shoulder. He went quiet.

“Oh…” From the corner of your eye, you saw his face turn pink. Then red. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“Y-yes, well— uh— that’s a very…colourful scorecard you have there!”

Smiling, a hint of mirth in your eyes, you turned to him. You could see he was nursing a rather pressing, growing problem, and you sought to relieve him of it.

“How about you come and help me make it a bit more colourful, hm?”

At that, Gaz’s eyes widened. His tongue tied as he tried to form words — a word — anything !

Your smile grew. So did Gaz. “Oh, come on, Gaz! Big military man like you scared of a little fun?”

Let’s just say, Gaz also found himself taking the test shortly after you’d ruined him.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[trashmouth-richie]

this comes from @serasvictoria with this ask the prompt words were: pillow, caught, crush

18+ no minors, angst leading to smut, vulgar, eddie talks about his dick and steve’s 😌

2.1k // eddie x fem reader

your ex hears you’ve moved on; is he ready to let you go?

send me a prompt!

“Don’t be a dumbass.” 

Ringed hands were folded together, glistening from the makeshift dramatic lighting in Gareth’s basement. 

In the summer, Hellfire moved locations from one member's place to another, rotating every Friday to a different place. A new aroma to tickle one’s nostrils upon entering whichever home was the designated spot for the evening, to host Hawkins very own hell bound teens. 

Some homes were kept nicer than others, while Eddie’s trailer smelled like stale cigarettes and bong water, the Sinclair’s living room was pristine with updated furniture, smelling of warm vanilla and the smell of dinner still lingering in the air. 

Gareth takes another gulp of Mountain Dew, wiping the lime colored beverage from his lips. Belching on the spot. 

“Why would I lie about that?” 

Eddie shifts in the folding chair leaning forward— the chain from his waist clinking on the metal, “whatever man, don’t fuck with me.” 

Gareth grins, hands up in surrender, “listen dude, I’m just telling you what we saw,  no need to shoot the messenger.”

What Gareth and Jeff had seen weighed heavy on their minds. They had even contemplated on keeping it secret. The two couldn’t decide if Eddie should know or if it would hurt him— in the end Gareth opened his big mouth and blurted it out, in the most repugnant way imaginable. 

The painted tin container used to hold dice was crushed under the weight of Eddie’s fist as he hammered it onto the table. 

Jeff shook his head, sucking in a breath between his braced teeth, looking away from the soon to be manic Munson. 

Eddie’s temper ran hot when it came to one thing—and one thing only, you. 

Raking his fingers through his scalp, he kicks the back of his chair upon standing, ragged breaths in and out, eyes to the ceiling. You still had a hold on him, it had been months—and the only one who seemed to not be able to move on was him. 

He chuckled, pinching the inner corner of his eyes and shaking his head, “one of you take over as DM, I gotta go.” 

Bounding up the stairs before he could hear any bitching from his two longest standing friends, the carpeted steps squished under his quickened boot steps. Stealing a cookie from an iridescent colored decorative plate on the kitchen counter, Eddie stomped out the front door and to the paved driveway, starting his van with a flick of his wrist, pedal to the floor as he reversed onto the street, running over flower beds in his wake.

—

The daffodil warmth of the sun was high in the sky, a small stitch of wind blew the blades of grass gently, feathering the soft pages of your book every so often. 

It was a perfect summer day as you laid out on your driveway, ass parked in a tiny kiddie pool from your youth, blue in color, the flimsy plastic circle was filled with cool water straight from the hose. 

A few shots of spiced whiskey danced on your tongue and tangoed with the carbonated bubbles of the mixed in Coke, fizzing with each slurp from your straw, you don’t have a care in the world. 

Admiring your freshly painted nails in the pastel bubble gum shade he had picked out— it was a stark contrast to the ruby reds you had been accustomed to— but those days were long gone, and things were finally starting to look up for you. 

It had been four months since Eddie broke things off, claiming he needed ‘space to find himself’ and although you spent a majority of that time wallowing in ice cream containers and mopping up tears when you saw a brown set of curls, or heard the jingle of a chain wallet— you moved on. 

He wasn’t from Hawkins. Didn’t know of Eddie at all, and you preferred to keep it that way. You were never ashamed of the boy you loved for so many years, the only embarrassment you felt was the night he ended things like someone would end a call after placing an order for pizza. 

Like it meant nothing to him, like you meant nothing to him. But that was then, and you were happier now.

So when you looked up to see Gareth’s wide eyes staring in shock was not at all how you imagined your date would go. You had been caught red handed by his best friends, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he found out. 

Toes twirling in the water you bobbed your head along to the music playing on the portable radio, sunglasses perched on your nose— not a single care in the world. 

Until the music turned to something more familiar.. the screech of guitars and aggressive tempos, you could practically feel the warmth leave your skin as the dark cloud of Eddie’s van cast its shadow on your skin, parked in your driveway like he belonged here. 

By the way he tore around the corner and through the stop sign— you knew he was pissed. The clunk of his rings scraped against the paint as he reached through the window to open the door—still broken. 

“I don’t smoke anymore Munson, but if you’re offering freeb—”

“Who is he?” he interjected, in no mood for your joking tone. 

Sucking your drink until the ice clinks together at the bottom—whiskey making you ballsier than you ever had been—you finally answer, “Who is who?” 

He crosses his arms, trying to stay calm, although all he wanted to do was scream, “the guy, cmon princess, don't play dumb with me.” 

Staring at him you can’t believe the audacity of the boy standing in front of you, coming here, demanding to know what’s going on in your life when he’s the one who practically skipped on his way out of it. 

instead of stomping around and causing you a scene, you simply ignore him, “you’re in the way.” 

“Huh?” 

Pointing with a lazy finger to the sky you watch as his eyes follow, “don’t tell me you came here to bitch me out, you’re wasting your time.”

He leans in over your body so close that you can see the chocolate color of his eyes, eyes that you'd lose count of the times you’d stare into them. 

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who he is.” 

“Okay.” You say nonchalantly, unbothered. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah go ahead, stay. ‘s long as you want,” you push yourself up from the pool, standing in a string bikini that matched your nails, “I’ll be the bigger person here, and I’ll leave.” 

Water dripped down your thighs as you walked to the front porch and pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut and twist the lock upon entry—but a dark boot prevents your dismissal.

Rolling your eyes you try to kick his knee to get him to move but he wouldn’t budge, and you huff in annoyance. 

“Pretty sure this is harassment.” 

You ignore the way he walks in your house like he knew his way around, even though he did, your house was a second home to him for years.

Shutting the door with dramatic flair, Eddie leans into your space, inches from your nose, “just answer my question sweetheart— and I’ll be on my happy little way.” 

“You’re deranged if you think I’m telling you anything.”

He cocks his head and laughs like a jerk, mocking you.

“Thata more than likely, but I know better than anyone,” his eyes undress you, fingernails skating across your thighs, “how much you like it.”

You turn and shout over your shoulder, “go home Eddie— I’m not in the mood for this!” 

He barrels around you, demanding your attention. 

“Aww you’re not in the mood?” his voice dipped to a gravelly bite of anger as he put his hand over his heart, “my sincerest apologies to your feelings baby…but I somehow don’t give a fuck about your little feelings when I find out from Gareth that you were sucking some guy’s dick in the Starcourt parking lot.” 

Your face heats in embarrassment and Eddie’s eyes are glassy, coated with pain. You never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to look at you the way he is right now. 

“Ed—” 

He smirks.

“I think it’s cute…honestly, still doing the same shit you did with me…” he moves to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I’m flattered.”

“Get out,” you bite back, making to shove him to the door but you’re no match for him. 

“D’dya swallow for him like you did for me?” 

“Get..” 

“He bigger than me?” 

“…out!” your shoves are fruitless against his broad shoulders.

“Last I checked Harrington was the only one who had me beat… unless you’re fucking him too.”

The slap startled him, but he knew he deserved it. The torment in your eyes was fueled by his words and he fucking hated himself for making you feel that way. 

He was hurting too, body shaking with rage and swallowing tears the whole drive here. But, when your tears fell on the apples of your cheeks— all his pain turned to gloom. 

“I’m sorry— I— That was a dick thing to say.” 

“Do you think getting over you was easy for me?”

“I don’t know.” 

“It wasn’t.. and truthfully I don’t think I am yet, but what fucking choice did I have?!”

“Babe—.” 

“I loved you, Eddie… I still fucking love you. Why isn’t that—”

His large hands clutch your cheeks, warm lips press into yours with a magnetic force you had forgotten about. Eddie’s tongue tasted like the tobacco spice of a camel, and a subtle hint of mint, and you devoured it like you were starved. 

He whispers and groans how he was so stupid, a real dumb mother fucker, and that he never should have ended it. 

Accepting his apology—for now—you pull him towards the couch, heels rocking on the carpet until they hit firm on the plush sectional, still lip locked with the man you swore, that you hated to your friends but your pillow heard a different plea ever since he broke your heart.

His arms wrap around your waist, fingers daintily pulling the string from your bikini bottoms until the soft fabric hits the floor.  His Hellfire shirt joins them before you both collapse into one another on the cushions, Eddie’s hair draped into your face hiding you both away from consequences and the reality of bad decisions. 

He breaks away from your lips to lick up the slope of your neck, and your head angles back in ecstasy. His body temperature was like fire against your skin, curling your legs around his back you couldn’t get enough of him. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Eddie grooaned, grinding into your naked cunt, his tongue kitten licking around your neck, working his signature hickey into your skin, “my angel.”

You moan feather light in his ear, fingers twisted into his curls. His hand works down your front, sliding between your slick folds with skills you swore only he possessed. 

He played your body like a guitar, knew how to tune you up, the proper way to hold you. A true expert of his craft— your pretty little noises would harmonize from the simple touch of his fingers, your sweet cunt clinching onto him like vice. 

“Missed that sound,” he chuckled, his bangs pushed up from the angle on your neck as you came undone, “so pretty like this… drunk on how I’m making you feel.” 

Your eyes were pinched shut, chest heaving from the breath shattering orgasm you haven’t had since you got dumped by him. Nobody came close to the way Eddie could do it.

Kissing him square on the mouth, you twist your tongue with his, massaging them together as if a flame could spark from the pink wet muscles.

Intimacy with Eddie felt like home, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer when you were freezing. A cup of soup to soothe an itchy throat. 

He melted into you, collecting each gasp you choked out with a kiss from his lips, doing a poor job of hiding the smirk on his face when your breath was stolen from his pistoning hips. 

New— but entirely the same, your bodies fell back into each other like no time had passed and he made up for what was lost, twice. Each time your cries rang out like music to his ears— his favorite song. 

You slept now, adjusting to his arm wrapped around you, a kiss to your forehead, and a new plea in your pillowcase— for Eddie to stay, forever. 

[chosok-amo]

Hi suki🫶 may i request umemiya taking care of sick reader? I read your satosugu x reader, and i wonder what umemiya will do😋 thank you

NASTY FEVER : UMEMIYA HAJIME

you’ve been mia since yesterday, making your boyfriend worried. when umemiya comes to your bedroom, he finds you unable to move from your nasty fever.

warning. established relationship! umemiya, fluff.

THERE WILL BE PART TWO (A SMUT, HIHI).

umemiya had been staring at his phone screen all morning, watching the line of unanswered texts he’d sent you. he tried calling you again, but once more, the call went straight to voicemail. he frowned, checking the time and realizing how unusual this was. you, of all people, ignoring him? the thought alone made him uneasy. you were the spoiled, clingy one, always texting and calling him at odd hours, demanding attention with the playful charm he adored. but now? complete silence.

unable to shake the worry gnawing at him, he decided to go see you himself. he climbed into his car, a sleek black vehicle that he only drove when visiting your estate, the car he bought after working for hours just to provide you the things you deserve—because otherwise, his bike was more his style—and set off.

when he arrived, he was greeted by your enormous mansion, an estate tucked behind towering iron gates, with manicured lawns and rows of imported flowers lining the driveway. the building was a sight to behold, almost as if it had been taken straight out of a modern fairytale: wide, high-ceilinged windows, intricate stonework, and a massive fountain in the front courtyard. he drove up to the entrance, where a valet opened his car door, and he tossed the keys over, barely pausing as he walked inside.

as he entered the grand foyer, the high ceilings and chandeliers reflected the wealth surrounding him. marble floors gleamed under his boots, and the soft sounds of a piano playing in one of the far rooms filled the air, likely a recording from one of the estate’s speakers. without wasting a second, he made his way to the staircase, a luxurious spiral lined with deep red carpet and framed by golden banisters, leading up to your bedroom. he took the steps two at a time, the worry he’d tried to keep at bay now growing with each step.

reaching the top, he walked through the expansive hallway, glancing at the opulent decor along the walls, each piece more valuable than the last—priceless paintings, crystal vases, intricate carvings. but none of it mattered to him now. he pushed open the double doors to your bedroom, stepping inside and glancing around the enormous space.

your bedroom was like a world of its own, with floor-to-ceiling windows draped in silk curtains, furniture so plush and ornate that it looked like it belonged in a palace, and a chandelier above the bed, casting a warm glow that softened the room’s already rich tones. his gaze landed on the king-sized bed at the center, where you were curled up under the layers of silk and velvet blankets like a tiny cocoon.

“hey,” he whispered, his voice breaking the silence as he stepped closer, heart racing a little. you looked so small, so fragile, wrapped up like that in the middle of your extravagant room.

he sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently pull the blanket down from your face. as the fabric slid away, he could finally see you: your features relaxed, your eyelashes casting soft shadows against your cheeks. he exhaled, a mixture of relief and worry swirling in his chest. “you had me worried sick,” he murmured to himself, his hand finding its way to your cheek, brushing gently.

as umemiya sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze softened, finally getting a close look at you. at first, he felt relieved just seeing you there, but the longer he watched, the more he noticed something wasn’t right. your skin, usually full of warmth and color, looked pale and drained under the soft lighting in the room, almost as if the life had been sapped from you.

a frown creased his brow as he reached out, his hand hovering near your face for a moment before gently pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. instantly, his eyes widened in concern—you were burning up. your skin was hot to the touch, feverish in a way that made his stomach twist.

“hey… you’re burning up,” he whispered, his voice laced with worry as his thumb brushed gently over your cheek. even in sleep, you looked uneasy, your face drawn and slightly flushed from the fever. beads of sweat glistened along your forehead, and he noticed a shiver pass through you despite the heat radiating from your skin.

he couldn’t remember ever seeing you like this. usually, you were lively, bright, and demanding in the best way, always pulling him into whatever you had planned for the day. but now, curled up and silent, you looked fragile, too still for his comfort.

swallowing the worry building in his chest, umemiya leaned closer, his hand moving to cup your face gently. “baby, wake up,” he murmured, trying to rouse you without startling you. his thumb continued to trace soft circles on your cheek, hoping that the gentle touch would bring you back just enough to talk to him.

your eyelids fluttered, opening slightly, and you let out a quiet, barely-there groan. your gaze met his, but it was hazy, like you were looking through him rather than at him. “haji…?” your voice was a weak whisper, barely audible.

he blinked at the sound of his name on your lips, relief mixing with concern as your eyes fluttered open, albeit just barely. the way you looked at him—through him, rather than at him—sent a chill down his spine. it was like you were there, but not quite.

“yeah, it’s me, baby,” he murmured back, trying to keep his voice steady as he ran his fingers through your hair, his thumb sweeping over your forehead before moving down to your feverish cheek. your skin was like fire, the heat radiating off of you making him frown tighter.

he moved closer to the middle of the bed, sitting beside you and studying your face closely. he noticed the light shiver that wracked through your body, a contrast to the feverish heat of your skin. “you’re burning up, princess… how long have you been like this?”

he scanned your face, noting the way your eyes seemed to struggle to focus on him, and the slight crease between your brows from discomfort. gently, he brushed his hand over your forehead again, trying to push back your hair, but it only seemed to cling to your sweaty skin.

“why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of worry and a little annoyance. “i was calling you all morning and yesterday, you didn’t pick up. i was worried sick.”

you barely registered his words, the gentle timbre of his voice mixing with the heat pounding in your head. though you could feel his hand brushing your forehead, his fingers moving tenderly through your hair, it felt as if he was miles away. your eyes drifted closed again, too heavy to keep open, and the exhaustion pressing down on you made responding feel impossible.

“hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice tinged with an edge of panic as he saw you slipping back into that hazy state. “don’t go quiet on me now,” he murmured, his hand cupping your face and his thumb tracing gentle circles against your flushed skin.

your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and another shiver ran through you, making you curl deeper into yourself. he frowned, feeling helpless, as he watched you struggle even to keep your eyes open. “come on, sweetheart… just a little longer,” he whispered, leaning closer, almost as if his presence alone could shield you from the fever’s grip.

but instead of replying, you simply let out a soft sigh, your body giving in to the fever’s exhaustion once more. it was as if responding took too much effort, each second sapping your strength further, until you couldn’t do anything but sink back into the comforting darkness.

a mixture of worry and frustration rose in his chest. you were so weak, so unlike your usual self… it was all so sudden too. he’d seen you just a few days ago, and you were fine then. so how the hell did you end up like this?

he shook his head, pushing back the barrage of questions and focusing on the more pressing matter at hand. you were sick, and sick bad. he needed to do something. he gently shook your shoulder, his fingers applying a light pressure. “baby, stay with me. come on, open your eyes.”

he kept his voice soft, but firm, not wanting to startle you, but also desperate for you to respond fully. his hand slid from your shoulder to your cheek, gripping you a bit tighter.

“i need you to wake up for me, princess. c’mon, you’re scaring the hell out of me.” his gaze traveled over your face again, trying to see if there was any change. you were so still, so unresponsive. it was like you were trapped in some sort of feverish stupor.

your body responded first, a soft jolt running through you as if your mind finally registered the gentle shake. your eyelids fluttered, the weight of exhaustion making each blink feel like an enormous effort, but at the sound of his voice, you fought to open them. hazy and unfocused, your gaze settled on him, trying to make sense of his worried face through the feverish fog clouding your vision.

“haji…?” your voice was barely a whisper, weak and breathy, as if even speaking his name took every ounce of strength left in you. your throat felt dry, the word scratching out as you blinked slowly, struggling to stay present.

he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a mix of relief and fear flooding his expression as his fingers brushed against your cheek. “yeah, it’s me, princess. i’m right here,” he murmured softly, but there was an urgency beneath his tone, a plea for you to stay awake, to stay with him.

you tried to smile, a faint tug at the corners of your mouth, but it faltered quickly as a wave of dizziness washed over you, making you close your eyes again. “i… i don’t feel good,” you whispered, voice barely audible as you shifted slightly, curling further into the warmth of the blanket but instinctively leaning into his touch.

as you spoke, his heart clenched in his chest. the sound of your weak voice, so unlike your usual bright and animated tone, just drove home how serious this was. “yeah, you’ve got a serious nasty fever,” he murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your cheek. “when did this start, princess?”

he shifted his position, moving to sit closer beside you on the bed, his weight denting the mattress as he adjusted the blanket around you. he reached out, gently brushing back some of the hair sticking to your forehead. you were burning up, but shivering like you were cold.

your head shook weakly, barely a tilt as you struggled to even keep your eyes open. “i… i don’t know,” you whispered, voice trailing off in a soft rasp. the effort it took to form the words felt exhausting, like even the smallest movement drained what little strength you had left.

you blinked, trying to focus on his face, but everything seemed blurry, like you were looking at him through a thick haze. “just… feels like it came out of nowhere,” you mumbled, your voice sounding as distant to yourself as it did to him.

you shifted slightly, wincing as a shiver wracked through you, your body’s warmth a painful contrast to the chills creeping over you. instinctively, you leaned closer to him, seeking out his warmth, the feeling of his presence somehow reassuring. your fingers curled weakly against the blanket, clutching it closer to your chest as you muttered, “sorry… didn’t mean to worry you…”

he exhaled through his nose, frustration mixing with concern. the uncertainty only heightened his worry. how long had you been sick without him knowing? how high did your fever reach before he showed up? it could’ve been dangerous.

he swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. you looked so delicate, so unlike your usual feisty self. normally, you’d be demanding attention and playing up how vulnerable you were. but now, all he saw was genuine fragility.

“don’t apologise… just stay awake for me, okay? just a few more minutes,” he assured, his hands gently running along your arms over your blanket, trying to soothe the shivers that wracked your body.

he leaned closer, one hand moving to hold your forehead, the other resting on your cheek. he had to keep you awake long enough to get some medication in you. “how long have you been in bed?” he pressed, his voice a soft prodding.

your eyes fluttered open, just barely, as you tried to recall. it felt like days, time blending together in a feverish haze. “since… yesterday? i think,” you murmured, uncertainty lacing your voice, the words coming out in a weak, almost questioning tone. the memories were fuzzy, each attempt to think it over making your head pound harder.

you swallowed, feeling the dryness in your throat and the weight in your limbs. “i… i tried to get up,” you admitted softly, closing your eyes again as exhaustion pulled at you. “but… i couldn’t,” you added, almost like it was an apology, frustration slipping through your voice as you pressed yourself further into the pillow.

he gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the wave of worry that washed over him. yesterday? you’d been like this for a day?

“why didn’t you call me, princess?” he asked suddenly, his tone sharper than he intended. but the thought of you being here, alone and sick for that long, just made his anger flare.

he immediately tried to soften his voice, realising that wasn’t exactly helpful right now. he leaned closer, one hand still against your forehead, the other tracing gentle patterns on your cheek. “i would’ve come over. you know that.”

umemiya’s jaw clenched as he watched you slip back into that feverish haze, eyes fluttering shut once again, caught somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. his gaze softened despite the frustration simmering beneath, taking in the flush that colored your cheeks, the way your lashes brushed against your skin. you looked fragile, far too fragile, and it made his chest tighten with anger and helplessness.

he let his eyes drift around the room, the opulent space feeling eerily quiet and empty, the silence amplifying his worry. how had no one noticed? how had no one thought to check on you? but he caught himself, remembering the countless times you’d insisted on your solitude, telling every worker in the house to leave you be able unless you called them—something he’d grown to understand and respect, even if it frustrated him now.

you’d always been strict about your quality time, loving your own space, always setting your own boundaries. he also knew about your parents’ long work trips once you told him days ago, leaving you alone for weeks. he felt a pang of worry, realizing how long you might’ve been curled up in this bed, too sick to even get up.

still, the thought of you here, curled up alone in this grand room, with no one to look after you gnawed at him. he exhaled deeply, a slow sigh escaping as he reached out, brushing a thumb gently across your fever-warmed cheek. his other hand moved to check the blanket, making sure it was snug around you.

“have you even eaten?” he whispered to himself, his voice thick with concern. he brushed his thumb gently over your forehead, feeling the heat radiate from you, and his jaw tightened. he’d never forgive himself if he left you to go through this alone.

you managed a faint shake of your head, your movements slow and weak, but it was enough to make his heart sink. even in your half-conscious state, you were honest, admitting in that small gesture that you hadn’t eaten, that you’d been here alone and struggling.

umemiya’s jaw clenched, again, his eyes darkening with both worry and a quiet anger at the thought of you lying here for so long, too sick to even take care of yourself. “damn it, princess,” he murmured, voice breaking with a mixture of frustration and affection. his other thumb traced softly over your cheek, his touch tender despite the tightness in his expression. “you should’ve called me… you don’t have to handle everything alone.”

as you shook your head weakly, the admission of having not eaten sent a stabbing pain through his chest. you’d been here, alone and vulnerable, and you didn’t even have the strength to eat. he could barely hold back the rush of anger and worry.

“jesus christ, princess…” he muttered, his hand move to clenching the blanket at your side, trying to keep his emotions in check. he didn’t want to upset you, not when you looked so fragile, but the thought of you here... “why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?”

he grumbled under his breath, anger simmering within him, the fact that you didn’t call him the second you started feeling unwell driving him crazy. he knew you were stubborn, but this was on a whole new level. you were sick, you were suffering, alone and in pain. without a word, he reached for the home phone on one of the bedside tables, dialing the direct line to the kitchen.

a soft beeping sound filled the room as he waited for someone in the kitchen to pick up. he still held your cheek gently with his other hand, feeling the heat radiating from your fevered skin. as the line finally connected, a familiar voice sounded from the other end.

“yes, sir?” the kitchen staff member greeted warmly to umemiya after hearing his polite yet firm voice, clearly recognizable from having worked in the house for years. your staff are already familiar with umemiya, so when they hear a man’s voice they instantly know it was him. “send up some food,” umemiya ordered, his voice firm with no room for argument. “soup—chicken noodle, and some water. no, wait. make that ginger tea, add some honey too.”

he looked down at you, your figure so small and fragile under the covers. he couldn’t shake the feeling of worry and anger from his gut. even after all this time, you were still so damn stubborn, and it frustrated him to no end.

“yes, sir,” the voice replied calmly on the other end of the line. “anything else?”

umemiya glanced around the room before answering gruffly, “yes. send some medicine—fever reducers and anti-inflammatory,” he paused, eyeing your weakened form. “and something for a sore throat too.”

“right away, sir.” the voice responded swiftly, understanding the gravity of the situation from the tone of his voice alone.

he hung up, placing the phone back on the bedside table, and turning his attention fully back to you. he moved his hand from your cheek, but not before letting his touch linger for a moment. he sat back a bit, letting his eyes roam over you again, seeing the small shivers that continued to wrack through your body. he leaned forward, pulling the blanket as tightly around you as he could.

a faint murmur slipped from your lips, barely above a whisper, “cold…” the word sounded so small, carrying a fragile edge that made umemiya’s heart twist. he took in the sight of your shivering form, noticing for the first time how thin your shirt was, your legs barely covered by your shorts.

“i’ll fix that,” he whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your feverish forehead before he stood up. he hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you, then he walked over to your walk-in closet. the sprawling space was filled with clothes and luxurious fabrics, but he focused only on finding something warm, something that would help ease your shivering.

as he picked out a soft, thick sweater and a pair of cozy sweatpants, he felt an urgency—an overwhelming need to see you comfortable again. he returned to your bedside, sitting beside you once more. “let’s get you warmed up, okay, baby?” he murmured gently, brushing a few strands of hair back from your face.

you responded with a small, almost imperceptible nod, your lips curling up into a weak, grateful smile. your eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion pulling at your body, but you still managed to muster a response, your voice a faint, strained whisper.

“yeah…”

he saw the way you watched him, though your eyes seemed heavy and unfocused, you still tracked his movements. he could see the relief in your gaze, a silent thanks for his being here. umemiya gave you one last reassuring look before he set to work, shifting and tugging at the covers.

unemeiya managed to get you dressed, the thick, comfortable material of the sweater and sweatpants providing some much-needed warmth to your shivering form. he tucked the blanket around you, making sure every inch of you was covered, trying to block out the chill that seemed to permeate every inch of the room.

he laid a gentle hand on your forehead again, the heat still burning underneath his touch. he noticed the sweat beading on your skin, your fevered state clearly taking its toll. he needed that medicine—now.

after a while, umemiya finally managed to settle you against the headboard, your back resting comfortably against the soft pillows he’d piled behind you. the blankets were wrapped snugly around your shoulders, a small comfort against the feverish chill that clung to your skin.

“here, just a little more,” he murmured, holding the bowl of soup carefully in one hand while lifting a spoonful to your lips with the other. his eyes softened as you blinked drowsily, barely managing to focus on him. even through the haze, you kept your gaze on him, as if anchoring yourself to his presence.

you parted your lips, accepting each spoonful as he fed you with a tenderness that spoke of his worry and care. his thumb brushed over your knuckles, tracing gentle circles in reassurance as he murmured, “that’s it… one more.”

with each bite, he stayed close, watching you carefully, his gaze never leaving yours for long. though weak, you could sense the warmth in his eyes, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. it was enough to bring a small comfort through the fever’s hold on you, as he patiently helped you through each bite.

a weak chuckle slipped from your lips, catching his attention as he continued to frown, his brow furrowed in silent frustration. you could see that sulky look in his eyes, the kind he wore whenever he was quietly scolding you—this time for not telling him you were sick.

“what’s so funny?” he muttered, his voice laced with concern, though he couldn’t quite hide the hint of annoyance. you gave him a small, hazy smile. “you’re frowning like i committed a crime,” you teased weakly, voice barely above a whisper.

as your voice floated over, he couldn't help but huff a soft sigh, his lips almost curving into a smile. even when you were sick and exhausted, you still managed to be a smartass, still managed to find the humour in his worry.

he let his gaze travel over your face for a second, taking in the slight flush to your cheeks, the fever still leaving its mark. his fingers ran softly over your skin, feeling the heat that radiated off of you. “pretty sure being this stubborn should be a crime,” he muttered, his tone half-teasing, half-concerned.

he brought the next spoonful of soup to your lips, his eyes meeting yours. “open up,” he gently commanded. you were slowly but surely finishing the bowl, each spoonful a testament to your progress. you took each bite obediently, too tired to argue or protest. but the way you looked at him, the fire in your eyes still burning despite the fever, made him smile.

as he fed you another spoonful, he chuckled softly, a sound that rumbled in his chest. “look at you, all compliant. guess you’re easier to handle with a fever, yeah?” he chuckles.

“you’re lucky you’re sick as hell, otherwise i’d be yelling at you right now,” he continued, his voice taking a firmer tone, though the worry in his eyes betrayed the attempt to chide you. he lifted another spoonful of soup, holding it to your lips, waiting for you to take it before he spoke again. “do you know how worried i was, princess?” he asked, his frown deepening slightly, the question clearly rhetorical.

you managed a weak chuckle, your lips curling into a small smirk as you glanced up at him. “did i make you cry, haji?” you teased, voice raspy but playful, though you could barely keep your eyes open. despite the fatigue weighing on you, the spark in your gaze was unmistakable.

umemiya scoffed, rolling his eyes, though a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “yeah, right. you wish,” he muttered, feigning offense. “you might have had me a little freaked out, but you’re not getting any tears out of me.”

he brought another spoonful of soup to your lips, his eyes still watching you intently. “you should be focusing on getting better, not cracking jokes,” he chided softly, but his smile betrayed the warmth beneath his words.

as you took the spoonful, you gave him a small grin, savoring the way he fussed over you. “i’ll keep that in mind… next time i wanna make you cry,” you whispered, too tired to manage more than a lazy smile.

umemiya huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head at your sass. even with a fever, you were still as cheeky as ever. “yeah, yeah, princess. don’t push your luck,” he reprimanded, though his voice betrayed his amusement. he knew you well. once you were set on something, especially the act of teasing him, there was no stopping you.

he chuckled, gently brushing a stray hair from your forehead. “keep talking like that, and i’ll start charging for this five-star nursing service,” he teased back, though his hand lingered, his thumb gently stroking your temple.

after, he stirred the spoon in the bowl, watching the broth swirl around, then brought it up to your lips again, holding your gaze as he spoke. “one more spoonful. think you can manage?”

you gave him a small, weary nod, lips parting slightly as he brought the spoon to your mouth. though every muscle in your body felt heavy, there was something soothing about his presence, the gentle way he held your gaze, the warmth of his fingers as they lingered at your temple.

as you swallowed the last spoonful, a soft hum of satisfaction slipped past his lips. he placed the bowl back on the bedside table before he leaned closer to you, his eyes roaming over you. the slight flush to your cheeks was now more pronounced, the fever still holding its grip.

he reached out and laid a hand on your forehead, feeling the heat beneath his palm. he frowned slightly, the worry still etched across his features. “you’re still burning up…” he muttered, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw.

you nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “still feel like shit…” you admitted, your eyes drifting to the glass sitting on the bedside table. the dryness in your throat only added to your discomfort. “and... thirsty.”

umemiya nodded, understanding your needs without you even having to say much. he reached for the glass of water, wrapping his fingers around the cool, smooth glass. he held it for you and guided it to your lips, gently supporting the back of your head. “try to take small sips, okay? too much too fast and you’ll throw up,” he instructed quietly.

he watched as you took small sips, making sure each one went down without issue. he observed your movements, noting the tiredness in your eyes, though he couldn’t help noticing the slight quirk of your lips as you looked at him. he chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving your face. “what’s that look for?” he asked, curiosity lacing his voice as he placed the glass back on the bedside table.

you chuckled weakly, shaking your head in response to his question. “nothing,” you murmured, though a small smile lingered on your lips. there was something comforting about his presence, the way he fussed over you even when you felt your worst.

umemiya, noticing that you hadn’t finished the tea your staff had prepared earlier, picked up the warm cup and held it out to you. “you need to drink this too,” he insisted gently. “it’ll help with the fever.”

you took a few more sips, the warmth spreading through your body, making you feel a bit better despite the lingering fatigue. he watched you closely, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection, making sure you drank as much as you could.

once you managed to finish most of the tea, he reached for the medication, his demeanor shifting to one of gentle authority. “alright, time for your medicine,” he said, opening the packet and handing you the pills along with another glass of water. “just take it easy and swallow these down. i’ll be right here.” you nodded, taking the pills and the water, grateful for his insistence. as you swallowed, you felt the heaviness in your body begin to lift, even if just slightly. his nurturing care wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing the discomfort you felt inside.

umemiya watched as you swallowed the pills, a sense of relief washing over him. he knew they’d help bring your fever down, make you feel better. his eyes still roamed over you, taking in your tired form, your pale skin, the way your shoulders sagged with fatigue.

he moved closer, his hand reaching out to brush a few strands of hair back from your face. “feeling any better?” he asked quietly, his voice filled with concern and affection. his fingers lingered at your temple, tracing small, soothing circles on your skin.

you raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smirk forming on your lips despite the fatigue that weighed you down. “oh, yeah, it feels like magic,” you said sarcastically, your voice laced with a hint of teasing. “a minutes in, and i’m already dancing around like a fairy.”

it was hard to keep the teasing tone out of your voice, even in your current state. the way he hovered over you, checking in with such genuine concern, warmed your heart despite the fever that still clung to you.

you couldn’t help but feel a little amused by his eagerness to gauge the effects of the medicine so soon. it hadn’t even been a minutes since you swallowed the pills, yet here he was, acting like he was waiting for some miraculous recovery. his affection was palpable, wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, and you felt a flutter in your chest. it was comforting to know he cared so much, even when you felt like a shell of your usual self.

umemiya chuckled at your sarcastic reply, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. he should’ve known better, even feverish and exhausted, you still kept your sass. your witty comebacks, the way you didn’t lose that edge, even in your state of illness— it was one of the things he loved about you.

he shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you’re a real comedian, you know that?” he teased back, his hand still tracing patterns across your skin, his touch gentle yet firm.

you laughed softly, a mix of sarcasm and playful defiance in your voice. “what can i say, baby? i’m a natural entertainer, even when i’m a hot mess,” you replied, a teasing glint in your eyes despite the fatigue weighing you down. the laughter felt good, a small reprieve from the fever that still clung to you.

“besides, someone has to keep you on your toes, haji. wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable playing nurse,” you added, a smirk dancing on your lips. it was a lighthearted jab, a way to keep the atmosphere from becoming too heavy. his smirk only deepened, and you could see the fondness in his gaze as he continued to gently brush his fingers along your skin, creating a soothing rhythm that calmed your racing thoughts.

“but really, i appreciate you being here. just don’t expect a standing ovation for my performance tonight,” you quipped, chuckling again softly, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

umemiya chuckled, shaking his head again. only you could find a way to keep your spirits up, even in your weakened state. he knew it was a defense mechanism, a way to mask the discomfort behind your witty banter.

“oh, princess, i already have a standing ovation in mind for you,” he teased back, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “but it’ll have to wait until you’re feeling better.” he could see the fatigue in your eyes, the way they were starting to droop as you tried to keep up the banter.

umemiya felt a surge of warmth in his chest as he watched you, the fatigue beginning to win the battle against your spirited facade. wanting to comfort you in the best way he could, he moved slowly, shedding his clothes until he was only in his boxers. he wanted to keep you warm, and sharing body heat felt like the perfect solution.

sliding under the covers beside you, he nestled in close, a playful grin on his face. “come here, you little shit,” he joked, his voice light but laced with affection. wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you against him, your body fitting perfectly against his.

he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, feeling the heat radiate from your skin. “you’re stealing all my body heat, you know,” he teased, though the warmth of you pressed against him was comforting. his heart swelled with affection, grateful to be here with you, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal. “but i guess i can’t complain,” he murmured, his fingers brushing through your hair as he held you close, hoping his warmth would help chase away the chill of your fever.

you let out a weak giggle, the sound light and airy despite your fatigue. instinctively, you wrapped your arm around his bare waist, seeking comfort in his warmth as you nestled your head against his hard chest. the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you was soothing, grounding you amidst the haze of your fever.

“guess i’ll take the heat, then,” you murmured, your voice slightly muffled against his skin. there was a sense of safety in being so close to him, a shield against the chill that had settled in your bones. his warmth enveloped you like a blanket of sun kissing your skin in the morning, and for a moment, the discomfort of your illness faded into the background.

you could feel the tension in his body ease as he held you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. it was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes of his care. the banter may have been playful, but this closeness was what truly made you feel better. with umemiya beside you, even the worst of days seemed a little more bearable.

umemiya relished in the way your body fit against his, the way you instinctively clung to him. it felt good to hold you like this, even if it was because you were sick. he held you closer, his fingers tracing soft lines across your back, feeling the shiver that still clung to your body.

“you’re always stealing my body heat,” he teased again, his voice low and rough. “just can’t keep your hands off me, huh?” he chuckled lightly, the sound rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

you hummed softly at his teasing, a playful smile tugging at your lips as your fingers began to run gently up and down his chest. the warmth radiating from him felt incredibly comforting, and the connection between you only deepened with each gentle stroke.

“maybe you can stay the night for today,” you suggested lightly, your voice playful yet sincere. the thought of having him beside you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth while you tried to shake off the fever, was immensely appealing. you loved how his presence made everything feel safer, more secure.

you looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief despite your exhaustion. “what do you say, haji? an all-night nursing shift, just for me?” you added, teasingly batting your lashes, the affectionate banter bringing a bit of life back into your weary body.

umemiya chuckled at your suggestion, a flicker of warmth in his eyes at the thought. the idea of spending the night with you, watching over you as you fought off the fever, appealed to him more than he cared to admit.

“hmm, an all-night nursing shift, just for you, princess?” he repeated, feigning reluctance before a smirk tugged at his lips. “and here i thought i was already working overtime, given how stubborn you’ve been all day.” he let his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer into his chest.

“fine, but you owe me. big time,” he paused for a moment, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, taking a moment to relish in the feeling of having you close. “now close those pretty eyes and try to get some rest,” he instructed softly, his voice filled with a tender firmness. “the faster you fall asleep, the sooner you’ll kick this fever’s ass.”

you let out a soft sigh, feeling the weight of your exhaustion wash over you. “all right,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you closed your eyes, succumbing to the warmth and comfort surrounding you.

you tightened your arm around his waist, pulling him even closer beneath the blanket. his steady heartbeat against your ear was soothing, and you focused on that rhythmic sound, allowing it to lull you into a sense of peace. the tension in your body began to melt away, the worry and discomfort fading as you nestled against him, feeling safe and cherished.

“just don’t let go,” you added softly, your voice muffled against his chest, wanting to hold onto this moment for as long as you could.

umemiya chuckled lightly at your demand, a soft rumble in his chest. “like i could ever,” he muttered quietly, his voice thick with affectionate amusement. he tightened his arms around you, pulling you firmly against him, wanting to comfort you and provide you with the reassurance you craved.

he leaned his head down, his lips brushing against your forehead, leaving behind a gentle kiss. “go on, princess. just let it all go. get some shut eye, you stubborn little thing,” he encouraged gently, his fingers running lazily through your hair.

he continued to hold you, his touch gentle and soothing, his fingers tracing small, slow circles on your back. he could feel your breathing begin to deepen, the steady rhythm of your body against his letting him know you were finally falling asleep.

umemiya looked down at you, the soft rise and fall of your chest against his, the way you clung tightly to him. he couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of protectiveness as he watched over you, ensuring you got the rest you so desperately needed.

he continued the soothing motion, his fingers moving along your scalp, trying to ease any remaining tension. “don’t worry about a thing, princess. i’ll be right here when you wake up,” he murmured, voice barely above the whisper with his lips on your forehead.

for hours, he remained in that space, his gaze flickering between the television screen and your peaceful face. the soft glow of the screen cast gentle shadows across the room, but his attention was mostly on you, the way you nestled against him, your breathing gradually becoming steadier.

each time he caught a glimpse of you, he felt a wave of warmth and protectiveness wash over him. he couldn’t help but smile as he gently pressed his lips to your forehead, the action becoming instinctual, a silent promise that he would be there for you. his fingers continued to stroke your hair, weaving through the strands, creating a rhythm that seemed to sync with your deepening sleep.

he kept the TV volume low, not wanting to disturb you, but found himself growing restless as the hours ticked by. despite your peaceful slumber, he could sense the occasional hitch in your breath, the subtle sign that your body was still battling the fever. he continued to soothe you with his touch, whispering soft reassurances that you might not even hear.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered quietly, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. the world outside faded away, and for him, nothing mattered more than ensuring you felt safe and loved in that moment. he stayed vigilant, anticipating the moment you’d wake, ready to shower you with affection and care. in the stillness of the room, umemiya felt a sense of peace settle over him, knowing he’d be right there when you opened your eyes again.

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you. (18+)

Pairings: Soulless!SamWinchester X Reader

Rating: 18+

Summary: Sam has been… off lately. But that’s to be expected from a man who just came back from hell, right?

Word count: 5.9k

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader, hunting with Sam and Dean, Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester smut, dubcon(?) , PiV, no protection (wrap it up kids), creampie, breath play, choking, pinning, fingering, degradation, rough, dom sam, Dean mentioned but not involved, dacryphilia, reader has female anatomy, no use of y/n

Notes: wooo! sorry for the long hiatus, school has been fucking me missionary. anyway, starting off Kinktober strong with dubcon

Requests are open.

There was something terribly wrong with Sam.

You knew it from the moment he got back. Hell, everyone knew it.

Though of course when these concerns were raised to Dean, he, in his self-imposed naïveté, ignored it.

But you knew he felt it too.

During the few times you’ve tagged along on the brothers hunts these last few months, you’ve picked up on a few things. The way Dean would hold eye contact with Sam for only thirty seconds at a time, never a moment longer. Or how he would shift away from his own brother if he got too close. It was subtle. But you knew.

You couldn’t blame Dean for wanting to pretend everything was all right. Sam was his brother after all. And after everything they'd been through, if you were in his position, you'd do the same. You've only known the boys for some odd years now, and still you find yourself from time to time, pretending that the sweet, bookish, too-tall-for-his-own-good Sam you met is the same thing that came out of hell.

That is how you would survive this hunt.

You’ve always wondered how humans could feel someone's eyes on them. Since becoming a hunter that sense has sharpened.

You tear your gaze away from the view out of the backseat of the Impala and lock eyes with Sam in the rearview mirror. His once soft gaze was now stoic and calculating.

He looks away.

You linger.

You couldn't help but have the feeling that, in fact, there was nothing wrong with Sam at all.

This simply wasn't Sam. This was just some creature doing a poor emulation of him.

Without realizing, your hand had slid down your leg to the lifted fabric in the side of your boot. Your fingertips grazed the hilt of your dagger.

Correction, this is how you’d survive this hunt.

—-

When you finally arrived at the dilapidated manor, Dean was first to survey the scene.

“Alright.” He said in his usual gruff voice, clasping his hands together. “We got alotta ground to cover so, ladies first, take your pick.” Dean said, gesturing to you.

You were hoping Sam would pick first so that at the very least, you could choose the place furthest from the shiver down your spine.

“I’ll take upstairs,” you said. That feeling again, eyes on you.

Dean nods. You spin on your heels and race up the winding staircase without waiting to hear what each chose.

—-

Mildew and rotting wood lace the air. It’s a shame really, you thought. You face the expansive landing before you, pausing as your calf muscles burn from climbing the stairs two at a time.

High ceilings, eleven feet at least. Tall windows with dusty wine curtains spilling onto the floor shielding the amber of the setting sun. Most of the furniture was missing –evidence of squatters and raids– what remained was broken and covered in suspicious stains, much like what was left of the deep brown hardwood flooring. The most noticeable part of the room was the wallpaper, a rich red with delicate Chrysanthemums scattered across it, almost looking hand-painted on.

The wooden boards groan beneath your feet, causing you to question if they threatened to give out. You had a job to do, so you trudge down the dark hall.

Around 10 minutes pass and you knew no more information than when you first walked in. Not too long after you first got upstairs, you heard the ghostly moan of the front door shutting – one of the boys had opted to search the grounds. Meanwhile you tore through almost a dozen rooms only to find phallic graffiti and more rotting wood.

It was dark through the house now, the setting sun long gone, leaving you in the cold, dim space. The only light provided was the one functional bulb of the broken chandelier above- set to perpetually swing until its last chain broke.

The actual goal of this job was rather vague. All you knew was a bunch of kids had narrowly escaped death after a night of pure dumbassery in this house. So now here you were, swiping your EMF reader abstractly through the air and as Dean so eloquently put it, “keepin’ your eyes peeled for anything ghost-y or weird.”

Yeah, real helpful.

So you continue on down the hall with only a few rooms left to search. Then, something sounds from ahead.

Creeeeeak

You stalk toward the sound.

Nothing.

Creeeeeak.

The sound seems to come from behind this time. That feeling again, eyes on you.

You whip your head around. “Who's there!” You shout, your confident voice a stark contrast to the pit hanging in your stomach.

This time you manage to catch a glimpse of something slipping around the corner. You steel yourself, pocket the EMF reader, pull your dagger from your boot and start toward the creature.

You walk out into the landing, your steps cautious and dagger ready. Your eyes roll through the room. It was as if the creature had disappeared.

Creeeeak.

Or maybe not.

“That's cute.” It chuckles.

The voice was low and terrible, sending shivers down your spine

Yet still, it was almost familiar.

It elicited this hair raising feeling you can only imagine is similar to what homosapien felt looking at neanderthal.

“Come on out!” you shout, voice beginning to waver.

“That little kitchen knife you have, it's cute.”

Your stomach drops. Gears begin to turn in your head.

“But y’know, It doesn't matter how good you are with it.”

Sam, the real Sam, had been trying for years to get you to use a gun. But you had your knives and were good with them no doubt, so what was the point? He would always return your refusals with that crooked smile and pleas of how it “would make him feel so much better.”

Creeeeak.

The hall, it had to be coming from there. You force yourself to move.

“If your opponent is faster.”

Creeeeak.

No it was from behind, you were sure of it.

You spin on your heels and race toward the landing once more.

“Sam, come out. This isn't fucking funny!”

Just as you turn the corner, one strong hand seizes both of your wrists in a single swift motion. In an instant you're slammed up against something hard. The knife drops from your hands. Sam kicks it away. You open your eyes.

Chrysanthemums.

Fuck.

Sam leans down, his hot breath brushing against your neck. “Should’ve let me teach you how to shoot.”

There's a pause, the moment breathing and the air pulsing.

“Sam...” You exhale finally. Your voice comes out smaller than you would’ve liked.

“You’re too easily overpowered.” he raises his head for his lips to meet your ear. “Didn’t take much for me to get you like this; to hunt you down.” Sam’s grip tightens on your wrists.

His voice was low and gravely. You fought back against your aching lungs' desire to quicken their pace.

“That's what you’re calling this?” You remark. “Hunting me down?”

You had to play this smart.

There was a small knife, pocket sized, really, concealed just past the waistband of your jeans. With your hands to your back, if you could maneuver your fingers just right-

“Well I did, didn't I?” He squeezes your wrists once more, sending pain shooting down your arm and causing your fingers to splay out.

“Okay!” You gasp. “You've proved your point!” You say through gritted teeth.

Your index and middle finger slip past the waistband.

His grip loosens and he pulls away. You exhale. The tip of the handle brushes against your fingertip. So close.

Then, Sam jerks your wrists downward, your chance of escape literally slips between your fingers.

“I don't think I have.”

He looks down on you, this you can see from the corner of your eye. The rest, you feel.

His gaze is mechanical, inspecting, taking in and processing data. Some synapse fire causes his lips to tug upward in a smirk.

“Fuck.”

His long fingers tuck into the waist of your jeans.

“What are you-” You jut your hips in a desperate attempt to move free. Sam silently presses his knee against the back of your own, stopping all movement. There was no anger in his motions, annoyance at best. You let out a ragged breath.

He pulls the blade out, slowly and deliberately.

“Sam.”

He ignores your plea. Sam drags the knife from you, taking great care to ensure that the blade runs along your spine and that the tip drags up the hem of your shirt.

A shiver of a different kind rolls through your every vertebrae.

He brings the dagger to your chin, forcing you to look up. Sam all but closes the gap between the two of you, the point of his nose ghosting against your cheek. The warmth of his body swarms around you; the rotting wood smell drowned out by his deep woodsy scent. For a small singular blip of a moment you allow yourself to believe that this thing that looked and smelled like Sam, was truly Sam.

“Scream.”

But this isn't Sam, you knew that.

His voice quickly serves to pull you from your sanctity.

“What?” You breathe, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

“You could’ve, by now. Dean would hear too, and you know that- you’re not stupid.”

“I-” You stammer. He was right. The thought had played in the back of your mind but some louder part of you, the part that hadn't been next to a warm body in months objected.

“So why don’t you?” Sam continues, his voice like velvet sending vibrations rippling across your skin.

“Go on, scream.”

Nothing.

He smirks.

Sam drops the knife. There goes your lifeline.

His lips meet your jaw in a hungry kiss. You let out an involuntary groan. His teeth clash against the bone, threatening to leave a mark.

Maybe this wasn't Sam, but it still looked like him, still felt like him, and still touched like him. Maybe pretending couldn't hurt.

He continues down your neck, every hot, open-mouthed kiss causing another groan to escape you. Deep down you felt some gross shame; the fraction of yourself that hasn't succumbed to the wants of your flesh racking against your ribcage. All at once his teeth clamp down on your shoulder. “Agh.”

Yeah pretending couldn’t hurt. But good god did you hope it would.

You hiss, sucking in a breath and trying to pull away.

“Tell me to stop.” Sam breaths in between rough kisses.

He flattens himself against you, the strain in his jeans pressing into your ass. Against better judgment, you let out a sweet moan and you feel the bulge in his pants grow. This was wrong, so so wrong. There was something off about Sam, you shouldn’t be sleeping with him.

“Sto-hmfg” You’re cut off by the sounds of your own pleasure as Sam sucks on the part of your neck he had just bit. The juxtaposition of pleasure and pain confuses your mind and body. Heat spreads between your thighs and your mind swirls.

Knowing and feeling something are two entirely different things. Sure, in your head you could protest the current situation. You could attempt to be as logical as you wanted, but that didn’t change the aching desire within you. 

“One word and I will.” Sam groans as he presses his hips into you. 

The feeling of his hardness so close to your needy core ceases any rational thought you could’ve given.

He releases your bruised wrists. Finally, a moment to think properly. Without warning, his arm wraps around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides and pulling you away from the wall and into him. You were sure at this point that your cheek had a chrysanthemum imprint on it. 

Sam looks down at you before him. So helpless and ready to be fucked dumb. He watches as you wince, your body in pain from the new position. His cock twitches. 

You feel his muscles, strong and heaving against your back, his arm flexing as he holds you close. His free hand slides over to the collar of your shirt. His long fingers delicately trace your collar bones, staring down at them as if he wants to sink his teeth in. The air leaves your lungs. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his hands sliding down your torso, then sliding up your shirt. Oh how badly you wanted to cry out. To beg him to touch your needy pussy. But something told you he wouldn't oblige. 

Sam watches your face intently. As hard as you tried not to give anything away, he could tell every single thing you were feeling. The light twitch of your eyebrow as he slid his hands up your shirt instead of down your pants sent satisfaction surging through him. He didn't have to feel you to know you were soaking wet. He slides his index and middle fingers under your bra and begins to massage the soft skin of your breasts. His thumbs hold your sides and his ring and pinky fingers dig into the gaps between your ribs. You were so much more fragile than he ever imagined. God, he can't wait to break you. 

Small, soft moans pour out of you like music to his ears. His fingers pinch your nipples harshly, causing you to make a squeak-like whimper. You try to pull away from him in sudden shock at the pain but there was nowhere to run. 

“Sam, please.” You whine.

“Please what?” He replies while rolling your now firm nipples between his fingers.

Your voice comes out small, pathetic, he thought. “Agh- it hurts.”

He pinches harder. “You can take it.”

Before you can protest, he returns to that sweet spot on your neck that he had bit earlier. He flicks his tongue across the bruise before kissing it again and again. Your head lolls and your mind goes blank. 

Sam continues to pinch and twist your nipples, watching your face and relishing in the effect he has on you. Almost makes him wonder if you’ve ever been fucked right in your life. 

All those nights he knew you were in the next motel room getting fucked by some idiot you met at a bar. Every morning he had to see you with your hair messy and makeup smudged. All those times he wished it was him who was making you moan, just for you to be squirming like a virgin right now? 

Sam angles himself so that his bulge is pressed directly against your cunt. The friction makes you moan and he can't stop the spread of a smirk across his lips. 

“Look what you did to me.” He breathes against your ear. “You’re such a slut.” 

“N-no I'm not.” You gasp between moans. That wasn’t true. Sure you had a few one night stands but no more than either of the boys.

“Really?” Sam grins and for some reason that was so much worse than if he had outright called you a whore. 

Shame overwhelms you.

He suddenly rips his hands from your tits. The sudden motion and lack of warmth makes you gasp.

Exactly what he wanted. Sam finds the button on your jeans and pops it free in an instant. 

The room felt like a maelstrom of hot desire. You never imagined that you’d tolerate being called a slut, let alone dignify the accusation by trying to defend yourself against it, and you certainly, most definitely, never thought it'd be Sam making the accusation.

Sam roughly shoves his hand into your jeans and you feel your heart speed up, partiality in fear, partially in excitement. Sadly, he doesn't go another layer further. His fingers dance across the cotton of your panties, teasing. 

“Not a slut?” He whispers in your ear. His fingers find your entrance and press against it. The soft fabric was warm and sticky, practically soaked with your arousal. You whine as his fingers threaten to enter, you were so embarrassed yet your body begged for more.

“Then why are you so wet, hm?” Sam didn’t have to say it, you both knew it as his fingers sent the message before his mouth did but still, but he received such a deep satisfaction seeing your cheeks flush at his words. 

 You weren't going to dignify him with a response. 

Sam’s middle and ring finger press against your entrance once more. You attempt to keep your face straight as you internally curse the fabric separating him and your pleasure.

“Such a fucking slut.”

At this, Your pussy clenches around the tips of his fingers.

You feel Sam's chest vibrate against your back as a wry laugh echoes through him.   “You like that?” 

You set your gaze on your shoes, biting back words. 

 He grabs your jaw and forces you to look up at him. “Answer me, slut.” 

Your pussy pathetically clenches around him again. You release your bottom lip, red with blood circulation. “Y–Yes.” You didn’t have to respond, but for some reason you wanted to see his face as you said it. To know if he was as turned on as you were. 

Sam rewards you with a mocking smile. “Wow… who knew you were such a dirty whore.”

Before you could even think of a response, Sam finds your clit. The second he touches you, you feel your mind begin to go blank, your mouth falls open with only a whimper to show for the last of your coherent thoughts. Even through your panties, his touch was electric

His lips find that beautifully bruised sweet spot on your shoulder and pepper it with kisses. His hand drops from your neck, leaving your head to loll as you shudder with breathy moans. 

The fabric of your panties was now throughly saturated as it slid across your folds. You grind against Sam’s hand, desperate for more friction. You tried so hard not to give in but it was clear at this point you had lost. Sam takes in the sight: your lips fallen apart in gasping moans, your eyes fluttering shut and brows knitted. The curvature of your neck, your head thrown back like a dead girl and your hips pathetically rocking back and forth, too proud to beg.

“You want more, baby?” Sam asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You bite down on your bottom lip, clinging to the last bits of your dignity.

All those nights he had to hear your headboard banging against the wall you weren't so reserved. 

“Fine then.” Stoically, Sam simply begins to pull away. 

Without thinking, your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. You look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust and boring into his skull. “Please.” 

Now that is what he liked to see. He wets his lips as he looks over your face. 

“Good girl.” 

You weren't quite sure what took over you and you don't know if you hated yourself for it or were thankful. Regardless, you begin to lead his hand back toward your jeans. Suddenly, he stops.

Celertitly, Sam turns you around and pins you back to the wall. If he was going to have you, it would be wholly and completely. He was going to ravage you and tear you apart at the seams.

He undresses you like an autopsy, delicately peeling away layer after layer. His thumbs hook into your pants and he squats as he slides them down. His fingers trace the rim of your panties before he slowly pulls them down your legs. Sam looks up at you: thighs pressed together and hands balled at your sides. While your body language conveyed a certain conservative nature, your teeth sunken into your red bottom lip and eyes staring straight down at him anticipating his next move told a different story. It was almost funny the way you tried to remain taciturn, as if you hadn’t just proved a thousand times over what a slut you are. 

Sam’s large hands practically engulf your hips as he takes hold. For a moment he considers licking your cunt, but then again, it would be so much more fun to see you squirm beneath him. He rises to his feet, fingers digging into your flesh as he uses you as leverage, lips ghosting against your torso. His narrowed eyes never leave you for a moment. 

You search Sam’s eyes for anything familiar, anything that would make you feel less awful about this. While his eyes still contained that stunning hazel hue, there was no emotion behind them. Lust, sure. Before you could thoroughly discern your emotions, you feel Sam pulling up your shirt. 

“Wait.” You say, pushing the fabric down. “Dean… He’s just outside. What if he comes up?” 

“So?” Sam asks flatly. He tries to pull off your shirt again, but you stop him.

“So? I won’t have time to get dressed. I’d rather your brother not se-“ 

His lips press against yours as though he were starved. Fastest way to get you to shut the fuck up. 

Your mind and every thought in it slips out like a gust of wind. He pulls away only for a quick moment.  “Guess we’ll have to be quick then, hm?” He breathes. You nod dumbly, lips puffy and saliva coating them.  With that he forcibly rips off your top and tosses it to the ground. Finally, he thought. 

Your bra ends up on the ground as well. 

Sam roughly grabs you by the hair and pulls you back into the kiss. Of all the times you’ve imagined being with Sam, not once did you think it would be like this, unfeeling, and rough. But if you could pretend, that would make it all okay. 

And so you did. You let your mind go blank and only focus on the pleasure ‘real’ Sam was giving you. 

 Your hands slide up his shoulders and rest on the nape of his neck. You moan as you sink into the kiss and as Sam's long fingers come to circle your clit and you don’t bother to maintain a shred of composure.

He breaks the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours and looks down at your body, and all the bruises on you. All of the ways he’s marked and claimed you caused a low growl to ripple through his chest. Sam pulls his fingers from your pussy and you have half a mind to grab his wrist again. He watches as your slick stretches and runs down his fingers. You pretend that his thoughts and words were something more of love than lust. 

“Fuck.” “Beautiful.” He says in a breathy murmur. 

As Sam's fingers prod at the entrance of your puffy cunt, you cringe at the lewd squelching noise that ensues. He looks up from his work to watch your face. It was so satisfying to see you like this, so needy and pathetic. At once, his fingers sink deep inside you. You moan, his fingers leaving you so full. You hardly have a moment to gather your thoughts before he's thrusting in and out of you, a satisfied look on his face at watching you unravel.  

Every single moan you make is loud, drawn, out and practically pornographic and in all honesty, you couldn't care less. He pulls you in via a rough grip on your hair and smashes his lips against yours. You let yourself believe the kiss was more fervent than greedy. His tongue, much like his fingers, treats the inside of your body more like an exploration or experiment — trying to figure out what makes you tick. Sam runs his tongue along the inside of your teeth and at the same time you feel him grinning against your lips. Suddenly you can’t get enough air in your lungs, his fingers curl and press right against your g-spot. You tear yourself away from him in a gasping moan, your palms flat against his muscular chest as your world spins. 

“mfgh- fuck, S-Sammy,” You cry.  

And just as soon as he started, he stopped. 

“What did you call me?” Sam pulls away, his eyes narrowed and dark. It doesn’t matter if his touch was ever loving, the lack of it now leaves you feeling cold and embarrassed.

“Samm-“

Sam’s lips curl into a frown. You stop speaking. 

 It seems everyone— including you, wanted little ‘Sammy’ back. It didn’t matter that he was right there, they missed that weak part of him still burning in hell. 

Slowly but promptly, his hand creeps up your collarbone and wraps around your throat. He sets his jaw and it hits you— what you felt around Sam before this, it wasn’t fear, something more than discomfort but far less than being afraid; this however, this was fear. 

As it seems, you’ve gotten yourself too lost in pretending. 

“Sammy,” he says sharply in a voice you were unaware Sam was even capable of producing. “Is Dean’s dumbass little brother…  Sammy jerked off to you every night but never had the balls to ask you out. Sammy is a little bitch. So, if you want me to fuck you dumb, it’s Sam.”

Speechless, you breathe a reply before your brain has a chance to catch up. “I- yes sir.” 

“Yeah, that too.” Sam replies in a dark voice. 

He squeezes your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know that he could if he wanted to. 

And for some goddamned reason, it turns you on. 

Pretending never does quite work, does it?

It was wrong, you thought as Sam’s hand dropped from your throat. Even after what just happened, you felt yourself growing hotter at the image that wormed its way into your head. Sam’s nimble fingers wrapped around his cock, chest heaving as he stoked himself. Instead of returning to you, he began to undo his belt. Sam’s pumps growing jagged and needy as he brought himself closer. He starts to pull down his pants and boxers, a bit of hasty anger in his movements. Sam’s eyes wrenching shut, or perhaps rolling back. Breathless repetitions of your name floating in the air. Thick globs of revering white emulsion spilling over his fist out of the very same cock before you. You gasp as he enters.

Sam’s cock feels as though it’s ripping you apart. His length and girth are far more than you’ve ever taken and by the looks of it, he's never had something quite like you either. 

“Fffuck you’re tight.” He groans, fingers digging into your ass as he thrusts in and out. He wishes he didn’t have to worry about these damn clothes, he could've made you cum on his tongue by now if it weren't for the damn pants around your ankles. He also wishes he didn't have to worry about time constraints, he could've given you several short orgasms by now instead of aiming for a single earth-shattering one.. Honestly, he couldn’t give less of a shit if Dean saw the two of you, but you probably wouldn't sleep with him again if that happened and  he was planning to use your tight little pussy this entire weekend. Hell, he might ‘accidentaly’ fuck up the hunt so you would have to stay in town longer.

“So good for me baby.” Sam says in a groan. His eyes remain locked on your expression and your tits bouncing with every thrust. Your warm cunt fits around him so nicely. He didn't have to, and he knew you surely couldn't take it but he loved to see you gasp and squirm– so pretty beneath him, every time he bottomed out.

“Mnghh, wa-agh!” You whine, high pitched and pleading. You press your palms against his chest, hoping to send the message of telling him to slow down as your mouth has been rendered absolutely useless save for whimpers and moans. Maybe he didn’t understand, or maybe it was that he didn’t want to, in the end, Sam continued fucking you with reckless abandon.

Tears began to prickle in the corners of your eyes. “Sam- agh s’too.. mmuch.” You sobbed. 

“Shh, you’re taking me so well,” Sam coos. He cups your jaw in a surprisingly tenderder fashion and wipes your streaming tears with his thumb. You wince.

He has always wondered how you liked it. How you really liked it, every dirty fantasy you had in the dead of night and every deleted search.

“H-mgh, h-hurts.” You  squeak out as he rams into you once more.

 Now, it was glaringly obvious. With a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes, he wraps a hand around your throat once more and then, he squeezes. 

Of course Sam has choked a girl in bed before, but choking you was especially euphoric. The slight hint of fear in your eyes was enough to make him cum right now. 

You felt suddenly very aware of your body. The pain on your shoulder and down your finger-dug in arms and hips. Your drooping eyelids, tears down your chin, the thoughtless moans spilling out of you as you unthinkingly tipped your head back, exposing your throat to give Sam a better grip. 

Every breath gave a slight resistance you couldn’t help but want. Fog filled your head until you were left with a one point perspective of Sam. It hurt so good. Your arms lazily drape over his shoulders and you find yourself begging for more of him; your hips rock in tandem with this thrusts and through moans, a single word falls from your lips. 

“Harder.” 

Sam quickly obliges, his pelvis meets yours with every thrust and his tip touches your cervix. You throw your head back in a shuddering moan and feel yourself losing oxygen. 

He couldn’t believe he didn’t realize sooner what a pain slut you were. Your pussy begins to tighten around his cock in uneven flutters. First your fingers, curling into Sam’s hair. Then your chest, shallow breaths growing shallower. Your legs follow soon after, the muscles tensing and feeling as though they could give away at any moment. Finally your abdomen, growing taut by the second. Your brows press together as your mouth falls open. 

“S-ssoo close.” You slur. 

“Hold it baby, just a little more.” Sam groans. His breath filled in the hot inch of space between your bodies. His thrusts became shorter but more rapid, his heart following suit. He clenches his teeth. Fuck, you looked pretty with his hand around your throat but damn if he didn’t need to cum inside your cunt. 

Tears begin streaming down your cheeks as you try to hold back the waves of pleasure ripping through you. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sam stops choking you and turns all his attention on your pussy. Your moans come out in pathetic cries, your body feeling wet and mushy but tense and begging for release all at the same time. Your head was a mess too jumbled to decipher and all you wanted was to cum. 

“Ssam.. please.” You cry as he pounds into you like a rag doll.

“So needy.” He teases back in a ragged breath. “You can do it. Be a good slut and hold it.”

 Just as you go to beg he meets your yes in a stern glare. “Do not fucking cum until I say so.” 

You give a reluctant nod. 

And just then, you hear a door shut. 

Shit. 

With wide eyes, you snap out of your trance. 

Sam on the other hand, didn’t plan on stopping. 

His hand quickly flies up to your mouth and his body completely presses yours to the wall. 

“Not a sound.” He whispers against your ear.  

As hard as you try to fight it, you find yourself slipping back. This time, with each thrust you slide up the chrysanthemum wall and he could feel your heart beating against his chest 

Sam’s cock twitches inside of you. He moves his hand and replaces it with his lips, trapping you in a sloppy kiss while he lifts your legs, bringing your knees to almost wrap around his hips. He palms your ass while his forearms support your thighs and his elbows your knees. Damn these clothes. Though still, at this angle he could get so much deeper and bring himself so much closer. 

White hot pleasure surges through his every synapse. 

“Guys! Where are you?” Dean calls from downstairs and damn if the adrenaline rush from that didn’t turn you on. 

Sam feels you clench around his cock and he groans into your mouth. 

“Almost there.” Sam whispers. You were too out of it to reply. 

“Need- mgh.. to.” You whisper. A tingling sensation has taken over your whole body, starting at your core and spreading outward. You felt like a ticking time bomb and just when you felt you were about to explode.

“Cum.”

With that you let go. You feel Sam’s hand slide between your and his lips as your orgasm rolls through you. His head falls forward and rests against the wall as he shudders through an orgasm of his own. The tingling feeling turns your muscles to jello but Sam does his best to keep you in his grasp. 

“No hits outside.” Dean calls. 

The only sound that mattered to either of you though were each other's dark trembling exhales, yours leaving through your nostrils and onto his knuckles and Sam’s through his parted lips and onto your bare shoulder. 

Small twitches and spurts from Sam’s length persist inside of you as he reaches the last of his orgasm. Meanwhile your entrance flutters as you recover from your ecstasy. Your heart pounded in your ears and you were left in a high. 

“…The hell? If you two got taken by a ghost or some shit I swear.” Dean grumbles. And then his footsteps start toward the stairs. Fuck.

Sam though, he takes his sweet time letting you down. 

Creeaak, Groans one step. 

Sam begins to pull out, forcing you to watch his cock glistens with your wetness and his cum seeps out of you. 

Creeeak. 

You were unsteady on your feet but managed to pull your pants and panties up.

Creeeak.

Shit, where’s your bra?

“Guys!” Dean yells, his voice closer than ever. His footsteps pick up the pace.

He reaches the top of the stairs to find Sam inspecting his EMF reader and you, placing a dagger back in your boot, fully dressed. 

“Oh hey, Dean.” Sam says with a casualness that left you feeling that if his cum were not leaking out of you right now, you would question if anything had actually happened. 

“What the hell? Damn near gave me a heart attack.” 

“Sorry,” Sam shrugs. “Thought we found something.” 

“Uh huh.” Dean replies, unconvinced. He glances at you, then back to Sam, and then to you again. “So, you find anything?”

“No.” You say without meeting his eyes. You frown and pretend to check out some of the grafiti. 

“Right.” Dean says.

You give him a small nod and quickly slip behind him and down the stairs. 

Once he hears the front door shut, Dean turns to Sam with a quirked brow. 

Sam looks up from the EMF reader and at Dean cooley. “Maybe there’s an attic or a back room we haven’t found?”

“Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a little messed up?”

“No, tons of old houses have cellars and hidden rooms.”

“Oh cut the bullshit, Sam.” Dean raises your pocket knife Sam hadn’t realized he picked up. He’s known you long enough to know where you stash your amo. “She doesn’t know, does she?” He frowns. 

His poker face falters and returns to a room-temperature smugness. “Is that what this is about? Me not having a soul?” Sam steps forward. “Or are you just mad that I fucked her first?” 

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @n0va25 @figurantedefilme @wowzabowza69

Dm to be added/removed

[geneviveleocardius]

simon’s riley unexpected discovery

on a mission

The briefing had been concise: intelligence pointed to a possible location for Makarov—a penthouse in the heart of a city glittering with wealth and power. Ghost didn’t waste time; this was an opportunity he couldn’t let slip.

The penthouse was extravagant, dripping in luxury from the moment Simon breached the door. Soft lighting illuminated sleek marble floors, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and the air was scented with something expensive and unfamiliar.

Ghost moved silently, his boots soundless on the polished floors. His eyes scanned the space, noting the gilded edges of the furniture and the towering windows offering a panoramic view of the city. But what caught his attention most were the photographs and paintings adorning the walls.

Portraits of a stunningly beautiful woman—posed like a model straight out of a glossy magazine—were everywhere. Some were black-and-white close-ups; others were larger-than-life canvases. She had an otherworldly elegance, with sharp features softened by a captivating smile. The sight of her in countless frames suggested more than admiration.

Simon’s brow furrowed beneath his mask. Makarov’s partner?

He pressed forward, his weapon at the ready, passing through the luxurious living area and into what looked like a private bedroom suite. His gaze darted around for signs of life. And then, he heard it—the faint sound of water running, followed by the click of a door opening.

Ghost froze, blending into the shadows.

A woman emerged, wrapped in an exquisite bathrobe that practically shimmered under the low light. Her dark, damp hair fell over her shoulders, water droplets glistening against her neck and collarbone. She was breathtaking up close—more than any photograph could have captured.

She hummed softly to herself, oblivious to his presence, but Ghost’s sharp eyes caught something else: faint marks along her neck, blooming like bruises. They weren’t random. They were intimate.

The woman glanced toward the bed, murmuring something in Russian. Her tone was casual, like she expected company—like she expected him.

Ghost didn��t understand the words, but her voice was smooth, warm, and completely unaware of the armed man in the room. His grip on his weapon tightened as his mind raced. This wasn’t the target he’d been sent to find, but this was something.

The woman turned slightly, her delicate fingers adjusting the tie of her robe. Her eyes flicked toward the corner of the room, and for a split second, Ghost thought she might have seen him. But she didn’t react—just stared as if lost in thought before shaking her head and stepping further into the room.

Simon remained rooted in place, his instincts warring with his discipline. He couldn’t afford to make a sound, couldn’t risk spooking her or worse, alerting Makarov—if he was even here. But something about her presence, her calmness in this gilded cage, made him hesitate.

This is her, he thought. This is the woman he’s been hiding.

She was stunning, yes, but more than that—she was the key to unraveling Makarov’s carefully guarded life. For now, Simon would retreat, taking every detail of this moment with him. But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder: how had someone like her ended up with someone like Makarov? And more importantly, what role would she play in his eventual downfall?

[rahuratna]

Synopsis:

"Welcome, Visitor, to Jujutsu Guild Academy, tucked discreetly away in the rolling foothills of the Byre Veld Mountains. Our team of expert sorcerers, now misfits and outcasts from society, gather here to train their talented students, as well as use their exceptional skills to solve cases brought to them by those who know the true nature of the Guild ... much like yourself. We invite you to place your case at their disposal. We guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

Genre: Fantasy AU, mystery, suspense, horror, humour, detective agency

Content warnings: dark themes, murder, violence.

Rating: T

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

Part 1

“Balance is paramount in the world of sorcery, and yet, not easily understood or visualised. The Magical Clade system, developed in the planetary turn of 214, embraces the diverse nature of magic in all forms. Bitura and Matura; the predictable and the unexplored, the two known aspects of sorcery existing side by side in a tenuously held set of universal scales, cannot be wholly characterised by our existing body of knowledge.

Let us then examine their five known components, the arcane origins of which have, thus far, been the subject of much theorising. Human, planetary, chaotic, contractual and natural, different facets of a world we have only just begun to comprehend … “

~ An Introduction to Arcane Clades, A. Zahari.

At the top of a hill in a small vineyard, near the age-smoothed arc of the stairs that lead to an imposing set of oak doors, an elderly man hesitates.

Jirou has arrived against the will of many in his village, seeking the kind of help he knows won’t be available to him elsewhere. He looks up, at the white-painted walls of the former winery, now converted for the purposes of the sorcerers who call this their base of operations.

It seems … peaceful. Idyllic, even. He can see why this place would be a retreat from the bustle and whispered condemnation of society. Now, if only he could muster the courage to –

The doors swing open, and he takes a step back. A man appears in the cool, dark entrance. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt, ideal for the balmy weather, and smart black trousers and boots. His neatly parted hair and the manner by which he adjusts his glasses mark him as one of the officials who probably run the day-to-day operations of this place.

“Good day to you. How may I assist?”

The tone is polite, clipped, professional. Jirou clutches at his straw hat, rotating it nervously within his stiff grasp. He clears his throat.

“Ah … um. Forgive me for intruding. I’m here to see … well, here for help. For my village. I’m from Setsana, just east of the river.”

The bespectacled man glances him over in frank assessment before stepping quietly back through the door and gesturing to him to follow.

“This way.”

“Eh?”

“You want to meet with the sorcerer’s guild, yes?”

“Well … yes, but I thought – “

Jirou sees a glimmer of humour in the eyes of the dark-haired official.

“You may call me Ijichi. What is your name?”

“Jirou.”

“Well, Jirou of Setsana, this agency does not screen their clientele based on location or status. You are clearly here for some assistance, and you’ve asked for it. Now the sorcerers will hear your case.”

Scurrying up the steps and into the cool foyer, Jirou glanced warily around. It was not quite what he had been expecting. The interior had indeed been re-purposed. The terracotta-tiled floor had been preserved, rustic and slightly dusty underfoot. Comfortable rugs had been placed around the airy space. Eclectic, somewhat mismatched antique furniture added a certain charm to the room.

A large hearth stood dormant against one wall, the exquisite grey river stone banded with wooden shelves. Large glass doors opened onto a walled garden on one side, a small courtyard with a carved fountain placed centrally. A wash of cool, fragrant air entered through here, beckoning languidly as Jirou followed Ijichi out and into an adjoining annex.

Clearing his throat, the farmhand addressed Ijichi again.

“Who is it that I’ll be seeing, exactly?”

“Magister Higuruma. He hears all cases and determines what action can be undertaken.”

Ijichi paused, turning slightly, his eyes kind.

“Don’t be put off by his … manner. He simply wants to get to the heart of the matter. Just answer clearly and truthfully. Try to stick to the facts. Wait here for a minute, please.”

Leaving Jirou stewing in the hallway, Ijichi disappeared behind another door. The faint noise of voices, the rustle of paper and a cough could be heard from within. Jirou contemplated turning around and leaving hurriedly. Not running away, no. A tactical retreat. What if this Higuruma was –

The door clicked open and Ijichi reappeared, all too soon.

“You may go in and state your case.”

And thus, Jirou’s fate was sealed.

Higuruma Hiromi was seated behind a large desk, scattered with papers in what could possibly be described as ordered chaos. Jirou entered with the air of a man braving the den of a vicious mountain lion. Higuruma certainly gave off the according aura.

Dark hair, combed back, but slightly dishevelled from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it. The sardonic set of his mouth, the aquiline nose, and above it all, the deep-set, unsettlingly attentive gaze that traced over one’s form, taking in every detail. Higuruma wore a well-tailored waistcoat, gold embroidery over the sable material, his white shirtsleeves rolled back. That faint trace of disorder spilled over here too, visible in the rumpled collar, the ink-stained hands, the dark smudges beneath his eyes that spoke of inadequate sleep, the symptom of an intellect that raced over the landscape of the mundane, gathering a horde of minutiae in its wake.

“Jirou of Setsana?”

“Yes, sir.”

Higuruma waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the seat before his desk and Jirou hurried forward to comply. On the table was a map of the area, marked with a varied array of ink colours and symbols. Jirou was also surprised to see a farmer’s almanack beside the map. He hadn’t ever expected to see such a humble, worn document on the table of such a sorcerer. The sight steadied him, somewhat.

“Thank you for taking the time to hear my case.”

He received only a nod in reply. Higuruma laced his fingers over the desktop and leaned forward, the only signal that Jirou should continue.

“Ah. Um. Our village has been experiencing … some strange things lately. Animals put out to pasture turning up dead. Lights in the forest. Sometimes … well, that’s beside the point, but I feel uneasy. Like something’s coming up from the earth to swallow us all.”

In any other setting, Jirou would never have given voice to such sentiments. Speaking to a sorcerer, however, erased those misgivings. Who knew what mysteries of the arcane Higuruma had already experienced?

The sorcerer in question unlaced his fingers, tracing them over the faded ink trees on the map, denoting the forest near the village.

“Some questions.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to ask some questions.”

“Oh … oh, of course! My apologies if I’ve not given enough – “

Higuruma cut him off, eyes steady, penetrating.

“When did these animal killings begin?”

“Six months ago … I think.”

“You are uncertain?”

“No, I – There were wolves. We found corpses of wolves. Before that. But obviously we didn’t – “

“You didn’t question when the natural predator turned up dead?”

Jirou shrugged helplessly.

“Sometimes bears come down from the mountain.”

“Hmm. And what kind of animals, besides the wolves, were killed?”

“Horses. Sheep. Cattle. Some chickens. Mainly the cows, though.”

“Who found the beasts dead?”

“Different people. I found a horse in a ditch once.”

“How did the horse appear to you?”

“Slaughtered.”

“I need more detail.”

Jirou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Higuruma’s questions were coming thick and fast, and the elderly man was accustomed to preparing his thoughts before answering.

“Ah. Disembowelled. It’s … entrails had been removed.”

“And they were lying next to the animal?”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow, pausing slightly for the first time.

“Nothing?”

“No. It was like … the animal had been hollowed out. Like something had reached in and … scooped everything out.”

Abruptly, the sorcerer leaned back in his seat.

“These lights in the forest. Tell me more.”

“Oh, those are strange indeed. We’ve tried to find a pattern as to when they appear, but … they seem to come at odd times. It’s not firelight. Too bright. Almost white. Dancing. It’s definitely magery of some kind.”

“Above the trees?”

“Among them. Between them. Sometimes the trunks of the trees block the light, so we know that it’s moving.”

“And this … feeling you say you have?”

“Oh, that … “

Jirou gave a sheepish chuckle.

“I think with everything going on, I simply … You know. The imaginings of an old – “

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No.”

Higuruma’s abrupt manner took some getting accustomed to. He raised his quill, pointing it at the farmhand like he was preparing to throw it, to pin him and his problem down to a board for analysis.

“Sorcery isn’t about vague incantations and undetermined outcomes. Everything about sorcery is calculated, precise. It relies on universal laws that we haven’t even begun to comprehend, and so, it seems distant or even esoteric. We try to categorise the arcane, place them into neat little pockets to aid our understanding, but that will only take us so far. Your feelings, your dreams, are all likely symptoms of the same problems that plague your village. It’s a pattern we’ve seen many times.”

Jirou gulped heavily.

“We?”

“Our guild.”

Throughout the brief, intense questioning, Higuruma had never written anything down. Now, he dipped his quill, scraping carefully around the edges of the well, and jotted something down on a scrap of parchment. He folded the note and handed it over to Jirou.

“Give this to ijichi when you leave. Permission from the authorities pending, expect our guild members to arrive within three days.”

If Jirou of Setsana had stayed for a few minutes longer, he might have been party to the sudden descent of chaos into the calm that had once reigned over Higuruma’s study. A large tapestry hanging across the left wall shifted slightly, as though in a stray breeze. One of the greyhounds stitched into the rich fabric of the hunting scene moved, the thread of the embroidered eyes snapping subtly back and forth until its gaze faced ahead once again.

Higuruma sighed heavily.

“Do you really think you’re being subtle?”

The hound peered at him. It looked slightly nervous.

“Gojo, I know you’re listening.”

The hound’s goggling took a turn for the worse, the eyes now comically bulging from the tapestry.

“Is it really this hard for you to behave like an adult?”

The hound’s mouth opened wide and new embroidery emerged from its gaping jaws, spelling out the word “YES”.

“For the love of – “

Higuruma raised a finger, shadowy flame erupting across the tip, and the tapestry suddenly folded inwards, then disgorged three occupants, two of whom stumbled right into Higuruma’s desk, the papers on top shifting across the surface of the map he had been studying. Clicking his tongue, the sorcerer folded his arms.

Bright-eyed, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, Itadori Yuuji reached up and ruffled his pink hair.

“Good morning, Higuruma – “

“It was his idea.”

Straight to the point as always, Kugisaki Nobara showed not an ounce of shame, her finger pointing firmly in the direction of the tapestry’s third occupant, who had stepped out with stylish flair.

Gojo Satoru, Special Grade Sorcerer, gave a bow that included a flowery, if very irritating, flourish. He straightened and eyed Higuruma cheerfully over his shaded glasses, pale hair gleaming like mage-fire in the dim light of the study. As much as Gojo played into the role of fanciful and flamboyant genius, that undercurrent of monstrous power was always present, one that those close to him had learned to bear with. His apprentices, for some reason, always seemed immune to it.

“You know, I couldn’t help but overhear – “

He received a disbelieving snort in return.  

“Try another tack. I never know why you can’t just sit in on interviews instead of – “

Gojo wagged a finger.

“Oh, come on. I mean, look at me. How do you think a simple farmer would take to seeing someone like me staring at him while he tried to give testimony?”

As always, Gojo was attired as if he’d stepped right out of the pages of a racy bodice-ripper. His ruffled collar, unbuttoned fashionably low, high-waisted trousers and the long overcoat he wore over it all enhanced the roguishly handsome look only he was capable of pulling off without seeming horrendously pretentious.

Higuruma stared back, unimpressed, before pushing away the papers that had drifted over the map. Yuuji and Nobara crowded around his desk, eyes eager. He turned his attention to them.

“Assuming you two have heard Jirou’s case, what do you think the approach should be?”

Yuuji hummed thoughtfully.

“I think … maybe scout the area? Check out those woods. Look for traces of unknown sorcery.”

Nobara elbowed him aside, not to be outdone.

“And talk to the villagers. Look, I grew up in a village like this, and let me tell you, everyone’s just dying to let you know their neighbour’s business.”

Higuruma nodded.

“Good, but we’re missing something vital.”

Gojo’s hand shot into the air.

“Oooh, pick me, Magister!”

 “Come, you two. Think.”

Ignoring Gojo’s pleading look, Higuruma waited patiently. Yuuji’s face had taken on a serious cast, his eyes fixed on the map.

“Uhhh … what about the animals? There must be something about the way they’ve been killed … “

“Precisely. The fact that their entrails were removed tells us something.”

Nobara’s eyes narrowed.

“Some village soothsayers read entrails. To tell people’s fortunes and that kind of thing.”

“Except, in this case, no trace of the entrails was found. You’re certainly right about soothsayers, but they need fresh kills, and for the entrails to be present in the corpse of the animal.”

“So … “

“So you’re going to help with the investigation. With my permission, of course.”

Higuruma finally met Gojo’s gaze and shook his head in silent communication. Gojo gave a small smile in return.

“No need to tell me. You need me for that … other issue. So, who’s it going to be?”

“I’ve already sent a note out with Ijichi. He should be here - ”

A knock sounded on the study door, three sharp taps in quick succession. Yuuji glanced up at the clock and grinned.

“It’s ten o’ clock on the dot. That’s gotta be - ”

If Jirou of Setsana hadn’t hurried home, he might have also witnessed the arrival of the man who would lead the investigation at his village. Brisk, measured pace carrying him across the gravel of the courtyard, Nanami Kento arrived shortly before the stroke of ten.

Formerly a member of the merchant guild, Nanami was always properly attired in formal sorcerer’s robes, a plain, pristine, royal blue waistcoat, trousers and sensible leather walking boots beneath. A yellow patterned cravat formed a slight contrast to the sobriety of his appearance.

To ordinary folk, Nanami looked particularly unremarkable. Like Gojo and Higuruma, however, there was something about him that the trained eye wouldn’t miss; a martial air to his bearing, a certain predatory awareness in his cool glance, a grace in his long stride that spoke of great strength and agility.

Passing through the foyer, he greeted Ijichi, whose communication he had received a short while ago. At the door to Higuruma’s study, he paused, hearing the voices from within. Gojo’s dulcet tones were unmistakeable. Sighing, he checked his pocket watch.

One minute to the hour.

One more minute without Gojo.

He waited, enjoying the brief silence.

At the chime of the clock within the study, he knocked and entered.

“Nanamin!”

“Right on time.”

Nobara tugged at the blonde sorcerer’s sleeve impatiently.

“Come over here. They found some animals with their guts scooped out.”

 “Excuse me?”

Yuuji joined Nobara, lifting Nanami’s carry case out of his hand and ushering him towards the table.

“The new case that just came in!”

“We’re going together to investigate.”

“There’s a small village – “

“And they have these flashing lights in the forest – “

“And this old guy has a bad feeling – “

“And Higuruma doesn’t think it’s his arthritis or indigestion – “

“And he thinks bears come down from the mountain? You ever heard of anything like that?”

Raising his hands in long-suffering protest, Nanami finally gained some silence from the two apprentices. Gojo was lounging against Higuruma’s desk with a smile he wasn’t sure he liked.

“I’m out of this one, Nanami. Higuruma needs me elsewhere.”

Nodding Nanami turned his attention to the Magister who had been watching the scene humourlessly over steepled fingers.

“I assume you’ll brief me?”

“Of course. Give me two hours and I’ll have clearance from the USCRC.”

The Utilitarian Sorcery Centre for Regulation and Control was Higuruma’s old stomping ground, the legal wranglings that took place in its ancient auditoriums setting precedents for the dozens of new permutations of sorcery that came up every year. His exit from the same institution in disgrace, and his subsequent fall from grace in the public eye, was common knowledge at the guild.

There were many, however, who understood Higuruma’s decisions better than others, those from within the system who spoke on his behalf and facilitated his establishment in a fully private sense within the Jujutsu Guild Academy. He still maintained those contacts, allowing him full access to the legal records and accelerated permissions to conduct private investigations on behalf of the guild.

Nanami had never enquired as to the nature of Higuruma’s contacts. Nobody did.

Poring over the map on the table as the Magister pointed out the features of relevance, a crease began to form between Nanami’s brows.

“Animals without entrails … Hmm. That’s definitely cause for concern.”

Yuuji peered into his face curiously.

“What do you think it means, Nanamin?”

Shaking his head, Nanami adjusted the shaded glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s too early for me to say. Speculation can be as dangerous as sprinting across a rickety bridge in cases like these. I can say that this probably involves the Matura aspect of sorcery, possibly some form of natural magic, or perhaps, something conceived to look that way.”

Gojo’s crystalline blue glance was also tracing with that characteristic gleam of sharp clarity over the map.

“I think, considering some of the other cases coming our way, that this would be a great opportunity to let the apprentices get their teeth in.”

He clapped his hands cheerfully while Yuuji and Nobara began to look worryingly excited. Gojo tended to have that effect on them.

“What do you say, kids? Tramping through the countryside, scraping cow dung crusts off your heels, breathing in the scent of fermented straw floors and making friends with fleas and other friendly vermin of all kinds.”

He let out a happy sigh.

“I’d love to go myself, but I’ll make this sacrifice for you, and only you, dearest Nanami.”

“How terribly kind of you,” came the dry rejoinder.

Turning to the apprentices, Nanami cocked an eyebrow.

“He does have a point, though. Go to Ieiri and assemble some evidence kits. Tell her to be on standby for receiving samples from us for analysis over the next few days. And then get yourselves prepared. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!”

Receiving two sharp salutes, the two over-enthusiastic youngsters scampered out of the study, their voices carrying back along the hallway.

When they were out of earshot, Gojo exchanged glances with Higuruma before reaching into his pocket and handing over a small vial to Nanami. Seeing the contents, the sorcerer met Gojo’s stare with a steady, measured glance.

“And what’s this in aid of?”

“Oh, just a little something. In case things get dangerous.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

Higuruma stood, gathering his coat and heading for the door. “Take it, Nanami. I have a feeling that we’re going to need all the help we can get if the intelligence we’ve received so far is accurate.”

[takemetomyfragiledreams]

Little excerpt from a fic I started way back and have never gotten around to finishing. I really love it though and wanted to show some of the dynamic going on between Arkham Knight!Jason and Joker Junior!Tim:

Jason stares at the corpse laid out on his doorstep. It’s as if a cat has deemed him worthy enough to bring back its kill, except Jason doesn’t even have a cat, let alone one big enough to kill and drag a man up six flights of stairs.

Really, this is just getting ridiculous. 

There’s a bloody smile painted onto the man’s face and a note taped to his chest. Jason yanks it free to glare at the neat script. 

What do you name a knight that won’t die? Sir Vivor.   

For a moment, he can’t process what he’s seeing. He flips the paper over in search of further writing, but there’s nothing. Just a stupid smiley face and that same neat handwriting staring back at him. 

Is that a threat? Up until now his mystery killer has been malevolent to Clown lovers only. Are they widening their pool?  

They know where he lives—or at least, they know of one of his safe houses. Are they watching him right now, trying to make him squirm?

He casts his gaze around, lip curled back into a bitter snarl. They’ll learn the hard way that he doesn’t squirm. Hasn’t since he was left in the Clown’s hands. 

He forces himself to keep the paper despite his desire to rip it to shreds. A solid kick is landed to the corpse’s ribs as he lets out a vicious curse. His comm crackles to life with a touch of his hand. 

“I need a body pickup,” he barks, “and a full scan of my location. Anybody suspicious found lurking around is to be detained.”

He doesn’t give time for a response. He shuts the line off with a sharp twist of his wrist before turning on his heel to stomp away, paper clutched tight in his fist. Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself to do. It’s the smart thing. There could be an ambush inside; it wouldn’t be the first time. He has better things to do than bother with some asshole’s idea of a practical joke. 

Except someone decided to wet his doorstep with blood. And Jason’s pissed. 

His leg swings up to smash his own door down in three hard kicks. He can feel the contact reverberate up his leg but it doesn’t stop him. His own alarm starts to wail before he reaches up to throw the small shrapnel bombs above the door into the kitchen and living room respectively. They go off in a shower of razor sharp metal, piercing through furniture and embedding into the walls. 

Jason pulls a gun and stalks inside. 

“Geez,” someone says from the hall leading into his bedroom. The angle was off or he would have thrown one of the bombs that way too. “If ya hate the place so much, ya could just sell it. No need to go around vandalizin’ property, yanno?” 

“Get out here,” Jason barks, “and keep your hands where I can see them, asshole. You’re lucky I didn’t blow the whole place up with you inside.” 

There’s a quiet little giggle that sends a chill down Jason’s spine. He’s trying to figure out why it sounds so familiar when a small figure steps out into the light, hands held up by his head. He’s wearing what looks like a kevlar bodysuit with an actual suit jacket overtop that looks like it’s seen better days. An arm and half of the side has been ripped off entirely, while the pants are nowhere to be seen. Thick soled boots cover his legs from slender ankles to muscled thighs. There are belts hanging from his waist and chest, connected to several different holsters. There’s a machine gun strapped to his back, what looks like a modified pistol with a silencer on his thigh and an assortment of knives on his arm. And that’s just what Jason can see. 

It’s the smile that gives it away though. Crooked and stretched around the scar tissue cutting up through his cheeks. Just like the smiles on the bodies of the Joker’s goons. 

“You,” Jason breathes, “you’re the one that’s been leaving bodies around the city.” 

“I would hardly say ‘m the only one,” comes the mild response. “You leave bodies behind almost every day.” 

“And yet you decided it was a good idea to break into one of my safe houses. Why?” 

“I wanted to meet you.”

“What?” 

He grins and gives a little wiggle of his fingers, like a mockery of a wave. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I even saw ya fly a few times, back when ya still had a shadow. I wanted t’ meet you now, to see if yer still the same.”

There’s only one shadow he could mean. It belongs to someone he’s been doing his best not to think about for months now. Instead, he focuses on the strange rise and fall of the stranger’s accent. It doesn’t sound natural. It’s as if every other sentence his brain catches up and realizes what he’s doing. Jason just can’t decide which one is the truth: the careless syllables or the posh upper crust accent. 

“Why now?” 

“I only got out recently—couldn’t come see ya, even if I tried. And then I got up ‘ere and saw those idiots dressed as clowns,” a dark look crosses his face. His smile turns sharper, more dangerous, but it doesn’t fade. “I couldn’t help myself.” 

“You were in Arkham?” 

“Something like that.” 

Jason doesn’t remember anyone like him visiting the cell he was kept in. Judging by his kills, he could’ve been on bad terms with the Clown. Then again, the Joker had run Arkham. If someone he didn’t like came in, they didn’t last very long.

Jason doesn’t lower his gun. 

“Who are you?”

For the first time, the smile disappears. His head tilts to the side like a bird. “Who am I?” He repeats. “I don’t really know.” 

Jason scoffs. “Bad place to come to find yourself, kid.” 

Another giggle raises the hairs at the back of his neck. “I lost myself a long time ago, Jason. I’m not looking anymore.” 

His name sends a chill down his twisted spine but Jason gives no outward signs of just how unsettled he is. “That doesn’t give me much of a reason to let you live.”

“No, I suppose not.” His hands drop to his sides as he moves to examine the shrapnel embedded into the wall. He pokes at a sharp edge carelessly, though his gloves hide any blood. He makes no sign of caring about the gun trained on his head. 

It’s really starting to piss Jason off. An unintimidated enemy is either stupid or has something up their sleeve. He’s not banking on stupid. 

“Tim,” he finally says, “that’s what my name was Before.”

“Tim,” Jason echoes, “get the fuck out of my house.” 

There’s a grin and a giggle and then he’s gone in a rain of smoke pellets. Jason waves it away from his face with a cough and wonders if he shouldn’t’ve just shot the bastard anyways. 

[reaper2187]

Lady dimitrescu x female reader

The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying roses. The old manor, once a testament to opulent elegance, now stood shrouded in an unsettling silence, its windows like vacant eyes staring into the encroaching darkness. You, a seasoned adventurer with a thirst for the unknown, had ventured into this forgotten corner of Transylvania in pursuit of a legend – the story of Lady Dimitrescu, a vampire of unparalleled beauty and chilling power.

The locals spoke of her with hushed whispers, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination. They told tales of her towering stature, her crimson gown, and her haunting, melodic voice. They warned of her insatiable hunger and the chilling cold that clung to her presence. You, however, weren't deterred. You were drawn to the mystery, the allure of the unknown.

As you stepped across the threshold, a shiver ran down your spine. The air inside was thick with an oppressive stillness, punctuated only by the rhythmic drip of water from a broken pipe. The dust motes danced in the faint beams of moonlight that filtered through the grimy windows, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to writhe and twist.

The silence was broken by the soft click of your boots on the polished marble floor as you navigated the labyrinthine corridors. The once-ornate paintings now hung askew, their subjects staring down at you with vacant eyes, their faces frozen in expressions of eternal sorrow. You felt a prickle of unease, a sense of being watched.

Suddenly, a door creaked open at the end of the hall, revealing a grand staircase bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. A figure stood at the top, silhouetted against the light, her form impossibly tall and graceful. As she descended, you caught a glimpse of her face – pale and flawless, with eyes that seemed to hold both the promise of heaven and the threat of hell.

"Welcome," she said, her voice a melodious whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "I've been expecting you."

Her name was Lady Dimitrescu, and she was everything the legends had promised and more. Her beauty was undeniable, a captivating blend of elegance and power. Her eyes, a deep, hypnotic blue, held an ancient wisdom that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

She extended a hand, her long, slender fingers adorned with glittering rings. "I am honoured to have you in my home," she said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Please, come in. Let us have a chat."

You hesitated, your intuition screaming at you to flee. But the allure of her presence, the undeniable power that emanated from her, held you captive. You took her hand, feeling the cool, smooth skin beneath your fingertips.

"Thank you, Lady Dimitrescu," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "It is an honor to meet you."

She led you through the manor, her movements graceful and fluid despite her imposing height. The rooms were a testament to her past wealth and extravagance – opulent furniture, shimmering chandeliers, and walls adorned with intricate tapestries. Yet, the air was heavy with a sense of decay, of a life that had been lived and lost.

As you explored the manor, you learned more about Lady Dimitrescu's history. She had been a noblewoman, a woman of great beauty and intellect, until a tragic accident had robbed her of her humanity. She had been transformed into a vampire, cursed with an insatiable thirst for blood and a life that stretched on for centuries.

She spoke of her loneliness, of the centuries she had spent trapped in this decaying manor, surrounded by the remnants of a life she could never reclaim. She spoke of her daughters, three beautiful and deadly creatures who shared her curse and her loneliness.

You listened, captivated by her story, drawn to her vulnerability despite the terror that pulsed through your veins. You saw a woman trapped in a cage of her own making, a prisoner of her own immortality.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drawn to her, to her beauty, her intelligence, and the undeniable power that she exuded. You felt a strange mix of fear and fascination, a desire to understand her, to unravel the secrets that lay hidden beneath her alluring facade.

You spent the next few days exploring the manor, learning more about Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters. You discovered hidden passages, secret chambers, and a world of darkness that stretched far beyond the confines of the manor itself. You witnessed the horrors that Lady Dimitrescu had inflicted on those who had dared to cross her, the bloodstains that marked the walls, the whispers of terror that echoed through the corridors.

But you also saw glimpses of the woman beneath the monster, the woman who yearned for connection, for love, for a life that had been stolen from her. You saw the sadness in her eyes, the longing that etched itself onto her face.

One night, as you sat with Lady Dimitrescu in the grand library, you confessed your feelings. You told her that you were drawn to her, that you saw the woman beneath the monster, the woman who deserved to be loved.

She looked at you, her honey eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and something that might have been hope. "You see me," she said, her voice a soft sigh. "You see the woman I once was, the woman I can never be again."

"I do," you said, reaching out to touch her hand. "And I love you, Lady Dimitrescu."

She pulled her hand away, her expression hardening. "You cannot love a monster," she said, her voice laced with pain. "You cannot love something that is dead."

"I do," you insisted, your voice firm. "I love you for who you are, for the woman you were, and for the woman you could still be."

She stared at you for a long moment, her eyes searching yours. Then, she sighed, a deep, mournful sound that seemed to echo through the empty halls of the manor. "I have not felt this… this warmth in centuries," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

You reached for her again, this time she didn't pull away. You took her hand, feeling the cool, smooth skin beneath your fingertips. It was a moment of connection, a spark of hope in the darkness.

But the darkness was never far away. The manor was a living entity, a creature of shadows and secrets. The whispers of the dead echoed through the corridors, the scent of blood hung heavy in the air.

One night, a group of villagers, armed with torches and pitchforks, stormed the manor. They had come to hunt Lady Dimitrescu, to rid the world of the monster that haunted their nightmares.

You fought alongside Lady Dimitrescu, your love for her fueling your courage, your determination to protect her. But the villagers were relentless, their hatred burning like a wildfire.

In the end, the villagers were victorious. They drove Lady Dimitrescu back into the shadows, leaving her wounded and alone. You were captured, imprisoned in the depths of the manor, your heart breaking at the thought of losing her.

But Lady Dimitrescu had not given up. She had found a way to escape, to break free from the chains that bound her. She returned to the manor, her eyes burning with a cold, vengeful fire.

She slaughtered the villagers, their screams echoing through the halls of the manor, their blood staining the floors crimson. She stood over their bodies, her face a mask of fury, her eyes filled with the pain of centuries.

She turned to you, her gaze searching yours. "You are safe now," she said, her voice a low growl. "No one will ever hurt you again."

You looked at her, at the monster she had become, the monster she was forced to be. You felt a pang of sadness, a sense of loss. The woman you had loved, the woman you had seen in her eyes, was gone. In her place stood a creature of darkness, a creature driven by rage and despair.

You knew that you could never be with her, not in this life, not in any life. But you also knew that you would never forget her, the woman who had captured your heart, the woman who had shown you the beauty of darkness and the darkness of beauty.

You left the manor, leaving behind the echoes of her screams, the scent of blood, and the memory of a love that had been lost. You walked into the sunrise, carrying the weight of her story, the weight of her pain, the weight of her love.

You knew that you would never be the same again. You had seen the darkness, and the darkness had seen you. And in the depths of that darkness, you had found a love that would last a lifetime, a love that would haunt you forever

[carlamathew00]

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[superblysubpar]

vampire!eddie munson x somekindofslayer!you / partner!steve

2,653 words

warnings: other than kind of like, illusions to some spicy things/slight implications of dubcon, not much in this little snippet | vampire things? Idk how to tag that ya'll? like weapons, blood imagery, etc? | oh also I think modern AU but also like ST things happened but also like the party is all in the modern AU except Eddie? Idk I haven't decided, don't think too hard about it

A/N: okay, so this is a little snippet of something I started *last* October and I lost the will and love to write and I've been returning to it frequently and I think I'll be posting the full thing soonish. I hope you enjoy it (and yes, I'm cheating and counting this as 3 days)

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event

It feels wrong.

There’s no better way to describe the feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders and pricks at the back of your neck as you weave in and out of the too loud crowd.

Spilled beer and red plastic cups at your feet further marking up and ruining what you’re sure was once beautiful wood floors. Spray painted images and words foul and rude against walls with chipped paint and frayed wallpaper that hold a history people have forgotten too quickly.

Your fingers glide over the banister, the tipped cup to your lips flashing red in the dingy mirror on the grand father clock as you ascend the stairs.

The celebration below softens to a dull murmur of a crowd, the low rumble of bass as you take the last step and your lungs deflate with an exhaled breath of relief. Each door you pass is open, revealing dust and cobwebbed covered furniture and art, rooms frozen in time as the world around it kept going. You were surprised to find that none of the pop culture clad couple’s costumes had made their way upstairs this evening to make use of the more private rooms.

Perhaps there were still some things here that people didn’t want to disturb.

The claims that this home held ghosts, made you see things, the history of what once happened in this town, hadn’t dissuaded the night from happening as you had hoped. The possibility of all the sinister and spooky things the home brought only served to be fuel for a Halloween night party and practically dared the teens to host it there.

Which is probably exactly what he wanted.

Your hand discards the now empty solo cup on a dark wood buffet, finger leaving a clean swipe to it’s surface as you tilt your head to listen for anything out of the ordinary while the heels of your boots slow, then stop in front of the only closed door on this level.

The knob of the door twists easily underneath your palm, and as the door creaks open, soft light flickers above from a room you can’t quite yet see. With a deep breath, you close the door behind yourself as quietly as you can, the noise of the party now almost nonexistent. The only clue to it the vibrations from below your soles as you carefully start the climb of this second staircase.

While equally stuck in the past, this attic is littered with frequent use.

Recent too.

Candle’s wicks flicker around the room, all of various heights with melted wax now solidified in drips down their sides, which tells you they’ve just been lit, but not for the first time ever.

There’s a dark line in the slat flooring, like it’s been ripped in half and then clumsily pushed and glued back together. Something inside jars glint in the moonlight shining in from the small window on the opposite side of the room.

“Nice costume,” a deep voice from the shadows calls. A flick of a zippo sounds before the flame sparks, illuminating a figure leaning against the wall. Broad shoulders long hair falls against and a cigarette dangling between plush lips just made out in its glow as he lights it. The metal clicks together, returning him to the darkness. The end of the cigarette burns red at his side as a puff of smoke floats into the air with his words, “Buffy, right?”

Your throat feels dry as you risk a glance down at the costume, as if you need to remind yourself what you’re wearing. Little black dress, emphasis on the little. Your tits shoved up and out with a cross hanging heavy between them and little left to the imagination between the short hem just covering your ass and the tall knee high boots.

“You’re just missing one thing, vampire slayer,” his voice makes you jump, an instinctual step back only to find you’re up against the banister and he’s right in front of you now.

He hadn’t made a single sound.

“Yeah?” Your voice betrays you, cracking as the weight of something inside of your boot scolds you for not having it out and ready as he leans in, eyes on the cross on your neck as you try to sound more confident than you are, “What’s that…sorry I didn’t catch your name? And who are you supposed to be?”

In a flash, he’s across the room, twirling something between his fingers you can’t quite see as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and paces.

“Wow, you don’t recognize me?” The chains against his jeans click as he spins with a dramatic sigh, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t remember me either.”

His leather and denim clad shoulders rise then fall in a shrug, the devil on his chest pulled tight as he stretches his arms out as if to say “ta-da”, and his tone sounds like he’s doing just that when he says:

“I’m Eddie Munson. The guy who made this place famous.”

Your heart thuds in your ears, tongue suddenly taking up too much space in your mouth as your stomach clenches.

“Yeah? That your name or your costume’s?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He whistles to get your attention when you look down, now acutely aware of the empty space between your calf and boot.

He waves the wood stake in the air, teeth gleaming white in his smile that brings a dimple out you can see all the way across the room.

“Looking for this, princess?”

“I’m not a vampire slayer, Mr. Munson,” you start, fingers behind your back working at the discrete silver bracelet on your wrist.

Eddie’s lips purse, amused as he leans against the windowsill, completely at ease as he watches you take a cautious step forward then another.

He grins at you when you take a third step and nods his head, encouraging you, “That’s it. Get closer. Promise I won’t bite…” he winks, “ ‘Less you want me to, of course.”

“Lotta girls take you up on that offer Mr. Munson? That what you were hoping for tonight?”

His smile grows wider, his tongue pokes at a canine that’s suddenly grown longer.

“First of all, Mr. Munson is my uncle, please,” he sticks his hand out now that you’re close enough, like he intends to shake yours, “It’s Eddie. And second, you vampire slayers…” he sighs, “Always all business, never any fun, huh?”

“Right, Eddie,” you concede, whispering, now close enough that you know he could easily do what’s in his nature. “And I thought I told you, I’m not a vampire slayer.”

His eyes flash when your hand wraps around his in a firm shake. His adam’s apple bobs with a large swallow as you take a step even closer, body between his spread legs, your neck and chest right where he’d want it. Eddie’s eyes are tinged with red, but he starts to pull away, breathing heavily.

Your eyes are on your hands still locked, and your entire body warms, heartbeat racing as his thumb swipes over the back of yours and his eyelashes flutter when you moan at the tingle the contact of his skin leaves against yours. Like the good kind of heat from a bonfire, any closer and it’ll start to burn, and any further away you’d be too cold.

Static crackles in your ear, “Um…whatcha doing, killer?”

Eddie looks directly at your left earlobe at the sound, and it all snaps you back to attention. Your silver bracelet in your other hand quickly locks around his wrist in your grasp.

Eddie blinks at you, each drop and lift of his eyelids growing heavier by the milliseconds as his hand slips from yours.

“Fuck,” he laughs, like he’s a little tipsy, head knocking against the window behind him as he looks at you from under his lashes, smiling. “You got me, slayer.”

“Not,” you swallow, taking a larger step away from him while trying to fight the urge to take off the bracelet subduing him, “Not a vampire slayer.”

He hums, rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe you as footsteps creak loudly on the stairs behind you and your partner’s winded breath calls out your name.

“You smell good,” Eddie mumbles as you pull him to his feet and sling his arm over your shoulder, his head falling into the crook of your neck makes your entire body freeze.

His nose drags along your pulse, his lips follow, and a chill races down your spine, skin on fire where he’s pressed against it and you have to stop your teeth from biting on your bottom lip too hard or you’ll draw blood and who knows what’ll happen then. Maybe he’d lick it off your chin, maybe he’d-

“Did I just witness what I think I just witnessed? Were you gonna let him-”

“Don’t,” you gasp as Eddie sighs against your throat. “Not another word, Harrington.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you wide eyed and with his mouth hanging open as you shove Eddie’s weight to him and right yourself, fixing the hem of your dress and yanking your stake off of the ground. Doesn’t say anything while you check around corners and you pretend to be three drunk idiots stumbling to a car in case any one sees. Doesn’t say anything until Eddie’s passed out in the backseat and you’re looking in the rearview for the third time in less minutes, wheels spinning against wet black top and taking you past the: “Now Leaving Hawkins!” sign.

“What the fuck-“ he starts to hiss.

“I don’t know. Just…don’t. Okay? He touched me and…and…” your heart starts thudding harder. “I choked or something. It happens to the best of us.”

Steve licks his lip before it prods at his cheek as you grip the steering wheel tighter and he looks over his shoulder.

“Compulsion?”

“Maybe?” You shrug, though not believing it one bit.

“Imprin-“

“Don’t. That’s a myth.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds and then Steve’s lips twitch.

“Horny?”

He laughs when you groan and swat at his chest. “Shut up. You’re such an asshole.”

Steve snorts, looking out the window, mumbling, “That wasn’t a no.”

You flick his eyebrow that time.

“If that is the case, I mean, there are plenty of us who’d love to help you out. You don’t gotta stoop to being sucked on by vamps if you’re feeling-“

“You want me to use the stake on him?”

The car swerves at the sound of his voice, your heartbeat in your ears as you return to the correct lane safely and see Eddie sitting up in the backseat in your mirror.

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, holding his chest and facing the back now.

Eddie visibly winces at the use of the name and Steve perks up.

“Woah. That’s real?” He leans forward, eyebrows raised, “Christ, Christ, Christ, Chri-“

Eddie’s fangs sharpen and descend and he starts to growl low from his chest, eyes flashing red. Steve’s lips twitch but he raises his hands in surrender when you hiss for him to knock it off.

“Of course,” he looks at you then the backseat, “I’ll stop bothering your little toy, honey.”

Your gaze slices over to him as Steve holds his silver stake over his chest, keeping his back to the dash and eyes on the now alert vampire in your backseat.

Eddie lifts his wrist up, “What the hell is this?”

Steve smiles. “That, is a Henderson original. Powerful enough to subdue even the strongest of ghouls, goblins, vamps and any other weird ass creatures we come across - quickly and temporarily in case of emergency. A smaller version of his version of that trap thingy and that gun thingy,” he snaps his fingers and looks at you, “What are they again? In Ghostbusters?”

“The Proton Pack”, you say as Eddie asks at the same time,

“The Super Slammer Muon Trap?”

Eddie clears his throat, adjusts himself in the back seat while rubbing his neck and your eyes return to the road after making eye contact in the mirror again.

“You, uh, you like Ghostbusters?” He fiddles with the rings on his fingers.

Steve’s lips twitch when you grumble to yourself though you know they both can hear it, “Of course I like Ghostbusters, what am I, a moron?” You frown as you sarcastically add on, “And nobody’s impressed by your use of the name of the trap from the video game. It’s just a ghost trap.”

It’s like you feel his laugh inside your own chest. Warm and flowing over you like sunshine on your face after a really long, gloomy day. You tilt your head into it, eyelashes fluttering.

“Yeaah,” Steve draws out the word, clears his throat. “Those. Cause she couldn’t really go in with the big, real deal. Good thing it worked on you though, fast, too. Hepburn here was about to willingly be your human juicebox.”

“I was not-“

“Hepburn?” Eddie asks as you start to protest something you’re not even sure you can. “Is that your name, slayer?”

“Not a slayer,” you clarify again.

“And that didn’t answer my question,” Eddie raises his eyebrows in the mirror, gaze on the back of your ear, your throat. If you couldn’t glance up and see where he was looking you were sure you’d be able to feel the heat of his stare anyways.

Warmth prickles at your skin, and goosebumps rise to the surface in a trail from your ear, down your throat, across your collarbone as you imagine his mouth following that same-

“Can we,” Eddie clears his throat, he pulls at his collar, “Can we open a window or something?”

“Did you…” your breath comes sharper, words caught in your throat before you can ask him anything about the sensation on your skin. You grip the steering wheel tighter when images of his mouth moving lower break up the two lane highway in flashes.

Steve’s lips twitch when your body shivers, and you beg through gritted teeth, “Steve. Put a second bracelet on him.”

“I’m not…I’m not doing, it’s you…I won’t hurt…” Eddie puts his head between his legs and groans, like he’s in the worst pain of his life, or like he’s in the best-

“Fucking hell. Sweetheart, relax. Your pulse is…”

Steve’s lips part as your head hits the back of the seat, your neck extended as your mouth falls open and your leg flexes when you swear you feel a prick on your neck and you whine.

The bright yellow lights of a familiar restaurant break up the dark sky and road and your speedometer drops quickly from the 90 it had climbed to as you signal your exit despite no cars being around, whipping the car onto the exit ramp.

“What are you…” Steve starts, stopping when Eddie sits up again and pokes at his teeth with his tongue, wincing as he grips the edge of the seat.

“Steve? That’s your name?” He gasps, blinking rapidly, “Put the second bracelet on me, man.”

The car slams to a stop in front of the Waffle House and you toss the burner that had been in the cupholder to Steve.

“Call Hop. Tell him he needs to send someone else to drive him or pick me up. Now.”

When you step out of the car and the cool Autumn air does nothing to soothe your skin that’s slick with sweat, you slam the driver’s door. The minute it closes, it’s like a switch is flipped and when you look in the backseat, Eddie’s shoulders visibly relax at the same time yours do.

Steve’s mouth moves, and you can’t hear it, but you know he said exactly what you’re thinking.

What in the actual fuck just happened?

thank you for the original request for "ghosts" with eddie - I know it's not *technically* about ghosts and the creel house is just barely a part of this, but I promise Jason and Eddie/reader/Jason things will be a theme in the full story

[joesjewelryinternational]

Handmade Solid Pine Painted Bedroom Furniture | Fitted living room furniture

Nest at Number 20 offers the ideal balance of comfort and luxury. Our luxurious lodgings provide a lovely handmade living room furnitures retreat from the mundane. Book your stay now for a genuinely unforgettable experience.

[lvrsparadise]

COUNTRY BOY M.S HC'S

Synopsis - Country boy Matt head cannons :)

warnings! - fluff, fluff, and fluff! kissing, profanity (i think)

A/N - this is a draft from almost a year ago, i though i'd at least post it considering it's the only finished work in my drafts and i have NOTHING else to write (i hate writers block). enjoy !

✮ country boy matt who... met you at a race and you two instantly clicked

✮ country boy matt who... lets you wear his flannels whenever you sleep over

✮ country boy matt who... modifies your house anyway you want it. want a pool in the backyard? hand dug and made. you want a window bar in your kitchen? renovations start next week. bigger driveway? already calling the concrete people. a shed for your supplies or just extra stuff? he's on his way to the hardware store for wood. an extra wall in your room? already in the truck headed to the hardware store.

✮ country boy matt who... spoils the fuck out of you. at first it started off small, buying you whatever you touched in the store, your amazon Wishlist... etc., etc... but then you saw a pretty car at a dealership but didn't get it. the next day, he went and got it. then you saw a really nice house that was closer to your parents, but it was out of your price range. guess what? he bought it for you.

✮ country boy matt who... builds your kids a swing on that big tree in your front yard.

✮ country boy matt who... takes you line dancing any time he notices you looking or feeling down.

"what's wrong babe?"

"just not feeling it." he will go to your closet, and grabs your best flannel, shorts, boots, and hat, and walks back into the living room and tosses them to you.

"get dressed, i'll have nick come watch the kids, me and you are going line dancing."

✮ country boy matt who... builds your kids a play house and/or treehouse.

✮ country boy matt who... takes you to all of his family dinners, and they adore you!

✮ country boy matt who... paints the nursery for you while you're pregnant! this man will do anything for you, he even built ALL of the furniture, and toys you had pre-ordered for your son/daughter (i love this one sm bc it's so fitting for him)

✮ country boy matt who... buys you flowers every time he sees a bouquet when he's out and about 🤗

✮ country boy matt who... will take you out to dinner after every big accomplishment. got that job you wanted? fancy restaurant. got a promotion IN said job? fuck restaurants, he's taking you on a vacation! (he loves spoiling you w everything he's got, it's his love language.)

✮ country boy matt who... makes sure you're happy, there's nothing he loves more than seeing that gorgeous smile of yours!

✮ country boy matt who... LOVES using pet names for you, his favorite is darling. he's also big with babe, baby, princess, sweetheart, and ma (he loves calling you ma when you least expect it 🤭)

✮ country boy matt who... makes sure you have the wedding of your dreams when he proposes, he may say he doesn't care and wants the lady to decide, but deep down, he wants you to be happy on your big day, and he will do anything to make that happen.

Tags ! ✮

@dwntwn-strnlo ✮ @ssturniolo ✮ @strniolo ✮ @20nugs ✮

@prettysturniolo ✮ @mxqdii ✮ @thetriplets3 ✮ @slaysturniolo ✮

@gwenlore ✮ @opheliaofficial07 ✮ @gabbylovesreading ✮

@luvsturniolo ✮ @itsaaliyah2 ✮ @strniolosworld ✮

If you want to be added to the list, all you have to do is ask ! ✮

I love you all !

And I hope you all have a good day and / or night ✮

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

The Massage

When Aesop Sharp returns home to find his fiancée in bed with aching muscles from a long day of work, he's quick to offer his help. However, the situation takes a much more intimate turn, leaving both of them enjoying far more than just a little relief.

Big thanks to my dear friends @tea-withjamandbread and @dzajna for bearing with me while I wrote this beast, and providing their feedback and advice ❤️

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

[FULL NSFW PICTURE]

The Massage (9.8k)

tw: age difference (reader is an adult and has been for quite some time now), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral sex, might be cheesy

Aesop Sharp sighed with relief as he pulled off his coat and blazer, depositing both on the hanger by the door before freeing his feet and calves from the heavy leather boots, replacing them with the soft slippers he wore in the house. 

He knew his beloved was home, since the messenger bag she carried to work lay upon the bench in the cloakroom, but he currently couldn't hear a sound which would hint as to where she was. Perhaps she was out in the garden, he thought, she did like to rest there for a bit when she came home. Before beginning his search for his young fiancée, Aesop headed off into the ground floor bathroom in order to wash his hands and refresh himself a little.

Once there, he cast a quick cleaning charm on his clothes, swiftly ridding them of any traces of sweat or remains of any fumes from the potions brewed during his classes today that might've lingered. He splashed cool water on his face and let it air-dry. A few droplets still cooled him where they clung to his beard as he ran his fingers through his hair. Once he deemed himself presentable enough, he exited the bathroom and made his way through the dining room into the winter garden, and then out into the garden after putting on his outside shoes once more.

It was quite a nice afternoon, the air cool and crisp. The earth smelled of rain, the last remains of winter fading away and making way for spring to come. The sky was rather grey and sunless, but Aesop's mood was not at all soured by that. No, he instead inhaled more of the earthy scent, letting his eyes glide over the sizable garden. It looked quite different than it had when he still lived here by himself. There were more flowers in the flowerbeds, a little fire pit was added for the two of them to warm up on cool evenings spent outside, and a small shed was built to house his beloved’s owl. 

Aesop made his way around the house, only to discover his wife-to-be was nowhere to be seen. He went back inside, mindful not to make a mess with his damp and slightly muddy shoes. It wasn't too cold outside, but he nevertheless shivered a bit when the warmth of the dining room enveloped him once more.

"(F/N)? Are you home, love?" He called out softly, off-handedly making the kettle float from its place on the stove to the tap, filling itself up with water before going back to its original place, so that they could share a cup of tea once he found her.

"Here," came muffled from above him. The professor smiled and unhurriedly made his way upstairs, ascending the steps with an easy step. He had to admit he felt quite appreciative of the work he and his beloved did in the house since she officially moved in with him. The house was never once uncomfortable, of course, but following the lack of fairer sex in the home, not to mention the depression that settled over him after Ashley's death, the house grew a little... empty. Most of the original furniture from when he was a child remained there, but without loving care, the paint faded and chipped, the wood surfaces lost their shine, and some articles of furniture grew desperately outdated. 

When he still lived by himself and mostly just for himself, Aesop hardly cared. The few visits he had, mainly just from his mother, Dinah and Abraham, never once commented on the state of his home, and he was quite happy about it. However, when the young woman he couldn't wait to marry came to live with him, it was like he saw just how metaphorically grey the home had become. It didn't go well with the radiance of his sweetheart, of their love, and maybe of Aesop himself these days. 

So they made the acceptable investment of one shilling for a large muggle catalogue of furniture and got to work. Aesop had smiled to himself then - maybe he'd tell Matilda of this endeavour of theirs. After all, a lot of transfiguration had been involved. Maybe she could make a similar exercise for her students - this was definitely more useful than turning a porcupine into a pincushion, at least in his opinion. Not that he'd tell her that... It took more than a week, mostly because they both had full time occupations after all, and when he and (F/N) were finally done, they were more than a little glad the next day was a Sunday, their magical cores feeling drained. However, it really felt worth it. 

The house was once more perfectly warm and cosy, just like it was when Aesop had been a small boy, and then later when he and Dinah lived together. It once more held that comforting scent he could never quite put his finger on, and he felt the wear and tear of his teaching job melt away into comfort. The colours of fabrics, be it the sofas and armchairs, rugs, or perhaps some tapestry, were vibrant and warm, the wood of the tables, bookcases, and the wardrobes in the hallway once more shone and glistened with novelty. The rooms which were empty for long years, including Aesop's own childhood bedroom, became comfortable looking guest rooms for the time being. At least so until Aesop and (F/N) fully joined their hands in holy matrimony and embraced the idea of procreation. Aesop never once stopped feeling at home in the large house, but the way things were now, he felt genuinely happy every time he stepped over the threshold.

Finally, Aesop opened the door to his and (F/N)'s bedroom - it had more Ravenclaw colours than he'd personally seek out normally, but the end result certainly made for a very comfortable space. His beloved certainly seemed to think so, given she was lying on the spacious bed on her stomach, her arms idly by her sides and her face buried into the pillow. Aesop grinned, as he looked around. He could see the woman's outer, slightly dirt-stained clothing hanging from one of the chairs in the room. 

He chuckled to himself and slowly walked to her side of the bed. Noiselessly, he kneeled on the floor, his face close to her head. Feeling his presence, his fiancée's head finally turned, and a pair of large tired eyes met his own. 

"Hello," she murmured hoarsely, but nevertheless offered her lips to him. Aesop didn't waste a single second, he chased her mouth in a long, sweet kiss, his right hand gently stroking the woman's back and waist. 

"How was your day, my sweet?" Aesop asked, though he could very much see her day had been difficult and strenuous. She merely groaned in return, and stayed silent for a few minutes, during which Aesop continued to stroke her back and shoulders gently. "Well," she spoke finally, "if you ever feel like trying to subdue a frightened unicorn stallion without using a light stupefy at first, I can tell you it's not a good idea... I took some Skele-Gro and Wiggenweld, of course, so I can proudly say my arm and my ribs are, once more, fully intact, but my muscles are still killing me..."

A small click left the professor's lips, his concern for his sweetheart's well being obvious. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything for several moments. But then: "Do you think you could lift your arms for me, my dear? I want to try and help you..." She observed him with a curious expression, but did as she was told, seemingly with great difficulty. 

Aesop's large warm hands slipped under the hem of her blouse and pulled her chemise out of her drawers. He then carefully slid the soft materials up her body, over her head, and off her arms. He took in the sight she made momentarily - her hair was spread around her head like a halo, and her soft breasts were squished against the mattress in a rather lovely fashion. However, he shook his head then - now was the time to make his sweetheart feel better. His hand once more glided over the pale expanse of her back before it retracted and the professor made way to his side of the bed. After safely placing his wand upon his bedside table, he reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a small glass jar containing dark pink ointment. 

He rolled up his shirt sleeves, and, without further ado, climbed atop the bed, and then carefully straddled his sweetheart's body, until he was partially sitting on her pert bottom. She huffed a little when she felt the extra weight on her bum, though it was not so much a huff of pain or discomfort, as it was one of confusion. "What are you up to, Ace?" she questioned, struggling to turn her head further to be able to look at him. Aesop only smiled: "Just wait. I promise it'll feel nice."

He took the cork out of the jar, and reached two fingers inside. It was one of his experimental brews, back when he was still looking for a cure for his leg. This particular ointment made muscles loosen up, and gave off a very pleasant warmth when rubbed into the skin. Which is exactly what Aesop did, once he deemed the amount of ointment on his fingers acceptable. 

It was cool upon the young woman's skin at first, and she hissed at the feeling. However, less than a minute later, she was pretty much melting under Aesop's strong and steady hands. The professor himself was very careful in his application of the ointment at first, but grew a little firmer once he felt the kinks in his fiancée's back begin to loosen up. Soon he was fully massaging her slight shoulders and back, and thirstily drank in the sweet sounds that left her lips, as well as the flush that coloured her cheeks. 

His movements caused his whole body to rock against her slowly, but he barely paid any mind to the pleasant friction of the soft flesh of her behind against his stiffening shaft. That is, until he felt the young woman purposefully roll her hips in a way that made the sensations way more pronounced. Aesop stilled in his movements, his breathing considerably heavier than it had been a few minutes ago.

"Sweetheart," he said gently, "as much as I’d like to, the last thing I want to do is hurt you more than you're already hurting..." The young woman groaned softly and further wiggled her bottom to the best of her abilities, given the fact Aesop was still partially sitting upon it. "It does not hurt that bad anymore..." she tried to protest, "besides, we can go really slow..."

Aesop couldn't hold back a small chuckle as he stared at his fiancée’s back in awe.

He lowered his upper body until his mouth was right next to her ear, his hands bracing his weight on each side of her head: "Really slow, hm?" he purred, making her shiver slightly. He rocked his hips against her a few times, slowly and passionately. 

"This slow?" he asked, his voice growing lower. (F/N) didn't answer. Aesop then raised himself somewhat, and when he was positive he wouldn't lose his balance and collapse directly onto her, his hands left their previous position and closed around her hips instead, pulling them up from the bed. His own then ground into her, hard and excruciatingly slow, making the woman hyper aware that he was rock hard now: "or even slower, like so?"

She groaned again, her hands that were previously just lying idly by her sides now gripping at the sheets in obvious need. "A-Ace, please... Please, stop teasing, I really want this. I want you... And besides, you know nothing makes sore muscles relax quite as much as some nice lovemaking..." Once again, the professor snickered, even lower than before, still grinding his clothed erection against her. "You Ravenclaws," he said softly, "finding logic in everything... Very well then. But you'll tell me the moment something hurts too much, alright?"

The young woman strained her head, and actually braced her own hands next to her in order to raise herself up slightly and look at him better. She indeed seemed much less miserable than she did when he originally walked in, and instead now looked like a woman starved. 

Oh, how could he ever resist her? Without another word, Aesop once more lowered himself, but this time to connect their mouths in a hot, passionate kiss. 

One of his hands gently wrapped around her throat, neither pushing nor squeezing, simply holding her there, enjoying the feeling of her quickened heartbeat below his fingertips as well as the knowledge of how entirely she trusted him. His hips kept rutting against her more rhythmically now, and it made him release small short hums of desire into their kiss, his tongue cheekily prodding and teasing at her own, only to dart back so that he could gently nip at her lower lip. 

Her own hand stopped pawing at the now rather ruffled sheets around her, and instead moved down to stroke his knee, which was about the only part of him she could reach without too much discomfort. Well, that just wouldn’t do, Aesop decided. But still, he gently ended the kiss, and motioned for his beloved to lower herself down again. Once she did, he covered her body with his own, his chest flush against her warm back, and his lips bestowing butterfly kisses against the nape of her neck and all the way to her ear. 

“Are you completely certain?” he asked once more, but the grin that appeared on her face revealed her mind was quite made up. “Unless you plan to literally bend me in half, or restrain me into some extra ridiculous position, it is my firm belief that I’ll be just fine,” she replied, looking at him through her eyelashes, “but even if you do, I will survive. I took a day off tomorrow - well, not accurate - Ellie made me take the day off. She said I either stay home, or I’d be cleaning undersides of Flobberworms tomorrow, because she’s not letting me get trampled over twice in two days.” 

“Hm, remind me to send her flowers,” Aesop murmured, only just resisting the urge to ask whether his fiancée ever thought about a different occupation. It was a silly thought, of course. She loved her job and was completely brilliant at it, and the last thing Aesop wanted was to limit her in any way, but any man who loved his woman half like Aesop loved (F/N) would have very much preferred knowing his beloved was safe. 

He shook his head. Though there have been, and will undoubtedly be scuffs and scratches, and bruises and pulled muscles, (F/N) was a tough woman. Not two armoured mountain trolls and countless goblins attacking at once were able to put her down when she was just a student, and he doubted one stupid horned horse could do the job now that she was a bit older and much more experienced. 

“Aesop,” she said with a small hint of impatience, but mostly a healthy dose of teasing, “should I feel offended you’ve still got enough blood in your brain to think despite me trying to do my best here to make it all go someplace entirely else?”

Aesop’s quiet laughter rang through the room. His arms pushed until they were tightly nestled under and around her waist, and his face nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. She too released a little giggle, with Aesop unsure whether it was because of the combined sensation of the small scratch of his beard and the tickle of his hair on her soft skin, or just him showering her with his affections like this.

When she wiggled her bum again, Aesop was reminded of his desire, and found he had not wilted in the slightest during his brief moment of thinking. Carefully, he rolled to the side, ridding her of his weight on her back. No sooner than he’d done so did he move to turn her to face him, and their lips connected in another heated kiss. Thin fingers slipped into his hair, and one of her long legs found its rightful place over his hip. The warm skin of her bare upper body pressed against his own chest, and he was hyper aware of her softness and the gentle curves of her bosom despite the offensive fabric of his own garment separating them still.

As if on cue his fiancée pulled back slightly, her nose still gently bumping into his own. “Like always,” she whispered, and Aesop hungrily drank in the hotness of her breath, “you are wearing way too many clothes, Ace.”

The professor was very nearly ready to grab his wand from the nightstand and wave it in the air to immediately rid them of the remainder of their clothes, but at the same time didn’t for the world want this ever increasing thrum of arousal and anticipation to end. 

The act of lovemaking itself was always lovely; both of them always went above and beyond to ensure their partner reached their peak in the most pleasurable way possible. However, Aesop knew they were also united in their enjoyment of foreplay, in the intimacy of once more, like so many times before, succumbing to one another’s embrace, to their most natural form, the sweetness of the other’s lips, and then finally the joy of their bodies uniting into one.

And so, quite unhurriedly, he looked deep into his beloved's eyes and pulled at his tie until it slipped from its knot and came loosely off. The single look was entirely enough to get her to understand, and she too wasn’t entirely urgent when her fingers left his hair in order to pluck his waistcoat buttons free from their holes. 

Still, their clothes soon littered the floor of their bedroom, and the two of them were left in just their drawers. A low moan was released against the young woman’s tongue as her slight hand closed around the stiff member that was tenting Aesop’s underwear, and she gave him a few gentle strokes through the thin fabric. Her mouth watered at the feel of him, the organ hot and heavy in her hand and throbbing under her attention.

However, after she pulled a few more pleasurable sighs out of him, Aesop decided that two could play that game. 

And so he let his mouth slide down slowly, kissing and biting at her neck, her pulse point and collarbones, soothing each of the harder nips with gentle licks of his tongue, his hand kneading the flesh of her pert buttocks appreciatively. And then, finally, when his lips reached her left nipple, his hand dipped in below the hem of her drawers, squeezed the soft bum, then made its way to the other side, long fingers sneaking their way towards her damp nether lips.

His beloved sighed, her head dropping to the pillow, and her hand momentarily ceasing its sweet torment of him at the sensation of the work-hardened tips of Aesop’s fingers dragging over her swelling lovebud and seam.

Quite soon however, she recovered enough to copy him. Aesop gasped lightly against the pink areola of her breast when he felt the gentle scratch of her nails drag from his belly button down through the dark hair of his happy trail, her hand soon also plunging into the tight confines of his cotton breeches to begin touching him fully.

The couple gently and unhurriedly fondled one another as much as their current position would allow them, with Aesop worrying at his fiancée’s nipples using his mouth while her free hand tugged at his hair, sending gooseflesh down his neck and back, and little electric sparks into his groin, which continued thrumming under her delicious caresses. He grinned when a particularly mean bite resulted in her hand in his hair tightening to the point of light pain, and she motioned for him to move up again. The professor did so without a word, immediately chasing her mouth in another kiss, less coordinated than the previous ones.

A smug smile spread on his face when they pulled away for breath. How he adored working her up like this - his beloved always seemed to have this detached sort of elegance about her, even after she just sent some wayward group of ruffians packing, twigs in her hair from leaping across the ground and dirt staining her cheeks. There was absolutely nothing detached about her now... Holding her gaze, he pulled his hand free from her drawers and brought it to his lips. His fingers glistened with her arousal visibly, and the professor made a show of slowly pushing each of them into his mouth to suck on them, closing his eyes and humming at her taste like she was a fine meal.

Suddenly, his teeth flashed as an idea popped to his head. The young woman gasped when she was suddenly pushed on her back and pulled lower on the bed, until Aesop was able to move to kneel behind her. His strong hands moved to once more stroke and squeeze at her soft breasts while he looked upside down on her face, his knees on each side of her head. 

“This alright?” he asked quietly, his fingertips teasing at her ribs. She needn’t ask what he had in mind exactly, knowing all too well where a position like this might go. She felt herself dampen further with anticipation. Her hands reached up, and Aesop took them in his, shuffling down a bit to be able to kiss her once more before he began his descent down her body.

This time, he only spent a short while teasing her breasts and teats with his mouth before moving lower, his tongue gliding around the pale skin of her stomach and circling her belly button. Finally he reached the hem of her drawers, and his beloved lifted her bottom off the bed a bit, so that he was able to push them down her legs. The soft fabric bunched just past her knees, and the young woman used one of her feet to take them fully off, clearing the path for Aesop and his increasingly hungrier stare.

The teacher braced himself on one hand next to her left hip, and used the free one to spread her legs further, which made his fiancée shiver at the cool air lapping at her heated skin. Bending his head down, Aesop flashed one more grin at the young woman, before he finally lowered down to bury his head between her milky thighs.

A small groan was forced out of (F/N)’s mouth when his mouth immediately found her swollen clitoris and began sucking at it fervently, his strong arms curling around her limbs to hold them perfectly in place. The very view of him from this angle was maddeningly erotic, and when she turned her head up, she found she was perfectly level with the tent in his pants. There was already a damp little spot forming where his tip was, and the young woman decided that she made him wait long enough.

The large erection bumped her nose as it sprung out from the cottony confines upon her pushing the hem down, and her mouth watered further at his heady musky scent. She turned her head further, until his dark pink glans brushed against her lips, prompting the professor to release a harsh breath against her folds. The young woman giggled even as another wave of arousal rolled through her, and proceeded to toy with the tip using her mouth, suckling on it and rolling it around, prompting more lovely reactions from the professor.

Teasing little licks soon turned into proper pleasure when Aesop began using one of his hands to gently finger his beloved, while still worrying at her lovebud deliciously. The young woman in turn opened her mouth and carefully covered her teeth with her lips before accepting his hard cock inside, slowly bobbing her head up and down and taking him further with each move. Her fingers kneaded and teased at his heavy testicles, occasionally prodding at that one spot behind them that she knew made him see stars when she pressed down on it.

The increased stimuli sent small shivers through the teacher’s strong frame, and he unknowingly began thrusting his hips, shallowly at first, but then increasing in intensity, just like his mouth and hand did on his fiancée’s need. Their groans and gasps were muffled by the other’s skin, free hands were grasping at whichever part they could reach, hips, thighs, bottoms, fingertips leaving little red spots in their wake. The flank of (F/N)’s leg bore the perfect imprint of the potions master’s palm, while the woman herself took a small break from swallowing around the thick prick in her mouth in order to deliver a sharp bite at Aesop’s inner thigh. His strangled ‘Oh, fuck’ spoken against her drenched core was music to her ears.

Aesop adored being marked by her in the throes of passion, be it a bite on his neck, a couple of bruises on his hips where her toned legs squeezed him, or the sweet sting on his back where her fingernails dug into it. 

His tongue thrusted into her opening along with his fingers, while his thumb now rhythmically rubbed nonsensical patterns against her little pink pearl. Aesop felt his release approaching rapidly under her incredibly intoxicating touch, but refused to let himself succumb to the sweet pull of no doubt brilliant orgasm before she tumbled down that ravine herself. And so, using the very few bits of self control he had left, he lifted his hips up and his member out of her brilliant mouth.

Now, the young woman tried to protest at first, her arms wrapping around his hips in an attempt to pull him back, but a small strategic bite at her folds coupled with a prod of his fingers to the little bundle of nerves deep within her made her arms lose their strength, and her back to arch against the mattress. He sped up his ministrations further, moaning quietly at the feeling of her climax approaching and at the sounds that now poured out of her mouth freely. He couldn’t see her currently, but he imagined her hands fisting the sheets below and her face twisting in pleasure.

Finally, with a cry she came undone underneath him, Aesop hungrily lapping up everything that she could give him. As she writhed with the sensations, one of her hands made its way to his hair, and she closed it around a few strands, not exactly pulling, but rather just hanging on while her orgasm shook through her. Aesop slowly rose when a little whine told him she needed a break from his continuous worship, and he wasted no time, kneeling back on the bed and pulling her somewhat into his hold until he was able to close his arms around her waist. He bent his head to kiss a trail from her neck to her jaw, and then finally to her lips. 

He couldn't help but smile at the image of her red face, the sweat running down her forehead, and the blissed out expression when he pulled back from the positively filthy kiss.

“I hope that was to your liking?” he asked cheekily, his forefinger taking to drawing little patterns over her front, connecting the various freckles and moles on her chest and stomach. (F/N) snorted unabashedly, her breathing still laboured. “As you can clearly see, I hated it,” she quipped right back, her own hand coming to lay hotly on his thigh. She turned her head a little in a clear invitation for him to kiss her again, and Aesop didn't have to be asked twice.

After a few more minutes of exchanging languid kisses, she separated their mouths and whispered: “Although I am cross with you - while you made me finish, you didn’t let me finish.” 

She looked awfully proud at the choice of her words, but Aesop merely chuckled: “And would you like me to let you finish, or shall I take you and we can make each other finish together?” An adorable pout of mock consideration appeared on her face and her eyes closed as she still rode on the gentle waves of afterglow. 

Finally, her eyes sought out his own: “I say - why not both? Like I said, I’ve got a free day tomorrow. And, if I’m not wrong, your first class is at eleven o’clock, so that gives us plenty of time to have a little rest before you can go again, after that a nice bath, a bite to eat, and plenty of sleep still.” 

Aesop shook his head slightly as another chuckle rolled through him. Still, he reached to gently caress her heated cheek, looking down at her with endless affection: “And you tell me I’m incorrigible, you little minx.” His beloved returned his smile: “Oh, you are. But I never claimed not to be incorrigible myself, did I?”

Aesop’s eyes shone with happiness and love as he watched the face he grew to adore so much, her cheeks still flushed and a few strands of her hair sticking to her forehead. The professor used his finger to push them to the side. The young woman used her hands to brace herself somewhat, and turned to steal another kiss. Truth be told, the angle was a bit awkward, but she was determined to make it work. 

Aesop suddenly groaned into their kiss, his hand closing tighter where it was squeezing her hip, and he gave a shaky breath. 

As she turned, his sweetheart once more took hold of his leaking cock, tugging at it rhythmically and driving him to his brink steadily. Knowing what she wanted, Aesop helped move her down on the bed again, his knees spreading wider where he was kneeling, and her head immediately arching back. She was smiling even as she observed him from her upside down angle, and licked her lips when his throbbing shaft appeared inches away from her face.

Aesop was breathing hard as he stroked himself a few times to take the edge off, and watched with a rapturous expression as she accepted him rubbing the glans across her swollen lips after a clear droplet of precum seeped out. 

Without further ado, he used his finger to motion for her to open up, and once she did, he pushed the hard member into her waiting mouth again. A hum from her and a groan from him cut through the silence of the room as she enveloped him in her hot, wet heat, her cheeks hollowing out when she started to suck.

Aesop was mindful at first, his hips moving slowly and shallowly, despite his sweetheart not showing any sort of discomfort with having her mouth and throat plundered by him. Still, even though she became quite… experienced in this act since they were first intimate together, he always started off carefully - not that he ever tried himself, but he imagined having something so large in one’s mouth must be a bit difficult.

However, it would appear the young woman didn’t appreciate his carefulness all that much, for she slowly pulled her mouth off of him. “I won’t break, you know. Neither will I choke or bite your family jewel off.” she said with a challenging little grin. Aesop couldn’t help but smile right back at her. “I know,” he said quietly, “but just… just let me know if it gets too much, alright? Maybe, I don’t know, slap my thigh three times.”

She only rolled her eyes at him with another grin, before positioning herself to take him in her mouth again.

This time both of the potions master’s hands found her cheeks and jaw, and carefully closed around them. With a sharp thrust, his entire length disappeared in her mouth, and a quiet curse left his own. After a few more movements of his hips, he found a rhythm, quite faster than the one before.

He used his hold of her head to keep her in place while he fucked her throat, the the young woman’s little gasps and groans making sweet vibrations go through his shaft, and were soon making him lose himself. He watched with endless fascination as the skin of her throat grew slightly more taut each time he pushed himself deep inside, as little drizzles of drool soon began to leave her lips where they were closed around the thick organ, and how she rubbed her thighs against each other in an attempt to bring herself some friction.

He spread his legs even wider, his breathing hard and laboured, and his hold on her head increasing along with the speed of his movements. 

His eyes closed momentarily as he was getting overwhelmed at the feeling, and nearing ever closer to that sweet release. The suction of her mouth, of the way her tongue lapped at him as best as it could given the position, the jolt of pleasure every time she swallowed around him, his tightening bollocks slapping against her face with every thrust, oh, Aesop knew was going to come hard.

It was quickly becoming too much. The professor’s member was now constantly weeping out in his fiancée’s throat, the coil in his stomach was becoming tighter, burning hot and bright like iron in a forge, his breathing came out in short bursts, and a litany of blissful sounds was leaving his mouth. His brain finally gave out, and he barely noticed his own hands leaving her face. Still, she stayed in her place, her own hands reaching up to grab at his hips, her fingernails digging into the flesh there as she hung on. 

One of the teacher’s hands closed around her breast, kneading it roughly, while the other carefully covered her throat. He could almost feel it where he fucked her, he imagined he could feel his cock stretching her neck, her Adam’s apple bouncing each time she swallowed around him. 

“Hnng, b-bloody hell, (F/N),” Aesop managed to grit out before another groan left his lips, and his eyes rolled back, “Bloody hell, I’m so close. I’m so close, sweetheart…”

His hips began staggering, and the teacher felt the build up of sensation spreading through his entire body. His muscles were tensing up, and his cock was throbbing desperately. The fingers on his hips dug in deeper, the sting of the fingernails doing nothing but pushing him further, further towards that edge. He rutted into her incredible mouth, his own dry and open, sounds of pleasure falling out freely. 

“Oh, Merlin, I’m coming. Oh! Mhm!” Aesop’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he bit his lower lip harshly when the coil in his lower belly snapped, and the pleasure exploded within him. His prick emptied into her throat in long spurts, and soon his body started trembling slightly under the immense gratification. He then sat back quickly and pulled himself out of her mouth, so that the last two ropes of pearly white cum landed on her dark pink lips and spit-damp chin.

Aesop fell down on his arse, nearly collapsing right into the pillows behind him, breathing hard. The young woman before him was in a fairly similar state to him. He heard her swallow a few times, her own breathing quick and laboured. The professor used the last bits of his strength to lie down on the bed next to her. His heart still beat louder and faster than a wardrum, and his hands were still shaking a little.

Turning his head, he saw his sweetheart’s eyes were closed, her face relaxed, and her lips spread into a content smile. The product of his pleasure still clung to her skin, and Aesop found the sight incredibly erotic, his just spent shaft twitching ever so slightly with residue arousal. He turned on his side to face her, and threw one arm and leg over her heated form in as much of an embrace as he was able to execute at the moment.

They spent several minutes like this, bodies slowly calming and cooling down, heartbeats returning to normal, brains regaining control of their higher functions once more. Finally, Aesop summoned a cool wet cloth using his hand, once he actually felt all of his fingers again. He propped his head up on his other hand, and gently got his fiancée’s attention by pressing a small kiss against her cheek. 

Her eyes opened, and the look she fixed him with was enough to make his heart quicken up again. 

He never quite got used to the way she looked at him after they just indulged in the pleasure of each other’s arms, no matter how they went about it. Her gaze was open and sincere, filled with trust, and with so much love and happiness. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

Aesop never truly realised that his own expression was the perfect mirror of hers.

The teacher brought the hand holding the cloth up, and gently dabbed at the drying seed on her lip and chin, prompting her smile to widen further. “I like it when you do that,” she whispered, as if worried she could ruin the atmosphere that settled between them had she spoken any louder. “Do what?” Aesop spoke, just as quietly, a sly little grin on his face “clean up my mess?” 

There was a mischievous sparkle to her eyes. “Actually, I like it when you create it… You’re always such a perfect gentleman, but I know it drives you crazy to mark me like this. Drives me crazy too, when you lose control like that…” she admitted to him, her smile still present.

“Well,” the professor chuckled, tossing the cloth away after his young sweetheart’s face was, save for some perspiration, once again pristine, “I can hardly deny it, can I…” He chased her lips in a kiss, finally embracing her fully, carefully climbing to lie atop her again. His hand caressed her cheek, and Aesop checked her gaze for any sort of discomfort. He was relieved to find none.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked still, “Are you sure you’ll be alright for a second round?” Her pearly white teeth flashed in the afternoon light of their bedroom, and her eyes once again took on that slightly mischievous look: “Oh, I’ll be up for round two the moment you are up for it.” 

Aesop chuckled at her words, his hands moving down to teasingly squeeze at her waist, their bodies flush against each other. He happily settled where he was, his face buried into the crook of her neck, her hands gently brushing through his hair and separating the tangles that formed there during their activity. “Mhmm…” he murmured, his voice low. He again reminded the young woman of a severely overgrown purring cat, “give me a while. Don’t forget I’m no spring chicken.” His words were met with another chuckle, and one of the hands slipped away from his hair to stroke his cheek instead.

“You know,” she said airily, an amused expression in her twinkling eyes, “for you being, by your own words, ‘no spring chicken’, you’ve got enough stamina for at least two or three spring chickens…” Aesop wasn’t able to hold back a snort at her words, and squeezed her again. Slowly, he raised himself up to be able to look at her, once more propping his head on his hand.

He might not ever get fully used to seeing that look of hers, but he got so very used to everything else. To their closeness, both physical and emotional, to their tender banter, their own little inside jokes. And to the two of them seeing the other completely utterly dishevelled like they were now, naked and sweaty with messy hair, and it feeling so natural, so familiar and comfortable. And yet he couldn’t stop being so fascinated, so absolutely taken with the sight of her every day.

He shook his head with a smile.

“You know, we Aurors have something of a… reputation in this regard,” he offered, still grinning. That prompted a curious gleam to her eyes, even though they were currently softened by tenderness. “Oh? And it applies to the former Aurors as well?” Aesop’s other hand gently slid down her body, caressing her wherever he could reach. “If they keep themselves in shape, surely. And I’d been staying in shape for a while now… However, some Aurors tend to get a little… sloppy…” The young woman sucked in a breath when his hand squeezed between their bodies, his fingers teasing at her inner thigh, “wild… Which can be pleasant, certainly… However,” he continued, his fingers getting closer to their prize, “I hear that when combined with precision… the sort of precision potioneers, for example, have…”

Her eyes fluttered when he reached her core, once more dampening under his skillful touch, “I hear it can get even better…”

And with that, his mouth latched onto hers in another searing kiss.

His hand began to move at the same pace as his mouth and tongue, slow but intense, rekindling in her the fire he already made explode once today while his own body recovered. 

Indeed, his precision and attention to detail was something the young woman appreciated deeply. He knew exactly how to touch her when he wanted her to come apart in his hands within mere minutes, thighs shaking and lungs sore from moans. Or he could slowly break her apart, piece by piece, coaxing little whimpers out of her while her fingernails broke the skin of his back. He could edge her until she begged him to let her come, and he could make those silky soft walls flutter and contract around him near continuously, the poor girl struggling to stay conscious once he was finally done with her.

As he very gently fondled her lovebud and opening, his mouth moving to her neck instead, the professor considered how he should bring his fiancée to the breaking point tonight. Finally, he decided that, seeing as he didn’t want to add to her soreness, and that they still had a few things to do before they ultimately retired to the sheets to sleep, he would go easier on her today. Not that going easier ever meant worse, of course. 

And so, Aesop carefully moved down to once again lie beside her, and then helped her turn so that her back was flush with his chest. Slowly the couple fitted against each other until they were comfortable and Aesop had access to tease his beloved some more before he could fully take her. His other arm became her makeshift pillow, and the girl wasted no time, turning her head to seek his lips. 

Several ardent kisses and hot sighs against his mouth later, as Aesop’s fingers explored her plush depths as if it were their first time again, he felt his shaft stir and slowly begin to fill up once more. The heady feeling of desire seeped into his core again, and made him too release a shaky breath against his beloved’s swollen lips. He savoured the feeling of her hand once more messing up his hair, quite addicted to the sensation. As their kiss drew to a close, Aesop instead dragged his nose against her cheeks and jaw, and her fingers disentangled from his hair, her palm going to stroke a line over his waist and hip, and even strayed to caress his buttock, a little smile appearing on (F/N)’s face.

“Stamina and precision, indeed,” she teased, opening her eyes momentarily to look at him. Aesop replied by curling his fingers within her and prodding at the bundle of nerves deep inside, making her throw her head back against his shoulder. A low chuckle left the professor’s lips, and he ground his hips against hers, his stiffening prick bumping against her bum. “When there’s a good motivation,” he purred into her ear, then started nibbling on the sensitive skin below, spreading his fingers inside her in preparation. It wasn’t as needed these days, but Aesop still preferred to take his time rather than risk accidentally hurting her.

When she once more threw her head back and moaned loudly, Aesop chuckled further, and finally pulled his fingers away and licked them clean. He then noiselessly positioned himself at her entrance, and sought out her gaze. The professor looked deep into his beloved’s eyes as he took hold of her hand, bringing it close to his face. “The best motivation there is,” he whispered.

The ring, that once belonged to his grandmother, sparkled and shone on (F/N)’s elegant hand, the physical proof that she gave him her yes. Still looking into her eyes, Aesop slowly brought her hand even closer, until he was able to press a kiss against her ring finger, right above the ring itself. His hips snapped forward, and he filled the young woman to the brim in a single deep thrust, forcing their shared gaze to separate as their eyes fluttered.

He remained unmoving for several seconds, enjoying the feeling of being once more completely sheathed within her, the warm depths enveloping him perfectly. His fiancée breathed slowly, adjusting to his length inside. Aesop's head leaned forward again, and he hid his face into the crook of her neck, her hand still clasped tightly in his. He rocked his hips shallowly several times, looking for an angle that brought the most pleasure to both of them while the young woman hummed happily, her own head coming to rest upon his arm.

They set a slow, unhurried rhythm at first, (F/N) answering Aesop's slow deep thrusts by rolling her hips in time. His mouth began administering small kisses and gentle bites to the warm skin of her neck, his own cheeks feeling hot as he made love to his beloved.

He had to put some effort into raising himself up when her arm curled around his shoulders and neck, but he managed. Their eyes connected once more, and Aesop was again absolutely in awe of her.

She truly looked ethereally beautiful like this, hair messy and face hot, eyes dilated and so sincere. And while months separated them from their wedding, from the day when they would unite officially, bind themselves to one another, as Aesop's gaze melted into her own, he once more realised something he had known for a few years now.

She was his. And he was hers.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, and how could the professor ever refuse her.

His mouth moulded against her own, sweetly, ardently. (F/N) hungrily drank from his lips, tongue lapping at their seam and seeking out his own tongue to engage it in a sensual dance, one into which Aesop readily gave in. His hips snapped suddenly, prompting a gasp from his sweetheart, one that let him take control of their kiss, and he began plundering her mouth in earnest, the rhythm of his hips increasing in speed.

After a while, neither were able to keep up with the kiss much, their breaths becoming shorter and more laboured, their heartbeats growing swifter, their mouths moving against the other’s with little coordination. Aesop shifted, letting go of her hand in order to take hold of her leg, moving it a little forward for easier access, wanting to penetrate her even deeper. His fingers then closed around her hip, and he used the leverage to deliver harder, more intense thrusts. Soon, he was rewarded for his efforts when the young woman went taut against him again, a choked gasp on her kiss-swollen lips, her breath hot on Aesop’s own.

She too moved, removing her arm from around his shoulders and twisting her upper body so that she was lying on her back a bit more and didn’t have to turn her head quite as much to be able to face him. Aesop seized the opportunity to administer another messy kiss to her mouth, while the arm below her head bent at the elbow and his hand closed around her breast again, gently squeezing the soft flesh.

“Oh, Aesop…” she whined breathlessly when he ended the kiss only to lick a long stripe starting at her neck, going over her chin, only for his tongue to shortly plunge back into her mouth in a display of pure, intoxicating decadence. 

Soon the room filled with the sounds of their fervent lovemaking, soft sighs and gasps turning into short moans, their bodies, damp from their efforts, sliding against each other sweetly and with practised ease. Aesop’s mouth began to worry at her jaw and neck, and moved even lower. His own groans of bliss were muffled by her soft skin, the vibrations seemingly travelling directly to her core and making her fall apart in his strong arms. 

After a particularly hard thrust in that one perfect angle, one that made her entire body give a shudder, the young woman felt the burning coil of an upcoming release materialise in her core out of nowhere, her head falling back onto the pillows and Aesop’s bicep. The potions master, who had been nibbling on her collarbone, planting small marks and bruises along its length, chuckled, which prompted another wave of pleasurable vibrations to run through her, setting her nerve endings ablaze and pushing her further toward that edge.

He could feel her peak approaching, her breathing becoming uneven, her thighs beginning to tremble as he continued moving at the same angle as before. He wasn’t far behind by any means, but felt confident that he’d be able to hold off until he brought her her pleasure. That is, until she cried out for him and squeezed him within her in a vice grip following a particularly hard bite to her neck and a pinch of his fingers to her teat: “Ace! Aesop, p-please, don’t s-stop!” Her walls were quivering around his leaking prick, her hands grabbing for whichever part of him they could reach. Her sounds were pushing to his own climax much faster than he’d anticipated. He rose a bit, a sense of urgency in his voice as he whispered hotly into her ear.

“I-I’m almost there, sweetheart… Come on, c-come for me, love. ”

“Aesop-!”

Her back arched and her toes curled as the coil within her snapped, as if a bolt of lighting suddenly struck her. Aesop groaned at the feeling of her walls closing so, so bloody tight around him. Her body was quivering under the pleasure he brought her, her chest rose and fell hurriedly as she sucked in mouthfuls of air, and she was so amazingly overwhelmed by the sensations.

He let her ride out her orgasm, his rhythm becoming slow and deep, rutting against that bundle of nerves deep inside her as she still convulsed and contracted around him, her head thrown back. Only when her bliss began to ever so slightly subside did he wrap his arms around her waist, holding her firmly in place, and sped up his movements once more. He truly was not far behind her, he could feel his bollocks drawing up, and the pressure in his lower belly increasing with every move. His mouth was inches away from her ear, so she heard every single sound that fell from his lips as he pounded away into her, the muscles in his legs straining and his cock becoming nearly painfully hard as he chased his own climax.

“Mhmm, f-fuck-” he groaned 

He was certain he was squeezing her too tight now, but she didn’t show a single sign of discomfort, her head still lolling on the mattress, sweet little whines pouring out of her mouth, her velvety depths still pulsating around him, beckoning him to join her in her pleasure. 

Oh, he would.

He tried to hold it, at least for a few seconds, edging himself, but then one, two, three hard thrusts, and he pretty much exploded. 

Aesop moaned, his eyes rolling back into his skull, and his arms squeezing the poor girl even tighter, as his cock spilled inside her in several bursts, his hotness flooding her plush depths completely. His hips kept rocking into hers, as if on their own accord while the professor lost himself in the gratification, his body and head suddenly feeling so heavy, so comfortably tired. 

Finally his movements drew to a close, his head dropped and he remained where he was, breathing hard, completely high on the endorphins flooding his brain.

A long, content sigh was released somewhere next to his head, and a soft hand caressed his cheek. His head was resting partly on her chest, partly on her neck, his arms were still enveloping her tightly, his softening shaft was still nestled inside her. Aesop would’ve gladly stayed just like this, but as his head cleared of the hot, heady fog of lovemaking, he realised that this position wasn’t probably doing anything for her back, and he rolled off next to her.

To his great pleasure, (F/N) immediately turned around and snuggled into him, seeking his warmth and his love.

As they lay together, satisfied and spent, the two lovers took a moment to just close their eyes and rest. 

“Are you alright, my sweet?” Aesop asked, still breathless, only able to open eye for the time being, “I haven’t hurt you any more?” Instead of an answer, what he got was an even fuller armful of his fiancée, one of her hands coming to run through the hair on his chest, damp with sweat. Finally, she spoke: “You worry entirely too much, Ace.”

While a shared bath was still on the schedule before they’d go to sleep, a wandless Scourging charm was used for the time being, just to remove the discomfort of sweat and other bodily fluids drying up on their skin. 

The potions master took comfort in the familiar soft scent of her hair, and his arms, while slightly weakened by the sweet afterglow, still had strength enough to hold his fiancée exactly where she was: Exactly where she belonged. Not that she minded, of course, there was no place on earth as safe and comforting as right there with this man.

However, (F/N) had to admit the difficult and strenuous day followed by the couples’ only slightly less strenuous but just as intense activities left her feeling rather ravenous. So much so that even the picture of something as bland as oat porridge left her nearly salivating.

So, she took a deep breath and gathered all of her strength, and made an honest attempt to wiggle out of the professor’s strong hold. And, of course, he did not budge one bit. Another attempt - fruitless again. Aesop murmured unhappily, obviously less than thrilled about the very prospect of releasing her.

“Not ready to let you go yet,” he confirmed her suspicions. The young woman simply rolled her eyes good-naturedly, her own hands coming to caress at whichever part they could reach. “Come now, Ace,” she reasoned, “neither of us ate. I haven’t since lunch - something I’m quite happy about, since otherwise I surely would've lost whatever I ate in a most unpleasant way - and I doubt you had anything other than tea and biscuits since your own lunch.”

Aesop grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, making his young fiancée chuckle: “What was that, dear?” The professor only wrapped his arms around her tighter: “I said I wasn't hungry.”

As if right on cue, Aesop's stomach gave a very telling and loud growl.

“Liar,” (F/N) said only, a victorious smile playing on her face. Aesop finally loosened up his arms a little, but his hands remained on her hips. He raised his dishevelled head, a lazy grin playing on his lips, one that made his sweetheart want to kiss it right off. 

“You know, we could just summon something and make a meal out of it here,” he made his last attempt, brow raised.

With a huff, (F/N) finally managed to leave his arms, right away missing his warmth but ready to stand her ground. She stood up next to the bed and placed her hands on her hips: “Aesop Theodore Sharp, it's one thing to indulge in a meal in bed every once in a while, but prepare it there too? That's how you get ants, you know.”

Aesop seemed quite unbothered by her voice, seemingly enjoying eyeing up her bare curves too much.

“Now, where are my knickers,” she asked, looking around the room, mostly scanning the floor. The professor meanwhile stretched his tall body upon the bed further, again rather similarly to a content tomcat. “I think I'm lying atop them, actually,” he admitted lazily, making absolutely no attempt to actually roll over a bit and hand her the garment. The young woman couldn't help but shake her head, both exasperated and loving every second of it.

“Well, may I have them back? In return for a light supper?” She tried, but even as she was speaking her question, she knew what the answer was going to be. Still, Aesop made a small effort and had the decency to appear thoughtful for a moment.

“No deal,” he said finally, “However, I will run us the bath in the meantime, and make breakfast to bed for you tomorrow. In a similar state of undress, if you so wish. How's that?”

With a final chuckle and a roll to her eyes, (F/N) turned around and bent over, at the very least picking up Aesop's shirt to cover up while she made their food, ignoring his little wolf whistle. She closed the two bottom buttons of the shirt, still leaving her cleavage quite visible to his hungry gaze. 

“Spoilsport,” he said with a mock-pout, and this time she wasn't able to hold herself back from putting one of her knees on the bed and kissing that silly expression off his face. To Aesop's great displeasure, she soon pulled back and fixed him with a triumphant expression.

“I'll hold you to that bath and breakfast,” she said as she turned away and began walking out of their bedroom.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story! You can also check this work and all of my other works over on my AO3. Feedback greatly appreaciated ❤️