animasola86 - Tumblr blog

animasola86 · 15 hours

Text

I n n o c e n c e L o s t

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever. – or: A story about a cowboy who falls in love with a prostitute, who happens to be so much more than that.

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

__ Chapter 1: The Girl __

m!OC x f!OC -- WORDS: 5.9k -- READ ON AO3

when a cowboy meets a prostitute

Bourbon, rum, whiskey, anything that burns on his tongue, spilling liquid fire down his throat. It all blurs in the end. There's laughter, slurs, hands slapping backs, stumbling, murmurs, more laughter. That post-heist-haze sinking into his bones. Everything whirls inside his head as he makes it up the stairs. “Gimme your best...newest,” he hears himself mumble.

Last door on the right. Somehow he makes it there, leans heavy on the door knob, twists it, almost falls as the door swings open. There he stiffens, blinks slowly, his motions so heavy, frozen in time, slow as molasses. The door closes behind him, he stares ahead, blinks again, eyelids almost stuck to his eyeballs.

And yet he sees her.

The room is dark, small, a large bathtub in one corner, a four-poster bed in the other. An old armchair next to a fireplace, the fire roaring within, the only light source. And in front of it, between the flames and the chair, kneels a girl, pale legs illuminated by the orange glow next to her, skin, so much skin, not everywhere though. Her slender torso is covered by a loose blouse, unbuttoned in the front, falling off one slim shoulder, held together by a tight corset that pushes up her small breasts, creating a cleavage that doesn't suit her. Thin arms in wide cotton, or satin, he can't be sure, it doesn't matter.

He's fixated on her bare legs. The blouse barely covers the hint of hair between her legs, peeking out despite her kneeling position, thighs pressed tightly together as she sits on the heels of her feet. Her hands rest folded on her lap, the chest is moving up and down, and his eyes wander again, to her face. Pale. Soft edges on the jaw, high cheekbones, a small straight nose, lips... full lips, pink and shiny, a tongue darting out and wetting the bottom one.

And those eyes. Big eyes, glowing in the dim light, greenish, blue maybe, like the deep sea at midnight, a wave illuminated by the moon. They look both surprised and eager, but the flutter of her nostrils tells him she is more surprised and shocked by his sudden entrance, by the unsteadiness of his large body.

She looks so young.

Something stirs within him, and not just the strain in his pants, but something more like a knot in his stomach. This is wrong. He stumbles further anyway, watching her closely. She flinches when he comes closer, but doesn't move. Somehow he makes it to the armchair, flops down in it with a heavy grunt, his belt tilting even more on his hips. He shifts his holster away. Her eyes follow him.

He stares at the girl in front of him, immobile, waiting, patient and yet anxious. What is she waiting for? Why isn't she moving? Why is she here? When she eventually moves, only slightly, a little shift on her knees to face him, he lets out a groan, and she stops, eyes wide.

“How old are you?” he slurs, tongue heavy in his mouth.

She tilts her head, long brown waves falling over her shoulder, some strands gathering in the cleft between her pushed-up breasts. “Old enough to please you, mister,” she replies, her voice feeble and quiet, but there's a fire behind those words, uttered in confidence as if she's done it before, many times.

“Age,” he grunts again, staring at her. She holds his gaze, jaw clenching slightly.

“Eighteen,” she says quietly, her chin tilted up a bit.

He narrows his eyes, he's noticed the twitch in her folded hands, the tension in her slim shoulders. “Really?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, tilting her head. “Why does it matter?” she then asks, a little louder, batting those long eyelashes. “You're here to have some fun, aren't you?”

“You're young,” he simply states. Not too young, maybe, but young... young enough to make him think despite his drunken state. This is wrong. She shouldn't be here. “How long have you been here?” Done this?

“All my life, mister,” she answers, and he frowns, deep creases on his forehead that hurt inside his temples. “I was born here.” The ache grows. His head thumbs to the beat of his thundering heart, mirroring the throbbing behind stiff fabric.

He leans forwards then, causing her to flinch once more, as he rests his elbows on his thighs and stares at her, scrutinizing her, takes in her young face. Pretty, no, beautiful, in spite (or because) of the rounded edges of her face. She's slender, sharp collarbones visible in the wide opening of her blouse. Those soft mounds tease him, urge him to release them from their unnaturally squished state.

His hand twitches, itches to touch her, but something holds him back. She's young. And... weirdly familiar. His eyes narrow even further as he squints at her, her small frame dark in front of the crackling fire. She shifts under his intense gaze, body stiff, hands wringing in her lap.

“Sir?” she whispers, lips moving slightly, a sweet voice like honey falling from them. Lips... full, shiny, wet, and a sudden image presses into his hazy mind. Lips parted, closed around –

He clears his throat and leans back with a grunt, wiping at his face, the scrape of his beard against his calloused palm a rough noise in the quiet of the room. He sighs deeply, lowering his hand, resting it on his upper thigh as he watches the girl.

“You shouldn't be here,” he huffs out, wetting his dry lips.

“It's my job, mister,” she says, tilting her head to the other side.

He shakes his head. “This shouldn't be a job... not for a young girl like you...”

“I'm eighteen –”

“You're a child!” he grunts, louder, rougher than intended.

She flinches, inhaling sharply, lowering her big eyes. “Do you want somebody else?” she whispers quietly, almost disappointed.

Suddenly he is aware of the noises around them, bleeding through the walls from the other rooms. Moans and cries and squeaking wood and metal. They crawl over his spine like ants, making him shiver as he stares at the small figure in front of him. Why is he here?

She is still sitting on her knees, stiff and immobile, waiting. For what? Her eyes look up at him, chin tilted, the slender column of her neck visible between her silky hair, soft skin, untouched (really?), innocent. Why is she naked below the waist?

He waves a hand at her, his arm stiff, heavy, the alcohol making everything harder to do. “Shouldn't be here,” he growls, tongue twice its size in his mouth. Does he mean her? Or him? Or both? He doesn't know. His mind is fuzzy, spinning out of control. His cock strains against his tight jeans. But his heart is protesting.

“Sir?” she asks again, blinking slowly, dark lashes batting against pale skin.

He leans back into the chair, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes, relaxing. Big mistake. Suddenly there is a warm hand on his knee, a touch like a pistol shot. He jerks awake, stares down at the girl, who has shifted, kneeling between his spread legs now, the same position, just closer, frozen in time with her other hand hanging in mid-air, ready to touch his other knee.

“What are you doing?” he grunts.

“Giving you a good time,” she replies quietly, and a shy smile curves her full lips. Lips around – He groans, rubbing his face again, his tired eyes. “You paid for this, mister. You should get something for your money.”

He shakes his head, hands back on his thighs, staring down at her. She is closer in her new position, backlit by the fire behind her, features blurring. Both hands are on his knees now, warm and small, hesitant but eager. Her pushed-up breasts nearer, the cleft between them deeper. His hands itch.

“Do you like doing this?” he utters, the words spilling without being processed in his muddled brain.

There is a flinch, a wince, a visible reaction in her tense shoulders. She swallows, her throat moves, but the smile on her lips is there, the lie tangible. “Of course, sir,” she whispers. “Let me show you how much...”

She leans up then, lifting from her knees, her hands sliding up his thighs, almost brushing against his. Actress, he thinks. Nothing more. He can't imagine –

But then he does: full lips around a variety of different – He clenches one hand into a fist, presses it to his upper thigh, straining, ignoring the tension in his stomach. The image stays. Lips, a wide mouth, bulging cheeks, closed eyes, tears streaming down a pale face, slurping sounds, helpless gurgles, muffled gasps, rough hands in her hair as her head is pushed deeper onto –

A groan escapes him. “Fuck,” he growls, shaking his head. His eyes find hers, his breath heavy, his body on edge, the strain in his pants almost unbearable, and yet...

She is settled between his legs, shoulders pressed against his thighs, hands inching closer to his belt. “Don't,” he hisses, and his hands grab hers, making her gasp, her lips parting, eyes widening. His long fingers curl around her smaller ones, holding her, inches from the tent in his pants. She looks startled, then confused.

“But mister...” she whispers, letting him hold her hands, her wrists. His hands are large enough to wrap around it all. Lashes flutter, the tip of her tongue sliding over her upper lip. She trembles slightly.

And then he lets go, and his hands grab her face instead, careful, as careful as he can in his dazed state. She lets out a surprised yelp but stays perfectly still as he cups her cheeks with his big hands, his fingers slipping into her soft hair, his thumbs wiping at the corners of her mouth. She holds his gaze, holds her breath.

“You look like...” he starts, quiet, a low rumble in his chest as he stares at her, his mind spinning, new and old images whirling together.

Soft lips, wet, full, strained around –

Green eyes, sparkling in the sun, a smile, a laugh like honey on his scarred soul.

“Her,” he mumbles, tilting his head, leaning closer until his nose brushes against hers. She stiffens, but doesn't move, can't move with how he holds her face. She swallows slightly, lips trembling against his thumbs.

“Who, sir?” she breathes softly, warm and cautious against his dry lips. Her eyes are on his face, taking in every detail with how close he is. Scars, wrinkles, creases, his rough beard stretching along his jaw, up his cheeks, around his lips, fluttering slightly as he breathes through his nose.

“Keira,” he finally utters, the image clear in his dazed mind. The same woman. No, not the same, similar, and a woman, not a girl. The same hair, the same small nose, the same eyes. “You look like Keira.”

And that's why it feels wrong to use her like he wanted to when he first entered the room, to be here, in this house of moans and grunts and creaking wood and metal.

The girl stares at him, lips parted, face warming under his palms. There's recognition in her deep eyes, darkened by the fire glowing behind her, the only light source. “You... knew my mother?” she whispers, barely audible, shifting back onto her knees, bare legs folded beneath her, her hands straining against his thighs.

His heart sinks and swells at the same time. Mother. Her mother. She looks like her. Like Keira. But what is she doing here? I was born here, she has said. Bound to a life of... servitude. Pleasure for others. A slave, a body to use, for money. The moans and grunts of the other rooms flood his ears, louder than before as his mind clears up, as the shock settles in.

“No,” he says apprehensively, a low hum over his dry lips, and his hands tighten around her delicate face. The girl frowns, he notices his mistake. “I mean, yes, I knew her,” he utters quietly, staring at her, gently caressing the corners of her lips with his thumbs. “I didn't know... about you...”

She blinks slowly, watching him, curiosity in her big eyes. Her lips part, a flood of questions ready to spill over them, but he lets go of her face and leans back, shaking his head.

“What happened to her?” he asks, already afraid of the answer as he drives a big hand through his messy hair.

The small figure between his legs shrinks as she sits down further on her knees, her hands leaving his thighs, resting on her lap. She lowers her eyes, inhales sharply. “I don't know,” she whispers. “She... left me here.” There's a hint of resentment in her soft voice, and he can't blame her. Anger rises in his throat like bile.

“She did what?” he hisses, leaning closer again.

She flinches, looks up. “Madam Claire said she worked here, got pregnant from a customer, gave birth to me, and then left, ran away, without me...” Her voice breaks as she retells her story, and his gut clenches.

The tiny frame in front of him shrinks even more, falls into herself, and he can't stand it. He leans in, brings his hands under her arms and lifts her up, easy, as if she was a doll, her wavy hair bouncing slightly. She struggles in his grip, but then she's sitting sideways on his lap, her very bare bottom warm against the fabric of his jeans. She stiffens when he pulls his arms around her shoulders and her against his broad chest.

“I'm sorry,” he slurs, his tongue heavier than ever.

“What for?” she breathes against his collarbone, where the buttons of his black shirt are open, revealing weathered skin.

He sighs, his hand wide on her back as he holds her, his breath making strands of her hair fly before he presses his dry lips to her warm forehead. She lets out a strangled gasp, tenses in his embrace, her hands squished between his chest and her own. “If I'd known about you – I... wouldn't have left you to this – to endure this fate...” he mutters, his heart as heavy as his tongue.

“Why do you care?” she asks, her voice quiet but curious.

“I loved your mother once, many moons ago, twenty years it must be by now,” he says into her hair, his own voice a deep thrum in her ears. “She left me, one day, and I made the mistake of letting her go. Maybe I pushed her to end up here, maybe she wanted to work like this... she's always been a free spirit, couldn't stay long at one place. I guess... I learned that from her.”

He feels her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as she slowly relaxes on his lap, leaning against him, warm and tiny and frail. “What do you mean?”

“I travel a lot,” he says simply, sudden images of tents and horses and wagons filling his mind. But also of masks and guns and blood and shouts, and comically large bags filled with money, cowering people, screaming women, the rattle of a train, the silent squeak of metal doors, splintering wood. And pictures of him, drawn, some more flattering than others, and his name printed all over them. Dead or alive.

She tilts her chin up, big eyes looking at him, her lips parted slightly, long lashes grazing pale skin. He sees her better now, in the orange glow of the fire. She looks like Keira. But she's alone, left to her own devices, forced to work a profession she was born into, that she didn't choose. “What's your name, mister?”

He frowns at her innocent question, trying to forget the Wanted posters. “Ben,” he growls, a deep thrum in his throat. “And yours?”

“Nebbia,” she replies quietly, her eyes wandering over his face, her small body molded into him, warm on his lap, pointy bones digging into his thigh, pressing on his erection. Nebbia like Neigh-bee-ah, long e, more like ehh, short i, like an e, and the little ah at the end, like a soft moan. Rolls off her tongue like honey.

“Nebbia,” he repeats, her name rumbling out of him as he tries to figure out why Keira would name her daughter this. But then a smile crosses his lips. “Fog in Italian,” he whispers and watches how she nods, the same kind of smile curving her lips. He wonders if Keira has made it over the pond, finally seeing the country she always wanted to visit. But why did she leave her kid?

Free spirits can't have children pulling them down, grounding them to the earth, binding them to one place. The poor girl... If Keira knows what happened to her? What she has to do?

Full lips around –

He clears his throat, his big hands resting on her small waist. She still looks at him, somewhat hopeful, big eyes, there's innocence in them, but also something else. A shadow in her green irises. A stain.

“Why aren't you wearing any bottoms, Nebbia?” he asks quietly, his fingers teasing at the curve of her rear.

He sees her blushing, red spots dancing over her pale cheeks. She looks away, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I figured it'd be easier for you...”

“Easier for me?”

“I heard you were drunk, very drunk,” she whispers into his neck, her fingers fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. “And I thought –”

He stares at her. In his mind, he can see her lips straining around a variety of cocks, but he can't see her lying on her back with her legs wide open, taking any of those wretched members into her sweet little – “Have you ever...” he starts, furrowing his eyebrows. “Am I your first? Would I be your first?”

She licks her lips, then chews on them. A nod, short and jerky. Eyes dancing over his chest. The sigh that escapes his throat is both filled with anger and relief. She is young. Inexperienced, has never learned the reason why those women in the other rooms cry out in pleasure. She (her mouth) has only been used for the pleasure of others, and that fact only spurs his anger, makes the vein on his forehead pulse.

Why did they choose her to satisfy him? Gimme your best...newest, he hears himself mumble. Newest. Freshly eighteen, huh? Just come of age, open for business. (To think this filthy little brothel has actual rules and has given her time to develop is almost absurd.) He closes his eyes for a moment, relieved it was him who found her without bottoms.

Because he knows he will not soil her innocence.

“I'm gonna take you with me,” he mutters as he closes his arms a little tighter around her, holding her safely on his lap.

“What?” she breathes, trying to look up despite his bear hug.

“I can give you a better life,” he says softly, tilting his head to meet her gaze.

“Why?” Despite her innocent tone, there's doubt in her voice. Disbelief. Why would anyone want to be nice to her?

He laughs darkly. “Because you deserve it?” One of his hands moves up, caresses her warm cheek. “Unless you actually want to keep sucking dicks.”

His lewd words make her flinch, her face flushed as she looks away, takes a sharp breath, her fingers clawing at his shirt. She shifts on his thigh, her body tense. “I... don't...” she mutters under her breath.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asks, pressing his thumb under her chin to make her look up. Her eyes are wet, glistening, her lips trembling.

“Can I?” she whispers, a tiny flicker of hope in the green pools that stare at him.

He smiles, a genuine smile that lights up his rough face, deepening the dimple on his cheek. “If you want to. I can get you out of here, no one will notice anything...” he tells her quietly, watching her closely.

There's turmoil behind her eyes, shivers running down her body, her throat moves when she swallows hard. “They'll be angry with me,” she breathes, blinking, looking away, her eyebrows furrowed. “The women...”

“You don't owe them anything,” he says, the hand on her lower back applying soft pressure, fingers playing with the laces of her corset. “They may have raised you here, but they made you do heinous things that no girl your age should do! No respectable woman without her consent...”

“And the men? Some of them come here only for me...” He stiffens at her words, imagining those sleazy men, salivating at the thought of shoving their cocks down this poor girl's throat. “I bring good money...” He scoffs at that, shaking his head.

“And how much of that do you see, hm?” he asks her, tilting her chin back up so she looks at him. She inhales deeply, avoiding his gaze once more. “Yeah, that's what I thought...”

“I have a comfortable life –”

His hand closes around her throat, long fingers pressing into her skin. She stares at him, gasps, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, you're eighteen now, you're fair game. Men will do anything to you now, fill every single hole you have!” She gasps again, cheeks flushing at his blunt words. “You might have gotten used to sucking dick, but believe me, opening your legs will be a whole other ordeal.”

She frowns at that. “Is sex really that bad?” she whispers, voice feeble, bashful, he's surprised she is able to get these words out at all.

A laugh rumbles through him as he eases his grip on her neck. “No, sex can be amazing, but with the wrong person, there can be a lot of pain and discomfort, and the consequences...” He looks at her, holds her nervous gaze. “You're so young, you deserve better than a drunken guy forcing his cock into your hole, leaving you either completely soiled and sore, or sick, or pregnant...”

She cringes and pulls a breath through her teeth, averting her eyes once more. “You talk so obscenely, mister,” she mumbles.

He breathes out another deep laugh. “It's the harsh truth, darling. That's how the world works, get used to it,” he says matter-of-factly.

“And you want me to go out into that world?” she whispers quietly.

“Trust me, out there you'll be better off than here, if you stay with the right people. I'd worry about your current world,” he mutters, listening to the noises from the other rooms, remembering, despite his haze, how run-down this building is, its clientele, and the state of the whole town.

She can't stay here. He won't leave her, now that he knows of her existence. She's Keira's kid, and unlike her mother, he will never abandon her.

Sighing deeply, he moves his hands along her body, encircling her waist, gripping her gently, before he picks her up and puts her on her feet next to the armchair. She stares at him startled, her hands immediately going down to cover her modesty. He grunts and stands up too, towering over her. She takes a cautious step back as he starts swaying, the alcohol still buzzing inside his head.

“I could really use a bath,” he growls, wiping at his eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness. The girl stands next to him, so tiny and frail, the gentle curves of her legs backlit by the fire, her soft face tilted up to look at him, her long hair cascading down her shoulders. For a moment he is mesmerized by the sight, by how naturally beautiful she is – how out of place she feels.

When he feels the strain in his jeans, he sighs again and turns away, stumbling past her towards the tub in the corner. There's already water in it, a thick layer of soapy foam even, and when he dips a few fingers into it, he notices that it's still a little warm. He can't remember it, but he must have left a good penny in this establishment, for booze, a hot bath, and the best...newest –

He turns back to her. She is still watching him, standing behind the armchair, her hands on the backrest, biting her lip. “Hey kid, you wanna join me?” he calls to her, his fingers already at the buttons of his shirt.

She inhales sharply, then walks around the armchair, her naked legs catching his eye for a moment. “I'm not a kid, mister.”

“Ben,” he corrects with a smirk, now working on undoing his belt. It creates a thud when it falls to the wooden floor, his holster and the heavy pistol pulling it down. Her eyes follow his movements as he undresses, kicks off his boots, steps out of his jeans, shrugs off his shirt. Then her feet tap over the ground as she rounds the tub and stands on the other side.

“Not a kid, Ben,” she whispers, chewing on her lips, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse as she drags it lower to cover the hint of hair between her legs.

She doesn't look away once he is completely naked in front of her, his clothes, gun and bags discarded on a chair, but he can see the red in her cheeks when her eyes flick down to his hard cock, bouncing slightly when he raises a leg and steps into the tub. The semi-warm water lulls his muscles as he sinks into it with a groan, stretching his long legs, leaning back, placing his arms on the edge, before he looks up at her.

“I meant it, Nebbia,” he says softly, tilting his head. “Come join me. I promise you don't have to do anything but sit with me.”

“I... shouldn't...” she whispers, her eyes trailing over his naked chest, half-submerged in the tub, before she looks towards the door. “We're not allowed...”

“I paid for you, didn't I?” She looks back, meeting his gaze, and he smiles at her. “Technically I can do anything to you. But I just want you to enjoy a semi-hot bath. There's still enough room,” he adds and spreads his legs, creating a space between them on the other side of the tub.

She hesitates, and he wonders why. Moments ago she seemed content to give him a good time, as she has called it, but now she is strangely coy for a prostitute who's had her throat fucked countless times before. The image of her lips strained around a cock – his cock maybe? – comes back into his mind, and he has to clench his jaw tightly to fight the urge to grab her and pull her close, do all those things to her that he has warned her about. That he's promised not to do to her.

Eventually she turns around, presenting her well-formed rear to him, those plump little cheeks, well-rounded, squeezable, the cleft between them guiding his eyes between her legs, but when her hands move up to the string holding her corset, he sighs, nodding to himself when he sees her predicament. He reaches out and tugs on the bow with one finger, loosening the tight laces slowly, carefully, and she lets him do so.

The stiff thing falls down her hips once it's loose enough, and she steps out of it, slowly turning back to him as she unbuttons the rest of her blouse and shrugs it off her slender shoulders. He can't help himself, he stares at her naked form.

Keira's kid. Half his age. He's promised her a better life.

And still he can't look away, taking in every detail of her body. How her small breasts perk, nipples hard already, the gentle slope of those mounds he wants to weigh in his big hands. How her hair falls over her shoulders, soft springy waves, silky, the same color as her mother's. His eyes trail down her chest, over the shimmer of ribs under thin skin, the flat stomach and little indent of her belly button. And that small waist, the swell of her hips, soft pale legs, cushioned thighs, and between them, the hint of hair above her sex.

Her skin is pristine, pale like alabaster, unmarked, pure.

There's a blush on her face that slowly spreads down her shoulders and between her breasts, and he has to force himself to close his eyes as she steps closer and lifts a leg to step into the tub – even though he wants nothing more than to take a peek at her sweet little cunt. Unused and innocent. He has to keep it that way.

Water splashes against his stomach when she sits down opposite him, knees bent and pulled against her chest as she settles between his outstretched legs. He looks at her with a gentle smile, and she smiles back, her eyelids fluttering.

“Not bad, eh?” he laughs quietly, moving a fluff of foam towards him with his big hands, then lathers his arms with it. She just sits there on the other side of the tub, watching him.

“Do you really mean it?” she whispers after a moment of both of them just soaking in the water.

“What?” he grunts, leaning his head against the edge of the tub as he slides a little lower, using the space she's left to fully stretch his body.

“That you're going to take me with you,” she replies, her eyes scanning his face.

He sighs, his breath blowing a tuft of foam towards her. “Yes, I mean it. I won't let you stay here, objected to all these... things,” he says. “You're Keira's daughter, and even if she might not have wanted you, I will take care of you.”

She frowns, trying to ignore the sting in her heart, the flinch of her tense shoulders at his words. “But why? You don't know me! And I don't know you! Why should I go with you?”

“You wanna stay here? Rot away and die in ten years or sooner?” His voice is harsh, his eyes dark, his jaw tense. “There's no money to be made if you stay under your Madam's thumb. You'll just be another body with a bunch of holes, destined to take it all, if you want to or not. How is this a life you'd want to continue?”

She licks her lips, her arms hugging her knees tighter. “I have food and a roof above my head...” she says quietly, averting her eyes.

He scoffs. “If that's your standard, then I can assure you that you will never go hungry, always have a comfortable bed, be safe from the elements, when you come with me.”

“But why?” she asks again, finally looking back at him. “Why are you so... nice to me?” She takes a shuddering breath. “Just because I'm the kid of a love lost?”

“I thought you weren't a kid,” he teases, and she groans with a slightly exasperated smirk. “I know it's a rare thing for people to just be nice nowadays, but you can trust me. I'm a good guy,” he lies through his teeth, a glint in his eyes.

“And you expect me to believe that?” she says, shifting in the tub, extending her legs slightly, her feet brushing against his inner thighs. “I might not know how the world works, but I see the men coming here. I've seen all types. And you look like the type I might encounter on a Wanted poster.”

He raises his eyebrows, his lips twitching. “Interesting assessment, missy. And you can tell by just looking at a man's cock?”

She grunts in indignation and splashes water towards him. He laughs and shields his face with one arm. “A fine gentleman would never talk like that...” she mumbles.

His laughter gets even louder. “And you expect a fine gentleman to walk into this establishment? Do you know where you are?” She scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest, slowly stretching out her legs until he can feel the soles of her feet pressing right against his groin. “Careful now,” he warns.

Her cheeks are flushed, but that doesn't stop her from rubbing her foot upwards and along his hard shaft, pressing it into his lower stomach. He watches her closely, holding in a groan. And she looks right back, green eyes hard and a dark smile on her full lips. Lips around his cock. He leans back and lets out the noise he has been suppressing. Her toes curl around his tip, his breath hitches in his throat.

And he savors the moment, just a moment, a few seconds, because it feels good. She is good, doing what she does. Would be a shame to stop her now, hm? But then he leans in and lowers his hands into the water, grabbing her ankle, stopping her after all. She yelps quietly as he pulls her leg towards him, causing her to slip. Her hands squeak along the edge of the tub as she tries to hold onto it, but before her head submerges, he lets go of her, letting her leg rest on top of his thigh.

She scrambles back into a sitting position, her eyes on him, her lips parted. “I don't have a choice, do I?” she then whispers, allowing him to put his big hand on her shin, holding her there.

He smiles at her, his eyes twinkling. “Correct, sweetheart. I will force you to have a better life, no matter what,” he says quietly, rubbing his hand up her leg.

She inhales deeply and leans back, her arms resting on the edge, hands hanging off, as she relaxes in the water, under his touch, with her bare chest exposed to him. Trusting. “You're a strange man, mister... Ben,” she whispers, smiling softly as she watches him.

He grips her thigh gently, winking at her. The buzz from the alcohol is as good as gone, replaced with a different kind of vertigo. Ignoring the twitching of his cock under the water surface, he keeps his eyes on the girl in front of him, taking in her features, a strange warmth gathering in his stomach.

He came here to celebrate the successful heist, drink himself stupid and have a good fuck afterwards. He hasn't expected to meet Keira's kid here, to be this attracted to her, to tell her he wants to take her with him. But he has, is, does, all of it, he wants her by his side, wants to give her a chance at a different life, away from pleasuring strangers every night of the week.

Does he want her for himself? Maybe. But he still also genuinely wants her to be happier, be herself, have the freedom that he has. She deserves it. And he does too, selfishly so, to have her.

END NOTES: Hello and welcome to my first original work (that I share with you)! Thank you for reading!

Please note that I am no expert on anything wild west/western/horses/cowboys/brothels/etc. - I write silly little love/smut stories. This story, even though it's not mentioned, is set at the end of the 1800s somewhere in the west, I'm keeping it vague on purpose, this is about Ben and Nebbia.

Picture credits to their respective owners. I don't own anything. I gathered these from all around the Internet. If you see your picture and would like to have it removed, please tell me!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

#original work #original fiction #original writing #original character #wild west #cowboy #smut #fluff #adventure #angst #slow burn #love story #innocence lost

12 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 16 hours

Text

Sorry not sorry. Read it here if you like :3

It never ends

2K notes · View notes

animasola86 · 16 hours

Text

@shotmrmiller

407 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 2 days

Text

Nebbia's Origin Story

You might have seen and/or read about my HL MC Nebbia DeLuca, who I kinda revived for my HL playthroughs. But this very OC has been in my brain and in several attempts at writing her story for almost a decade now.

She's also been a shotgun/blood magic wielding Templar in The Secret World/Secret World Legends, or a necromancer with a greatsword and a staff in Guild Wars 2, and a car collecting maniac world explorer in GTA Online. So having "just" a wand was quite the adjustment for her!

But enough about her alter egos, how did she come to be?

She's been in my brain ever since I came into contact with The Last of Us. That game had a serious impact on me and the stories whirling through my head. I've always been a storyteller, have written stories since an early age. I've created a lot of original characters, fleshed out, with detailed backstories, but I was never able to finish their respective stories.

The themes were always pretty similar: younger woman, older man, size difference, gruff but protective male, innocent but feisty female. Side characters were always of the jealous, dangerous kind. I've always loved taboos and kinks, and the above-mentioned dynamic is one of my favorites to write (and read) stories about.

So, inspired by Joel and Ellie's relationship, I wanted to create characters that were similar, but different. My main motive for writing was always: Something's missing in those stories, let's write it myself! It started with adding romance to a thriller, love to a murder mystery, or found family/forbidden feelings to otherwise "innocent" scenarios.

For example, I've written a story about a young woman falling in love with the married father of the kid she's supposed to babysit (I swear there's more to that story than the porn clichés, it ends up turning into a psychological drama about jealousy and domination, mental illness, murder, abduction, what's real, what's not kinda scenes; unfortunately I've never finished my first proper original work that's sitting on a USB-stick somewhere since 2011. One day I'll get to finish your story, Tasja, don't worry. You'll get your happy ending!).

And then, someday in the year 2017, I started writing a story (though the idea is much older) about a post-apocalyptic world, based on an island near my hometown. I've thrown ideas around and around, researching, visiting places, creating characters, always changing something, but the basic idea that stuck was this (I suck at summaries, btw, sorry!):

Twenty years ago, there was a black-out and society collapsed. The people on that island live in groups, as far away from each other as possible to avoid conflict, as they are all stuck there, with no way to leave the island.

Enter Nebbia, born after the End, who is a girl living in an all-female village run by a group of older women called the Elders, whose daughters (creatively named the Daughters) do all their "dirty work". Nebbia is classified as a Motherless, you guessed it, lives without a mother.

And the backstory of that, in short, is: her mother was pregnant when she was found by one of the Daughters and brought to the village, gave birth, and fled the place after she discovered their dark secret (because what's a post-apocalyptic community without a dark secret, eh?), but she left Nebbia there because she knew she would have a safe home in spite of it, that is until she turns 18, when things go really dark.

In short: there's a strange little celebration, all the girls of age are dressed in their best dresses, and then leave the village on their way to another village nearby that is run by the Men... and, uh, well, yeah, society collapsed, so they try to rebuild it, it's a breeding station, oops, you get the idea.

And that is when our male protagonist comes in: Ben, in his late thirties, a gruff, lonesome smuggler/outsider/person who doesn't have a village/group, but works between them. And he is hired by none other than Nebbia's mother, Kira, to get Nebbia and save her from the horrible fate of being bred helping society grow again.

But something happens (there's a mysterious fog that keeps the people from leaving the island, but never mind that, although that is why Nebbia is called Nebbia, because fog=nebbia in Italian, because her mother is half-Italian - also, hey, off-topic, but there's a fitness clothes store called Nebbia in the Slovak Republic, isn't that cool?) and Ben loses his memories, and when he sees Nebbia, he thinks she's Kira... and kinda falls for her, because, of course, him and her were sweethearts before the End (but they had a falling out, but he doesn't remember that yet).

And Nebbia is this innocent girl, who basically worked as a slave her whole life, can't read, can't swim, is treated very poorly, can't exist outside her village, really. (And to have such a character and let her explore the world and learn stuff and blossom would have been so interesting to write!)

So Ben saves kidnaps Nebbia from the village, and they try to find their way back to Kira... and somehow this is where my ideas froze. I wanted to show their journey through the post-apocalyptic world, how their life is, what they do to survive, who they meet, that he slowly regains his memories and realizes his feelings for this girl, and once they get to where they want to go, they find out that Kira is gone/dead/I don't know, something, aaaand their journey continues? I have no idea. I never came to those parts.

I've written so many versions of that story, in German to start with (because the island it's set on is a German island), then tried recreating it in English without the local color, but it never really worked. I didn't know where it would end.

But the characters remained inside my head, I've had so many scenarios for them because I loved their dynamic, but I've never written any of them because back then I thought I needed a full story, something with beginning and end, the whole deal. I've never written one-shots before, or even short stories. I was fixated on the whole "novel" thing, that was my goal, my dream.

But now, after having written sooo many one-shots for a fandom, just snippets of people's lives and what they do in the moment, I feel confident enough to tackle it. To create little short stories centered around those very characters: Ben and Nebbia.

I've also read so many original works on AO3 lately, and seeing how people just put their own ideas out there, for everyone to see, did something to me. I always wanted to keep my ideas to myself, because, maybe, someday, I'll finish a story and could send it to a publisher and one day have my own work in book-form, but honestly, it is such a daunting idea, when all I wanna do is tell stories.

And so now I will just tell stories. I've started by writing for these characters everyone knows and loves (and I'll keep writing Sebastian smut, don't worry!), but now it's time to branch out, give those people inside my head their story, or at least snippets of their lives, and share it with the world.

And as I write this, I am working on an AU of those characters, with a completely different setting, but the same dynamic: older man, younger woman, gruff/protective vs. innocent/feisty, love in dangerous environments. Of course, it's gonna have my usual smut elements, but also world building, side characters, character development, etc. and new things to research!

(Lemme throw in some words I learned that may give a hint to where the story is set: withers, spats, stirrup. As for the time, well, it's actually an era I've already written for, but the place is a lot more... west, way west.)

I feel very inspired, and I hope I can one day (hopefully very soon*) share their story with you.

(I've made a side blog @animasolaoriginal where I'll post it once it's done or I grow too impatient to wait! I'll also post moodboards and inspirations there - eventually! If you'd like to follow me there too, I'd very much appreciate it!)

Thank you for letting me get this out. These characters are very dear to me, and I hope, once I start uploading my original work, I might catch your interest with it, and you will start to like them too!

Edit: *I did it, I posted the first chapter! 🤠

#original character #nebbia deluca #things to come #things i'm doing behind the scenes #also sorry for the radio silence #I've been stuck on a horse #🤠

7 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 8 days

Text

Sebastian Sallow's Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Smut // Words: 2.7k // [READ ON AO3]

Notes: I woke up thinking about Sebastian's hands, so... I wrote this, whatever this is. Drabble? Headcanon? Plotless porn? I don't know. It's about hands, I think. Maybe? (It escalated a little...)

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content!

Sebastian Sallow is a handsy guy.

You've noticed it when he would grab your hand and pull you along or out of dangerous situations, or when he sits next to you and just talks, usually with his hands if they are not resting on your arm or back or thigh... and the more you get to know him, and the closer you get, the more he would touch you, bolder and more confident, but usually still appropriate enough for the public space you are in.

But as soon as the two of you would be alone somewhere, truly alone, his hands would be all over you. Tangled in your hair, stroking your back, exploring all of your curves, cupping your face to pull you towards him for a heated kiss. And whenever you'd end up lying on a couch or a bed together, he'd have his hands wrapped around your stomach or your hips or firmly holding your breasts.

Perhaps he is also a boob guy.

That is certainly his favourite body part of yours. His large hands would be holding your soft mounds like something fragile, fingers carefully encircling the shape, weighing them gently, applying just enough pressure that you'd know what he is doing, and sometimes he would just hold them when he'd be lying behind you, bodies pressed together, relaxing, his hands supporting your breasts like a bra made out of warm skin and muscles.

And you like it, of course you do, him just cupping them with his beautiful hands, calloused but also soft, with those veins and tendons protruding under thin freckled skin, those long fingers bending just the right way, reminding you of other places his hands has been...

He is a handsy guy, but you are a hand appreciater. A hand lover. Or lover of his hands. Match made in heaven.

You don't know if he knows how you sometimes stare at his hands, how you take in every detail of them, but he indulges you, moves them over your body, touches you everywhere, playfully slides his fingers over your skin, under your clothes, into your hair, traces the lines of your body with gentle movements.

And you either melt into the soft touches, or you come undone by them. It's one or the other. Or the same.

And as much as you love watching his hands, you appreciate them even more when you can feel them, really feel them. Gripping your hair with a strength that always surprises you, or closing around your throat hard enough to make you gasp. Or when he grabs you by the waist and manhandles you into any position he likes best at the moment, and you usually let him. How could you ever resist him and his hands?

And when they are back around your breasts, kneading them, teasing them, long fingers pressing into soft flesh before they focus on your sensitive nipples, rolling them between fingertips, pinching them, pulling them, all you can do is mewl under the sensations.

Yet as rough as he can sometimes be with his hands, he uses the rest of his body to soothe you afterwards. Mainly his mouth. And what a mouth he has, a dirty one, you know that, spilling things nobody should say out loud, but then there are also his lips, those kissable lips, eagerly moving against yours or down your jaw and onto your neck, pressing soft kisses into your skin until he gets his teeth and tongue involved too.

And oh that tongue...

(You realize the more you think about Sebastian, the less you can decide what part of him you like the most. Perhaps it's the entire package...)

He is so good with his tongue. Be it during a kiss or when he explores your body, licking and nibbling and sucking on your lips or earlobes or breasts or any patch of skin he can reach, sometimes leaving those marks on you that you can barely hide the next day that he always soothes with a lap of that eager tongue, warm and wet and enticing.

And while his big hands hold your waist (or you in place as you can't stop squirming), he moves his tongue around your nipples until they're hard and almost aching, then sucks on them like a man parched, always teasing and easing them with the tip of this very versatile, wet muscle.

Then he moves lower, laving your stomach, dipping into your belly button, kissing your hipbones, his palms always running along your sides, exploring ahead until they grip your thighs and pull them apart when he plants eager pecks on your mound.

The things he does between your legs should be classified as unspeakable. At least they render you completely speechless, or breathless, or brainless, as all you can do is whimper and moan and gasp and cry out in nothing but pleasure when he presses his mouth to your folds, lapping between your lower lips, licking up any wetness he creates with those expert motions.

He usually focuses on any inch of sensitive skin – except your clit. That he lets to its own devices until it's throbbing and you're so needy you buck your hips against his face. Then his hands are back, holding you firmly, fingers digging into your skin, sometimes bruising it with how hard he grips you, while he continues his journey along your weeping pussy, kissing and licking and sucking, pulling your folds between his teeth, teasing them. He even dips his tongue into your entrance, moving that muscle in ways you don't think possible.

And while you dissolve beneath him, body twitching but no longer protesting, he moves his hands around your rear and grabs your bum cheeks, kneading them with nimble fingers as he presses you closer to his face, diving deeper. And only then does he move towards your clit. It's usually one or two licks and you spasm against him, crying out louder, and a few more licks until you come against his face hard.

His hands will find yours then, fingers slipping between your own, holding you, squeezing you, supporting you through the spasm of your body.

He may lap up your wetness, but he also never stops until he pulls at least one more orgasm out of you as he enjoys seeing you come undone, let go, forget everything that has ever bothered you. And oh, how light-headed and carefree you are once he is done with you.

Or, once his mouth is done with you. Because then he starts using his fingers, and you never come down from that high when he rubs that sensitive bundle of nerves with one hand while the other moves over your folds, parting those lips, stroking along that wet sensitive skin until he pushes one fingertip into you, teasing you, feeling your walls clench around it.

And slowly he pushes it deeper, one knuckle at a time, pressing into your tightness, massaging and exploring your soft flesh, while his other hand lies flat on your lower stomach, feeling those contractions, and his thumb is placed firmly on your clit, rubbing it in circles.

You're probably a mewling mess by now, barely able to appreciate those beautiful hands and fingers anymore, but he keeps going, pulling his finger out and replaces it with two, easily slipping in, deeper, stretching your walls when he scissors them inside you, and when he bends them just right, and presses against that one spot, and he does, at the same time as he pushes hard on your clit, you erupt in pleasure at the motion, your noises unintelligible.

He fingerfucks you through your orgasm, pushing those long digits in and out, fast and hard, savouring these squelching noises that you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't floating near the ceiling right now. He gets even bolder and adds a third finger, stretching you further, preparing you for yet another adventure.

In and out they go, while his thumb still circles your clit, and he may even bend down and give your inner thighs some soft kisses or rough nibbles, probably both, marking you up even more. And you buck and convulse and twitch against him, lost in ecstasy, but when he pulls those fingers out and stops assaulting your clit, you watch him out of hooded eyes, only to melt even more into whatever surface you're lying on as you witness him putting his glistening fingers to his lips and licking them clean with that sensual hum that drives you crazy.

And then he is crawling on top of you, pressing his wet mouth to yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he shoves it between your lips, swallowing your mewls and moans, while his fingers dig into your hair, tugging it slightly, holding you in place as he kisses you even more senseless.

You barely notice when his hands move, one down between your bodies, one to close around your throat, gently choking you while he grabs his hard cock and lines it up with your eager entrance. And when he pushes the tip in, you gasp, and he presses against your throat, silencing that gasp, and his hips move against yours, gentle stabs to ease his length into your tight cunt, while he keeps kissing you deeply, muffling more of your noises.

Once he's sheathed completely inside you, filling you out perfectly, he eases his grip on your throat and massages your neck with those long fingers, his thumb pressed against your chin, guiding you into the kiss. He gives you a tiny bit of reprieve, letting you adjust to his intrusion, and even though you feel full and barely able to move or breathe, you mould against him, your legs falling open until they hook around the back of his thighs, pulling him even deeper.

He leans back slightly, watching you with a dark gaze, brown eyes barely recognizable with how dilated his pupils are, how hungry he is for you. His freckled face is hard, concentrated, jaw clenched with that muscle moving so deliciously beneath his skin.

His hand is still holding your throat, then you feel his other hand moving back up, gliding over your curves until a warm palm presses to your breast, cupping it gently before he starts kneading it, rubbing it against your nipple until it hardens. He is so enthralled by the feel of your soft flesh that he lets go of your throat and leans back, hips still pressed against yours, deeply connected, while he grabs your other breast as well, holding them firmly in his large hands, warm and safe.

He keeps groping them, alternating between rough squeezes and gentle presses, your hard buds scraping over his calloused skin, and watches your face closely as he does so. You're so relaxed now, you've almost forgotten his hard cock resting inside your tight cunt, but only until he suddenly starts moving.

Pulling out to slam back in, repeatedly, over and over again, and each time he thrusts deep, you yelp and rock over the surface you're on, up and down, but his hands on your breasts hold you in place. He uses them to guide you, gripping them with his arms outstretched as he slams his hips against you. Your legs fall open again, too boneless to hold onto him, and your entire body moves with his powerful thrusts.

You'd watch his muscles ripple under his skin, those tendons moving with every motion, but you thrash your head back and dissolve into a puddle of bliss as he keeps driving his length and girth into you, stretching your walls while they clench around him, his rapid rhythm rendering you unable to do anything but lie in front of him, issuing those noises that make him move even faster.

The tension in your stomach tightens, and while he pinches your nipples, he thrusts deep, always hitting the farthest spot, until you cry out and arch your back, stars dancing behind your eyelids, limbs twitching uncontrollably as you come hard on his cock.

He pulls you up then, arms wrapped around your body as he presses you to his chest, his mouth finding your shoulder for some breathy kisses before he bites down slightly, and you can barely move your own arms, but you try to snake them around him, holding onto him, fingernails digging into his back as he quickens his pace even more.

Your combined moans and groans echo through the room while you lean your cheek against his collarbone and he holds you with strong hands, one between your shoulder blades, one on your lower back, as he pounds into you hard and fast, until a grunt leaves his throat and he gives you one final thrust, hitting your cervix with precision, which makes you come undone all over again.

He stills inside you as you convulse, and you feel him twitching between your fluttering walls. His embrace tightens as he comes inside you, painting your womb with his hot seed. Rough breaths hit your ear as he slowly relaxes with you in his arms, and for a moment neither of you move, as the warmth you both created spreads through your body like a wildfire.

You feel exhausted and close your eyes, even though you want to watch how he gently pries your arms away from him and places you on your back again, his hands roaming your sweaty body, caressing your tender breasts until they move to your thighs, holding onto them as he steps back and slips out of you. You can feel the globs of warm cum dripping from your hole, and you couldn't care less where they go and what they soil, but then you feel his fingers on your sensitive skin and your eyes flutter open.

He watches you with a tired smirk as he circles your clit with one finger before he dips the same one into your pussy, shoving his seed back in. A small gasp escapes you as he keeps fingering you until he's satisfied his essence remains inside you. When he withdraws that finger, it is coated in your combined juices, glistening, dripping, and you see him raising it towards his mouth, but somehow you manage to lean up and close your shaking hands around his wrist and pull his hand towards your own mouth.

His eyes sparkle in admiration when he watches you lick his finger clean, a little growl escaping his throat. You hold his gaze as you give his other fingers the same treatment, your tongue lapping around those beautiful digits and between them and along the back of his hand, and when he bends his fingers, you feel those tendons and veins move against your tongue, and a deep shudder rushes through your body.

You cradle his big hand between your smaller ones, admiring every single detail of it, noticing the little freckles on it, the sharp edges of his wrist, the hair moving up his arm, the veins snaking around it and the muscles tensing beneath his skin. And he watches you closely, mesmerized by how much attention you pay to his hand.

And you're not done. You give every knuckle a gentle peck, licking over every crease, nibble on his fingertips, and when you reach his pinkie you turn his hand palm up, lapping at the lines on it, moving towards his pulse, before you focus back on his thick thumb.

His eyes widen slightly when you pull it between your lips and start sucking on it playfully, your eyes gleaming in mischief and delight. His own amusement quickly turns into arousal as you continue working on his thumb, pushing it as deep as it can go into your mouth, and he groans slightly when you graze your teeth over it while your tongue swirls around it eagerly.

And that's when he questions if his favourite part of you really are your breasts. He loves them, he even moves his free hand to knead at one as he watches you, but he can't deny that you have a very talented mouth as well.

So the cycle repeats itself, and at the end of the day, you both realize you are just crazy about each other, every body part included. Though you still always adore his hands a tiny bit more.

[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

Sebastian Sallow headcanons

NSFW Sebastian Sallow headcanons

NSFW Hogwarts in the 1890s headcanons

Screenshots of Sebastian's Hands Masterlist

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy reader insert #reader insert #smut #mysmut #sebastian sallow headcanons #sebastian sallow headcanon #smut headcanons

215 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 8 days

Text

[ SCREENSHOTS MASTERLIST ] [ MORE B&W SCREENSHOTS ]

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow screenshots #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy screenshots #black and white #virtual photography #my screencaps

18 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 9 days

Text

There's now a complete list of all my Aesop Sharp Smut:

→ SCARS AND PEACE AND COMFORT MASTERLIST

Doubts and Distractions

Notes: This is another part of my Scars-Series (“Sexy Times with Sharp”). Can be read individually, though. Read the whole collection on AO3. [PREVIOUS PART]

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with face scar)

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Smut // Words: 6.5k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: You fall into a carousel of dread, overthinking everything, but once you're back in his arms, all seems forgotten.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. The cure for depression is sex, at least in this story.

Doubts and Distractions

It was one of those days. Winter was still heavy in the Highlands, snow everywhere, only a few hours of sunlight each day, it was dark and cold and damp and icy, especially inside the castle. And while it was the perfect season to cuddle up in front of a fireplace, you couldn't quite enjoy it.

Because you'd never be able to do what your classmates were doing.

The coldest season was just another excuse for those pesky couples to show their happy love lives to everyone caring to look (or too slow to look away). You didn't want to see them giggling, holding hands, hugging, snogging in dark corners, bodies pressed together as if they were one, with no care in the world for who might witness those very public displays of affections.

At the end of the day, nobody cared about a happy pair of sixteen or seventeen or eighteen-year-olds. It wasn't as scandalised anymore, nothing out of the ordinary. The castle was big, they'd find their place to make out, and they weren't really bothering anyone, but still you felt as if they were rubbing it in, reminding you of what you wanted to do but never could.

You had to fall in love with an older man, with a teacher no less, with whom it was indeed still very scandalous to engage in these activities (and more), and you knew you didn't want to risk either his job or your expulsion, but the need to parade him around was growing stronger and stronger, especially since everyone looked at you as if you were the odd one out because you didn't have anyone to snog in dark corners.

Or so they thought. And every day the looks seemed to become more pitiful, some even hostile, because you kept looking at them, longingly, not for their significant other, but because you wanted to do this too. With him.

It would never happen, and you had to live with that realization – on top of the growing dread of what might happen after your graduation. You already spent barely any time together, and the exams were approaching fast, and you knew you'd have even less time then. It pained to think about, it hurt so much you spent your days wallowing in your own sorrow, barely paying attention in class, running into other students because you were so deep in thought, and while they distanced themselves more and more from you for your strange behaviour, you fell deeper and deeper into this carousel of fear and sadness.

Come evening, you'd be so tired from overthinking, you sometimes even fell asleep in your own dorm room, in a bed you hadn't used in quite some time, and come morning, you could add guilt and regret onto your growing list of problems because you'd ditched the one good thing in your life. And the spiral continued.

Sometimes he'd call you to his desk after class to check up on you, and once the last student had left his classroom, you'd silently throw your arms around him and cry into his shoulder. He'd hold you quietly, his strong arms around you as he pulled you onto his lap. You couldn't even explain to him what was wrong with you. “Seasonal depression,” you called it once, and he didn't urge you to elaborate further.

You gave him a quick kiss to the lips and stood up again, wiping at your wet cheeks. He looked at you with even more creases on his forehead, one hand caressing your lower back soothingly while his other hand moved up to trail his thumb over your scar. His dark eyes were warm and compassionate. As usual you didn't say much, you just forced a small smile and hugged him once more, before you excused yourself to leave for your next class.

Reluctantly he let you go, watching you with a deep frown, being none the wiser. He had no idea what was wrong with you, why you were so tired, so sad. Did they bully you again? Were you sad you couldn't engage with those boys who seemed to have an interest in you? Were you starting to regret your relationship with him?

He knew he couldn't give you everything you desired. He was older, he was your teacher, there were so many obstacles between you, and he couldn't even hold your hand in public, as much as he wanted to. Unbeknownst to you, he shared many of your concerns. What would happen after you graduated? How could he be there for you more, show you how much he needed you, making you feel loved and cherished without being able to parade you around publicly?

His own thoughts took over, and he found himself lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for you to join him, yet the gnawing doubts got the better of him. You might not come again. Were you actively distancing yourself from him because the thought of losing him at the end of the school year was too much to bear?

He fell asleep with his heart heavy and a tight knot in his stomach.

You had spent your day thinking too, dodging those couples, ignoring their carefree laughter, but they seemed to be everywhere you looked. It was a strange phenomenon: if you see one, you see them all. And they were all around you, looking deep into their eyes, caressing each other's faces, tucking strands of hair behind their ears, teasing one another playfully, smiling, giggling, moving closer, oblivious to where they were.

Dinner was the worst, as the lights dimmed and they felt safer in the shadows. Sighing deeply, you left the Great Hall, mindlessly walking through the dark, cold corridors, dodging those kissing sounds like they were venomous spiders ready to pounce on you. Your head was spinning with those same sombre thoughts, and you were almost at the entrance of your common room when you stopped walking, forcibly turning around, shooing those thoughts away, focusing on the light amongst them.

You'd almost missed the chance to see him again.

It was later than usual when you sneaked through the Faculty Tower under the Disillusionment charm. Even the prefects seemed busy cuddling up and seeking out warmth on their patrols, so you made it to his door without any run-ins. But when you entered his quarters quietly, locking the door behind you, you noticed the dim lights.

He was already asleep.

And he needed his sleep, you knew that. Still you moved on, shedding the cloaking charm and your clothes on your way to his bed. His gentle snores echoed through the room, and he stirred slightly when you crawled under the covers, carefully pressing your body against his, finding your way into his arms. Inhaling deeply, you settled beside him, savouring the warmth and comfort of his taller frame.

You were about to fall asleep as well when he turned slightly, wrapping his arms more firmly around you, pulling you tighter against him. His nose nuzzled against your cheek, and you turned your head to him, looking at him out of hooded eyes, pleasantly surprised to see his dark gaze meeting yours.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a short, gentle kiss, then rested his face close to yours afterwards, breathing deeply against you. Your hand found his rough face, your fingers trailing his scar and his bearded chin. Seeing him this close made your heart swell – and tighten at the same time.

Suddenly you were back thinking that you only had so long to see this face, this man, before everything changed. Soon you had to leave, leave this school, leave him, expected to lead a normal life without him. A single sob escaped you before you buried your face in the crook of his neck and let the tears flow freely.

He held you closer instantly, trying to squeeze your sorrow out of you. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?” he murmured deeply against you, his voice vibrating through you.

“N-nothing,” you croaked, forcing the tears away but the lump remained in your throat.

“This is not nothing,” he replied quietly. “Every time you see me, you burst into tears lately...”

“Oh,” you said after a moment, considering his words, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh!” You leaned back, staring at him with wide eyes. “It's not because of you!” you said quickly, cupping his face and giving him a frantic kiss. “I'm just... I...” you stammered, unable to get the words out.

He watched you closely. “You can tell me anything,” he whispered, rubbing his hands over your back in soothing circles.

“I miss you,” you said quietly, holding back a new batch of tears.

He frowned at that. “But I'm right here...”

“I... I know, but... I do, and every time I see you, I miss you even more...”

“You miss me... pre-emptively?” he mused.

You nodded shyly. “I suppose...”

“Sweetheart, I know you worry about graduation, and... your life afterwards,” he said quietly, pulling you slightly closer. “But there's still a lot of time before that. You shouldn't concern yourself with that just yet. Enjoy the time we have...”

You pursed your lips and stared at his chin, breathing deeply. His sigh almost sounded like a groan, and you looked up timidly.

“That's not all, is it?” he asked. His voice had that edge to it that he always uses in class, right before he takes house points from a student for not meeting his expectations. Yet there was a twinkle in his eyes, and you knew he liked to tease you with that voice sometimes.

You nod gingerly. “I... always miss you, not just pre-emptively, thinking about the future, but also during the day, because everywhere I look there are these... couples... and...” He sighed again, but you kept going. “I know I can't do those things with you, and I've accepted it, but it's so hard to not think about it when there's snogging people all around me...”

“Yes, winter time is the worst for that, hm?” he mused with a low, almost bitter chuckle.

You press your face to his neck, inhaling deeply. “And because I think about that all the time, I get tired and I forget that I could do all those things too, just in the safety of your room. I'm sorry I forgot about you last night, I didn't mean to...”

“I know, darling,” he said softly, kissing your cheek. “You're here now...” He held you closely for a moment, just feeling your warmth and soft breaths against his skin. “Is there anything else bothering you?”

You sighed, suddenly feeling childish even admitting your worries. “Well, most girls think I'm a pathetic loner because I don't have anyone to snog in dark corners like they do on the daily...”

His laugh was low and almost harsh, but it made you look up at him in surprise. “Oh, love, I told you you shouldn't worry about anything these girls say. I can't believe they found something new to pester you about, those wretched girls...”

He shook his head slightly, his face hard, eyebrows furrowed. His hand found your face, and he caressed your cheek softly, his eyes warming as he looked at you.

“Do not let them bother you, let them say whatever they want. At the end of the day, you know better, you have me, alright? I might not be able to... snog you in dark corners,” he said, and you smirked at the way he said those words, “but I am here for you, every night, and in between, if you need me. Never forget that.”

You nodded solemnly and swallowed the lump in your throat. The guilt for almost doing that still gnawed at your insides. He was right, of course, he was there for you, waiting every night. And wasn't that just as good as having a boy pin you to a wall in a dark corridor? Or better? Oh, it was better, because the things you were able to do in the safety of his quarters was beyond anything a snogging student could ever do, unless they had a private room on their own.

You didn't have to worry about roommates listening in, about sneaking into the boys' dorm at night and back into yours in the morning, or spending your nights in whichever broom closet just to be close to a lover. Your lover had a big bed and a large room, and all the amenities you could wish for (even a secret hobby room with a quite comfortable table). And all of a sudden you felt silly for being jealous of those girls who thought they had it all.

You had it much better. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his with a happy smile. “Thank you,” you murmured against his mouth, locking eyes with him. He gave you a wink and deepened the kiss, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him. You settled there, savouring his warmth as much as he savoured yours, feeling the tension in his sore muscles easing under your comfortable weight.

For a moment you just kissed under the covers, exchanging body heat and gentle caresses, until he let out a groan, and with a sudden jolt, he rolled you around until he was lying on top of you, leaning on his elbows, his healthy leg angled slightly, while the rest of him pressed you deeper into the mattress. Despite not being able to breathe as deeply as before, you loved having him pin you down like that, his weight was a comfort you needed sometimes, and tonight was one of those nights – and you were lucky he knew exactly what you needed.

His large hands cradled your head, dug into your hair, tugged on it gently as he kissed you demandingly, while your arms wrapped around his back and pulled him even closer, your legs slowly inching apart to allow him to lay between them as you lost yourself in the kiss. His deep groans mixed with your soft mewls when he started grinding his hips against yours.

While you had sneaked into his bed already undressed, he still, like every night, had slipped into his pyjamas, a habit that was quite ingrained in him, so the only fabric between your clearly aroused sexes was the soft cotton of his trousers. It didn't stop you from feeling every hard inch of him, and normally, you would have been happy with grinding against him until you came, but tonight you wanted to feel him inside you, become one, feel that deep connection deep within you, preferably until the morning broke and you had to return to being just another student.

He seemed to read your mind as one of his hands slipped between your bodies and pushed his pyjama bottoms down enough to free his eager cock. You moaned softly when he used the same hand to rub at your clit, but you were already quite wet, so instead of preparing you further like he usually did, he just lined up his tip with your entrance, raising his hips only slightly, before he sank down and entered you in one fluid motion, though it took him a few more slow thrusts to slip fully in and bottom out inside you.

He paused then, resting within, letting you adjust to the stretch and fullness, while you kept kissing him hungrily, your tongue tangling with his. You welcomed the slight burning of his intrusion, your tense muscles screaming under it, but you knew how much he loved your tightness and how you initially strangled his cock with your walls until they slowly gave in, holding him comfortably.

The pain had always been a part of your love making, and you wouldn't have it any other way. He was so much bigger than you, it would always be like this, and despite your smaller frame, you were quite proud of how well you could accommodate him and his size. It was yet another thing you would never be able to brag about openly, but you slowly learned to cherish those things inside your own mind, for yourself, for him, knowing that it only concerned the both of you anyway.

When you hooked your legs around the back of his thighs, he knew you were ready for him to move, and while still kissing you almost lazily now, he started grinding against you, slow movements at first, gentle nudges, like soft little kisses of his crown against your cervix, before he pulled back more, arcing his hips, straining his thighs, then sinking in all the way again.

He repeated the motion for many moments, steady, slow but firm, his fingers back in your hair, while you pressed your hands to his shoulder blades, holding onto him, your heart pounding against his with how your chests were pressed together. Quiet whimpers escaped you every time he pushed into you a little harder, deeper, the mattress beneath you giving way with a slight bounce.

Eventually he braced himself on his elbows, leaning back only a little, his hot breaths ghosting your tingling lips as you looked up at him breathlessly. A hungry glint sat in his dark eyes, and you licked your lips while you watched him intently. The tension within your stomach built with every careful slam of his hips, and you snaked your arms around his waist, clawing your fingers into the thin fabric of his pyjama top to steady yourself against him as he finally started to move faster on top of you.

You tried to meet his powerful thrusts, and once you both found your rhythm, it didn't take many of those deep in and out motions within your tight walls to ignite the fire in your nerves that made your muscles even tighter, clamping around him needily, winding up that coil in your stomach until it burst into a million tiny lights, and you gasped and moaned beneath him, hands digging into his back as your body convulsed against him.

His noises grew louder, deeper, a steady thrum of sounds vibrating through your limbs, adding to the sensation, but he kept going, pushing hard and deep, pulling back and slamming down once more, over and over again, while the bed creaked around you.

And when he felt the same tightness in his stomach and lower in his balls, he let out a low grunt as he gave you that final thrust, deeper than anything before as he smacked right into your cervix and came, and you came with him once more at the sudden pain coursing through you, and while your walls tightened around him, milking him, he painted your insides with his seed, sharing his warmth, coaxing those sweet little mewls out of you as you moulded to his body, melting beneath him, your tiny frame spasming slightly as you succumbed to your second orgasm.

Your legs fell open, thighs twitching, your breaths slowly easing. He leaned his head on the pillow next to yours and kissed your cheek, closing his eyes as fatigue washed over him, his aching muscles silenced for the moment, but he knew the soreness would come back soon.

He grew heavier on top of you, pushing you deep into the mattress, his body relaxing slowly. You held him tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, breathing deep. Your connection was still intact, his spent cock resting just as heavy inside you, the warmth and wetness you both built up slowly seeping out, but you didn't care.

You wanted to feel him, all of him, as close as possible, and there was no way you could become any closer than you were right now. And despite the realization that you couldn't remain like this forever as the post-haze clarity set in, you tried to cherish the feeling now, enjoy the moment, not think about the future too much.

And somehow you fell asleep, a content smile on your face.

When you woke up the next morning, he had rolled off you, pulling you with him, nestling you in his arms, holding you close, but no longer as close as before, judging by the empty feeling inside you. You felt the slight aching and bruising he left behind, but that was it. Sighing deeply, you snuggled against his chest, hands gripping his pyjama top, never wanting to let go.

He stirred a little, issuing a deep grunt, his breath ghosting your forehead. Moving against him, you pushed yourself closer until you could plant a series of kisses on his neck and up his jaw until you met his mouth. To your surprise he was awake enough to move his lips against yours, a soft, lazy kiss to slowly wake up fully to. Humming into his mouth, you savoured the warmth of his touch.

“Can we stay in bed today?” you mumbled, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, as you deepened the kiss.

He let out a groan, a low noise deep in his throat. “Hmm... fine,” he murmured between kisses, and you had to lean back in shock and surprise as you stared at him, thinking you might have misheard him.

“Really?” you asked in excitement, a new wave of heat rushing into your stomach.

“Of course,” he replied with the hint of a smirk on his lips. You were about to compliment him for finally taking a break, giving his classes a rest for at least a day, he definitely deserved more sick days, but then he added: “It's Saturday, we can stay in here till Monday morning if you like...”

You let out a little groan of your own before you chuckled. “Promise?” you challenged with a twinkle in your eyes, and he laughed too, pulling you in for another kiss.

“Anything for you, my love,” he muttered against your lips.

You hummed happily and moved your tongue lazily against his, now content this wasn't about to end any time soon. Still you felt the urge to make the most of it, knowing it would be over eventually, and before you felt relaxed enough to allow the carousel of dread to spin once more, you busied yourself by gently rolling him onto his back and quickly climbing on top of him.

He watched you out of tired eyes, his hands on your waist as you settled on his hips, slowly grinding against him. “You're truly insatiable, aren't you?” he muttered in his low voice.

You smirked at him. “That's why you like me, right?”

“Love you,” he corrected, and you blushed deeply and dove in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “That's why I love you, yes,” he said again, smiling softly. You sighed contently and showered his rough face with little pecks, dragging your lips gently over his scar and down over his bearded jaw.

He closed his eyes and let you do your thing, relaxing beneath you. “How's your leg?” you whispered after a moment, with your mouth pressed to his neck, your tongue teasingly gliding over his pulse. “You've missed a few of my massages,” you added, feeling a pang of guilt as you mentioned it.

“Indeed I have,” he hummed back. “But it's alright, don't worry your pretty little head so much...”

You scoffed. “I will never not worry, and I want you to feel good.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

You were playing with the buttons of his pyjama top now, slowly revealing more of his skin as you kissed your way down his chest. “Let me make you feel good...”

“I feel good,” he grumbled, his hand moving along the back of your head as you slipped deeper down his body, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his stomach now.

“You could feel better,” you whispered, your fingers hooking around the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. “Don't you want to feel better?”

He only grunted in response, leaning back, his hands falling to his sides as he gave in. You looked up at him with a smirk, pressing your lips to his lower stomach before you slowly pulled his trousers down. But instead of moving straight to his already hardening member, you moved lower, pulling his bottoms down all the way and discarding them somewhere on the floor before you slowly made your way back up, your hands closing around his left leg.

A shiver rushed through him as you started your massage, your fingers digging gently but firmly into his tense muscles. He closed his eyes and relaxed into your ministrations. Over the months you'd learned exactly how you could touch him, how to ease the soreness, how to make him feel like he had never felt before, or at least not for a very long time.

Your touch was magical, and he suspected you'd learned to pour your magic into it as well. Unbeknownst to him, you had no idea what you were doing, you just tried your best and just wanted to make him feel better, because he deserved it, because you loved him.

In the end both of you knew that love was a powerful thing, it gave you the courage to continue on this path that led into a dark, unknown future, and it gave him the peace of mind to enjoy these unsolicited touches without doubts and second guessing anything.

He groaned, his eyes opening lazily, when your hands closed around his thigh and pressed hard, thumbs and fingers kneading his skin, stimulating the tight muscles, squeezing with just the right amount of strength. He'd never have guessed what power resided in your tiny body, you were so frail and fragile compared to him, but met with the right obstacles, you very easily overcame them all, and selflessly so.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort. Always so considerate. Sometimes a little too much even. You were kneeling between his legs, your hands so close to where he might need you just a little bit more. He flexed his leg slightly to show you that your massage had worked already, but you kept your fingers wrapped around his thigh, pressing them rhythmically into his sore flesh.

His hand moved down to brush against your knee as he watched you, how your hair fell over your shoulders, covering the top of your breasts, and he wanted to reach out and tuck it away to get a better look, but he felt too relaxed to do so. His eyelids became heavy again, and eventually he succumbed to the effect your touches had on his body.

You watched him as he closed his eyes, his breaths deep and calm, and you pursed your lips as you realized he'd fallen asleep once more. Or was about to. A mischievous grin spread on your lips as you moved your hands from his thigh to the limb you'd ignored so far, lying tall and proud on his lower stomach, definitely ready for the taking.

A little chuckle escaped you as you saw his eyes flutter open in surprise when you closed your hands around his cock, continuing your eager massaging by pressing your fingers against the hardened core before you moved the hot skin up and down with gentle motions, but you only teased at his sensitive tip. His eyes were almost black as he stared at you, a certain hunger on his gruff features.

And before you knew it, he sat up and grabbed your wrists, prying your hands off him, before he hooked his own hands under your arms and spun you around. It all happened so fast, he was so agile all of a sudden, that you merely issued a surprised yelp as you ended up lying on your stomach while he slowly climbed on top of you, straddling your hips until he lay down fully on your back, pushing you deeper into the mattress and all air out of your lungs, his hard cock resting in the cleft between your arse cheeks.

His lips found the back of your neck, then moved around until he kissed your cheek, his hands cradling your head, turning it gently so you could look at him out of the corner of your eye. You were surprised by how nimble he was this morning, but it was a very welcome surprise. It made you remember that time he took you to (and in) his secret hobby room for the first time...

A little moan escaped you at the memory and when he nibbled on your earlobe. “I told you I feel good,” he whispered into your ear, causing goosebumps to ripple over your skin. He leaned back then, his big hands on your shoulders before he shrugged off his pyjama top and sat down firmly on your thighs. “Let me take care of you today,” he said softly, his fingers digging into your unusually tense nape.

The groan that came out of your throat when he started massaging your shoulders was low and raw, and you shuddered slightly under his tight grip. He was strong, and you knew he held himself back for your sake, but he was still applying enough pressure to make you whimper in a pain you hadn't known before. But the more he kneaded your muscles, the better it felt, and your pained whimpers turned into soft mewls that made his heart beat faster.

You felt him pausing, his hands resting on your warm skin before they moved lower, along the sides of your body, around your hips and back to your plump cheeks where he continued his kneading for a moment, coaxing more noises past your trembling lips. His fingers slipped lower then, testing the waters as he dipped some between your wet folds, teasing at your entrance.

Shivers crashed down your spine but you remained completely immobile beneath him, even when he pushed a finger into your tightness, sinking it as deep as his knuckles allowed, prodding your walls and curling it inside you until he brushed against that sweet spot that made you gasp and squirm slightly.

Instead of assaulting that spot further, he retrieved his finger, making you mewl in disappointment, but he was too generous to leave you hanging, and when you felt his tip pushing between your thighs as he shifted on top of you, you braced yourself for his intrusion, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

He pushed in slowly, so slowly you writhed in impatience, as he made you feel every inch of his hard cock, from the bulbous tip to the ridges and veins of his shaft as he gave you those tiny slams of his hips, pressing deeper, stretching your walls, filling you out, until he was finally completely seated inside you. The prone position of your body allowed him to hit your special pleasure points differently, and you mewled when he scraped past your g-spot and cried out softly when he hit that other spot deep within.

This time he didn't let you adjust to his size, he moved back immediately, arching his hips, pulling out almost all the way, before he slammed back in, smacking his pelvis against your cushioned rear. You moaned loudly, and you kept moaning as he kept repeating the same pattern, and the more he moved in and out, the more light-headed you felt.

And it got even worse. His hands moved around your hips and pulled them up slightly before he grabbed them tightly, the new angle allowing him to really pound into you, and pound he did, rapid thrusts, no longer as deep, but fast and shallow, and every single slam pressed straight into that special spot.

You were barely able to process what he was doing as your first orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, completely catching you off guard. You cried out, spasming beneath him, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you pressed them shut. And he kept going, pushing you further, never allowing you to come down from that incredible high.

Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white, your body arching and convulsing, that tension within building and erupting over and over again, your cunt fluttering around his cock helplessly. You quickly lost count of your releases, and only the obscenely wet squelching sounds echoing through the room made you realize how often he had made you come. And he wasn't done yet.

One hand held your hip up, his other hand moved around to your front and started pinching your clit, making you scream in bliss, as he continued smacking his hips into you hard and fast. You felt dizzy and delirious, forgetting everything around but his warm body, his hard cock rutting into you and the tight grip of his hands.

He eventually eased his assault on your clit and moved his hands up your body, snaking them around to grab your breasts that had been squished to the bed before. His large palms cupped them easily, and he pulled you up slightly as he gripped them. You felt like a puppet in his hands, overwhelmed by all the sensations rushing through your body, barely able to breathe at this point.

Let alone wonder how he was able to take you like this, with his knees tightening around your hips, holding you in place, as he strained his thighs and kept slamming his pelvis hard against your rear, each thrust sending shock waves through your body. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth hung open, your face contorted in pure ecstasy, unintelligible noises forming in your throat and tumbling past your lips.

He watched you with glee, desire and love as he kept going at a speed that surprised himself. But as much as you wanted him to feel good, he wanted to give back and make you feel incredible. And by the way your body convulsed and twitched beneath him, and how those sweet sounds that were like bird song in his ears came fluttering out of your mouth, he knew you felt good enough to forget about your worries.

He knew he couldn't wipe away your sorrows completely. As soon as you left his room and became a student again, you'd be back to worrying about the future, about what others said about you, about wanting all those things he could never give you, but as long as you were here, in his bed, pinned down by his body, he'd give his all to distract you properly.

His thrusts became slower and deeper, allowing you to catch your breath after his relentless assault on your g-spot, and he even let go of your sensitive breasts, gently putting you back down on the bed as he lay down on top of you, his hips continuing to pound into you, but at a slower pace, the mattress bouncing slightly with every downwards slam.

Kissing your warm cheek, he snuggled against you, his hands cradling your head before his fingers dug into your hair and gripped it just enough to let you feel his desire for you. You whimpered beneath him, breathlessly and spent, face flushed and lips trembling, but your eyes were still open, slightly at least, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye.

He leaned his rough cheek against yours, one hand in your hair while the other moved along the slender column of your neck, long fingers wrapping around your throat gently but firmly when he pulled you close enough to capture your lips. The kiss was messy with how he was still slamming his hips into you and how you twitched against him, but you still managed to meet his tongue in a heated dance.

Your moans echoed in his ears, fuelling the fire burning within him, driving him further, faster, harder, and while he felt your walls clamping down on him for yet another orgasm that crashed through your tiny body, his own muscles tensed as well, his balls tightening, and with a loud groan that you swallowed with your mouth, he pushed deep before he stilled inside you, erupting almost violently as he emptied himself deep within your tight space.

Your own release came with such a force that he slipped out mid-eruption, making him lean back, and while you pressed your flushed face into the pillow as your juices flowed freely, he pressed his still throbbing cock back into your clenching cunt, coaxing more mewls out of you. He continued moving within you, giving you those tiny thrusts that drove you crazy with bliss as he pushed one hand on your lower back while the other guided your hip.

He thought he'd be done by now, spent, exhausted, but he slowly kept going, despite your strained whimpers and breathless moans. Eventually your body went limp beneath him, and he eased his relentless assault as well, stilling within you, feeling your walls still tensing around him, strong enough to make him hard again. But he ignored the tension building up in his stomach, and gently lowered himself on your back once more.

You let out a last little gasp before you succumbed to the overstimulation. He kissed your cheek and nuzzled his nose against your ear as he settled on top of you, slowly relaxing, his own rapid breaths easing eventually.

Before you slipped completely out of consciousness, a weak smile grazed your trembling lips, and you had to think about those poor girls who had to spent their nights in crowded dorm rooms, hiding behind Silencing charms, hoping to get at least one orgasm out of their sneaky encounters before their inexperienced lovers would fall asleep on them.

Now you pitied them, because your lover didn't just have the experience and expertise to grant you mind-blowing releases you weren't even able to count, but also exerted himself past his limits – only to make you feel good. You didn't need to snog anyone in dark corners when you could have this in the comfort of a real bed.

You didn't need to hold hands in public when you could spend the entire weekend pushed into the mattress by a strong, tall body, warm and cosy and fucked out of your mind.

And maybe you could continue this adventure way past your graduation. Because in this very moment all you could think about was him and how you would do absolutely anything to keep this going, no matter what. No matter how.

You'd find a way, you were sure.

(At least once you regained control over your limp body.)

End notes: More dialogue? They can actually talk, in full sentences no less? I'm surprised too!

This came out of my brain as my own way of dealing with seasonal depression, and writing smut is indeed a good way to cope, somehow.

And even though there are not really any life-altering changes or solutions in this chapter/oneshot, this'll pave the way for more. And more is coming. I'm in too deep now, these two live in my head rent-free, and I can't seem to get them out anytime soon.

So, I thank you for joining me on this little Sharp-detour, but don't worry, I will not change the focus of this blog. Sebastian is still my muse, I'm just giving him a little break after having him do all those things in my other smut oneshots. He needs it too.

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x reader #reader insert #hogwarts legacy smut #daddy sharp #thirsty thursday #reblog time

38 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 10 days

Text

[ SCREENSHOTS MASTERLIST ] [ MORE B&W SCREENSHOTS ]

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow screenshots #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy screenshots #black and white #virtual photography #my screencaps

32 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 11 days

Text

And stop being a fucking racist!

[ SCREENSHOTS MASTERLIST ] [ SEBASTIAN AS MC MASTERLIST ]

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow screenshots #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy screenshots #hogwarts legacy mods #my screencaps

44 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 12 days

Text

Sebastian x Genevieve

[ SCREENSHOTS MASTERLIST ] [ THE DARKNESS WITHIN MASTERLIST ]

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow screenshots #sebastian sallow x mc #genevieve belette #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy screenshots #my screencaps

24 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 12 days

Text

In a different timeline: Genevieve & Sharp

She's rocking that bowler hat!

[ SCREENSHOTS MASTERLIST ] [ MC MASTERLIST ]

#professor sharp #aesop sharp #professor aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy #genevieve belette #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy screenshots #slytherin #gryffindor #daddy sharp #my screencaps

9 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 13 days

Text

Doubts and Distractions

Notes: This is another part of my Scars-Series (“Sexy Times with Sharp”). Can be read individually, though. Read the whole collection on AO3. [PREVIOUS PART]

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with face scar)

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Smut // Words: 6.5k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: You fall into a carousel of dread, overthinking everything, but once you're back in his arms, all seems forgotten.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. The cure for depression is sex, at least in this story.

Doubts and Distractions

Because you'd never be able to do what your classmates were doing.

He fell asleep with his heart heavy and a tight knot in his stomach.

You'd almost missed the chance to see him again.

He was already asleep.

He held you closer instantly, trying to squeeze your sorrow out of you. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?” he murmured deeply against you, his voice vibrating through you.

“N-nothing,” you croaked, forcing the tears away but the lump remained in your throat.

“This is not nothing,” he replied quietly. “Every time you see me, you burst into tears lately...”

He watched you closely. “You can tell me anything,” he whispered, rubbing his hands over your back in soothing circles.

“I miss you,” you said quietly, holding back a new batch of tears.

He frowned at that. “But I'm right here...”

“I... I know, but... I do, and every time I see you, I miss you even more...”

“You miss me... pre-emptively?” he mused.

You nodded shyly. “I suppose...”

You pursed your lips and stared at his chin, breathing deeply. His sigh almost sounded like a groan, and you looked up timidly.

“Yes, winter time is the worst for that, hm?” he mused with a low, almost bitter chuckle.

You sighed, suddenly feeling childish even admitting your worries. “Well, most girls think I'm a pathetic loner because I don't have anyone to snog in dark corners like they do on the daily...”

He shook his head slightly, his face hard, eyebrows furrowed. His hand found your face, and he caressed your cheek softly, his eyes warming as he looked at you.

And somehow you fell asleep, a content smile on your face.

“Can we stay in bed today?” you mumbled, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, as you deepened the kiss.

“Really?” you asked in excitement, a new wave of heat rushing into your stomach.

You let out a little groan of your own before you chuckled. “Promise?” you challenged with a twinkle in your eyes, and he laughed too, pulling you in for another kiss.

“Anything for you, my love,” he muttered against your lips.

He watched you out of tired eyes, his hands on your waist as you settled on his hips, slowly grinding against him. “You're truly insatiable, aren't you?” he muttered in his low voice.

You smirked at him. “That's why you like me, right?”

“Indeed I have,” he hummed back. “But it's alright, don't worry your pretty little head so much...”

You scoffed. “I will never not worry, and I want you to feel good.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

You were playing with the buttons of his pyjama top now, slowly revealing more of his skin as you kissed your way down his chest. “Let me make you feel good...”

“I feel good,” he grumbled, his hand moving along the back of your head as you slipped deeper down his body, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his stomach now.

“You could feel better,” you whispered, your fingers hooking around the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. “Don't you want to feel better?”

You didn't need to hold hands in public when you could spend the entire weekend pushed into the mattress by a strong, tall body, warm and cosy and fucked out of your mind.

You'd find a way, you were sure.

(At least once you regained control over your limp body.)

End notes: More dialogue? They can actually talk, in full sentences no less? I'm surprised too!

This came out of my brain as my own way of dealing with seasonal depression, and writing smut is indeed a good way to cope, somehow.

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #hogwarts legacy smut #professor sharp #professor sharp smut #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp x reader #professor aesop sharp #fluff #smut #mysmut #daddy sharp

38 notes · View notes

animasola86 · 13 days

Text

NEXT PART IS HERE!

Have a little snippet:

(Careful: NSFW!)

-- excerpt from Doubts and Distractions

A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

Notes: This is a continuation of A Demonstration of Power and Support.

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with face scar)

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 5.1k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: In the aftermath of a rough night, you find yourself easing his pain, while you embrace your own.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. Pain management. Stimulation as pain relief. Pain as stimulation.

A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

He was aching all over. Every single muscle was sore, arms and legs stiff as boards, every joint so tight he could barely move. So he didn't. Breathing deeply through the pain, he focused on the warm body pressed to his chest. You were sleeping so peacefully in his embrace, head resting on his arm, hands clutching around the other that was draped over your small form, the soft noises leaving your parted lips washing over him like the gentle laps of waves hitting the shore.

Inhaling deeply, he tried to fall back asleep, but the dull throbbing and numb tingling in his limbs wouldn't let him. He groaned, the sound rumbling through your body, and when you stirred, he sighed, hating himself for waking you up. You let out a little mewl as you stretched in his tight hold, back pressing against his chest, rear firmly placed against his groin.

Subconscious or not, you even started grinding your backside against him, and he would have groaned again, feeling other parts of his body stiffen, but then you stopped again and managed to roll around despite his arms caging you in. When you faced him, your gaze was tired, eyes hooded and still glazed with sleep, but then you smiled at him, and despite the ache of his body, he smiled back weakly.

Your hands found his tense jaw and gently scraped over the stubble of his beard, the sound making you shiver. Biting your lip, you leaned closer until you could press a soft kiss to his lips, your eyes on him, watching him closely, always attentive despite your sleepy state. He tried to relax into the touch, closing his eyes, but he couldn't help furrowing his brows.

Suddenly you slipped from between his stiff arms, your warmth leaving him, and he let out a disappointed grunt. He heard your bare feet tapping along the room, then the clinking sounds of glass against glass, and when you returned to the bed, he cracked open an eye. You were kneeling beside him, a small vial in your hands. He recognized the green liquid, and his heart swelled slightly when you leaned towards him.

His little nurse.

He had never wanted you to be like this, tending him, taking pity on the old cripple, helping him with his ailments, but you just did, unsolicited, unprejudiced, because you cared. With the support of your hand behind his head, he managed to sit up slightly, enough for him to be able to drink the potion. Once the bitter concoction ran down his throat, he felt his body tingling even more for a moment, and another groan escaped him.

You placed the empty vial back on the floor and made him lie down again, on his back, and he just watched you as you nestled close to him, snuggling against his side, looking up at him with a soft, yet slightly worried expression on your young face. His dark eyes were on you, filled with gratitude – and shame. He hated needing your help. He didn't hate you nor did he hate the need for you or how willing you were to help him, but he hated being so incapacitated, so dependent, so useless.

Especially when it was his own fault for pushing himself so far. As exciting and satisfying as last night had been, he would rather care for you now, knowing you must be in quite the discomfort yourself after what he had done to you. But you didn't complain, didn't show a single sign that you were hurting. You always masked your own pain when you were caring for him, always focused on his wellbeing instead of your own.

Inhaling deeply, he was about to roll onto his side, wanting to face you, but you stopped him, shaking your head, telling him to relax, wait for the potion to reach every last inch of his hurting body. He hated lying about, unable to do anything, though you were also prone to being impatient sometimes. He watched you closely as you carefully climbed on top of him, trying to distribute your weight equally, before you lay down on him, your warm body pressing against his sore limbs.

He could barely remember how you had managed to strip him of his clothes after you had both returned from his hobby room, but he was glad you did, and apparently none of you had bothered to put on sleeping attire either, so the skin on skin contact you now shared with him did wonders to the tension clawing at his joints.

Your hands cradled his hard face, fingertips rubbing over his cheeks, while you looked him deeply in the eye, a mischievous glint in your own. You gave him a gentle peck, then rested your head on his shoulder, slowly relaxing on top of him, while your warmth seeped into his tight muscles, easing them slowly.

It was when you started grinding against him, your hips firmly pressed to his, that the blood flow concentrated elsewhere. He felt himself harden as you rubbed your pelvis against him, and a small grunt escaped him. Yet he was either too tired or numb or simply too lazy and relaxed to stop you, and frankly, he wanted to feel good again, as selfish as it was. So he let you.

Licking your lips, you felt his hardening cock pressing against your lower stomach, and you shifted slightly so you could feel him closer to your throbbing core.

It wasn't the first time you had seen him so vulnerable, so pained, his tall body so stiff and tight, his muscles tense and aching, and yet it always gave you a little fright, especially when you thought back to the things he was able to do to you with that same body, what strength and power he could demonstrate, so the aftermath always felt a little unreal.

And you hated yourself for not stopping him, not that you could have, at least not last night, but you should have tried, even though he probably was the most stubborn man you had ever met, never admitting defeat, never acknowledging pain, and it had taken you a while to discern the subtle twitches to recognize how he was really feeling even though he told you he was fine.

You didn't blame him for trying to be proud. He was a tall, intimidating man, strong and powerful and respected, he had been an Auror for crying out loud, and nobody would want to step down from that to being reduced to a vulnerable shell of a man who was riddled with pain and self-doubt. You admired him for fighting through his condition, for never giving up, or giving in, you knew he was still looking for ways to cure his leg, and ease the other ailments, and you had quickly realized that all you could do, was be by his side and support him, no matter what.

He never asked for it, of course not, his pride and sense of self-preservation wouldn't allow him so, and you also didn't force him to accept your help, you just did it in subtle ways, too gentle and nonchalant for him to notice what you were doing until you were doing it, and then he never stopped you.

Like now. You had read that warmth was good for sore muscles, so lying your whole body on top of his (even though you could only cover so much of his much bigger frame) was a way to ease his pain, but also to keep him entertained while he waited for the potion to work its magic.

And frankly, a tiny part of you wasn't as selfless as he might see you sometimes, you also wanted a bit of fun, because, after last night, you were sore as well, your entire lower body was aching, the bruises deep within were throbbing painfully. Of course you'd never admit to it, his stubbornness surely had rubbed off on you at some point. But even though you had never been that sore before, you couldn't stop grinding against him because the tiniest bit of friction gave you those pleasant chills that quickly lured these soft little mewls out of your throat that you knew he loved so much.

So, really, this was for both of your pleasures.

You felt him breathing quicker, rougher, his hard erection pressing against your soft flesh, and you were so tempted to slide off him and take care of it with your hands and mouth, but you forced yourself to remain lying on him, forcing his tense body to relax, until he would make a move himself, until he was able to move again.

When he would eventually raise his hands and place them on your hips, you sighed deeply into his neck. He made you stop moving, his fingers gripping your soft flesh, the warmth of his palms easing the shivers running down your spine. Slowly he turned his head towards you, his gaze dark and almost intimidating, as if he was about to lecture you, but you saw the small twinkle in his eyes, that tiny twitch at the corner of his lips.

You leaned up and pressed your lips to his stubbled cheek, then moved further up and captured his mouth for a slightly timid kiss until he replied the motion in full, his tongue quickly finding yours in a sensual wrestle. Your fingers slipped into his hair, gently massaging his scalp as you squirmed on top of him while he kneaded your hips, the friction between your sexes sending a warmth through your body that eased the soreness within. Or maybe your desire for him was simply overriding the pain.

Or, a thought that made you question your own sanity at times, you enjoyed the pain so much you didn't care if it might get worse, you just needed him inside of you, you needed him to poke your bruises, you needed to do it all over again. And again. And again...

A low moan slipped past your lips as you pushed your pelvis against his, your breaths as erratic as your heartbeat. Yet despite the unquenchable thirst for him, you looked at him after you gave him a soft peck, slowly leaning away from the searing kiss that left you both breathless, your eyes on his tense face, reading the stoic expression for any signs of discomfort.

He responded by gripping your hips before he moved his hands along the curves of your rear. Slowly he slipped his fingers between your cheeks, down the back of your thighs, gently prying your legs open so you were straddling him, your core now really pressing against his hard cock.

His dark eyes bored into yours, sending deep shivers down your spine, and when he put his hands back on your waist and started guiding you on top of him, you gasped softly and moved with him, sliding your wet folds over his length, every downwards motion rubbing against your clit, the friction and warmth almost too much to bear.

More moans escaped you as you felt your thighs twitching against his, and you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck as you started to feel that tension building in your stomach. Your sore insides contracted, the sharp pain piercing your nerves like tiny daggers, causing you to wince and whine softly, but you leaned into it, you wanted more. And he held you closer, his fingers digging into your skin, moving you faster against him.

Your whole body shuddered, pressed to his, your breasts squished against his broad chest, hard nipples rubbing against his rough chest hair with every upwards motion, your arms cradling his head as you tried to hold onto anything in your growing frenzy. You moved faster against him, grinding, gyrating, bucking your hips into his, your wetness spreading between your bodies, easing the friction, and when your thighs clenched around him and his fingers gripped your waist almost brutally as he groaned beneath you, you felt that knot bursting within you, lights dancing behind your eyelids, an explosion of warmth making you dizzy as you came against him hard.

Writhing and convulsing against him, he held you close as you stopped moving, his arms wrapped around your small frame, his breaths loud in your ear as you whimpered softly through your release. Once you regained a little bit more control over your spasming limbs, you caressed his hair, snuggled your face into his neck before you left a series of hazy kisses on his skin, slowly making your way towards his face until you could capture his mouth with yours.

His big hands moved over your bare back, rubbing soothing circles into it before he slipped one of them into your hair and held your head as he kissed you back with growing fervour, slow and gentle at first, then more passionate, hungry even, and you felt the need burning against your throbbing core. You still felt the slight ache in your loins, but you couldn't care less about the pain as you slowly lifted your hips and shifted on top of him, still glued to his lips.

Before he could stop you, you had slipped a hand between your bodies and gently grabbed his cock. It was already covered in your juices, and you only stroked him a few times, feeling his tight skin moving over his hardened core, before you guided him towards your entrance. He ceased kissing you then, breathing hard against your lips, his dark eyes boring into yours, the silent question lingering between you.

“I'm fine,” you whispered, your warm mouth hovering over his. “Are you?”

He stared at you, long and hard, a gaze full of doubt and worry, but also swimming with lust and desire. And so he gave you a short nod and a grunt, and you didn't hesitate any longer before you lowered yourself onto him, feeling his tip breaching your entrance, slowly sliding deeper. Your walls protested, clenching, the muscles still tight and sore, but you pushed through, literally, with tiny snaps of your hips, forcing yourself onto him until he was buried deep inside of you, and you gasped in pain and relief when he prodded your innermost spot, filling you out completely.

He groaned deeply, your tightness almost too much for him, and he had to close his eyes to adjust to the sensation. His body felt better than when he had woken up, no longer as stiff, but the aches were still there. At least he could hold you in his arms, pressed to his chest, your warmth seeping into him, and knowing you, he wouldn't have to do much else. Yet you also took your time to adjust to his intrusion, to the stretch of your walls, and he could only imagine the pain of your sore muscles and the throbbing bruises he had given you last night.

You were brave, stronger than you looked, but also just as stubborn as he was. Too stubborn to let pain get in your way. A trait you certainly had in common. When you eventually moved, he saw the strain on your beautiful face. One of his hands moved to your cheek, tracing the scar that was a constant reminder of how resilient and valiant you truly were, every protruding line a testament of what you had to overcome in your young life.

You watched him closely, lips parted and trembling as you started grinding your hips against him, and whenever you winced, he would caress you gently, hold you tightly, show you his support. Your cheeks warmed beneath his touch, and you smiled softly at him, moved by his constant display of affection.

He pulled you closer then, pressing his lips to yours lovingly, a slow and kind kiss, and while your hips stilled against him, you kissed him back just as mildly, simply savouring the feeling of his hardness resting inside you, your walls holding him firmly, slowly easing around the stretch. A sudden fatigue washed over you, and you could have fallen asleep like that, but you were too selfless after all to leave him hanging like that.

It was only fair to give him the same release you'd had earlier. And surely it would help him relax and soothe the aches of his stiff limbs. So you started moving again, slowly grinding your hips, lifting them just enough to feel your walls clinging to his shaft before you moved back down, enveloping him fully once more. Your own wetness grew with every motion, easing the friction, allowing you to move faster on top of him.

Eventually you broke the gentle kiss and leaned back, your hands on his shoulders as you looked down at him, your face flushed, lips swollen and raw, pupils dilated. Your chest was rising and falling fast, small breasts bouncing with every slight movement, and he watched you closely, feeling that warmth gathering inside his stomach.

His hands moved up and cupped those soft mounds, calloused fingers kneading your flesh, while rough thumbs teased your nipples, and you arched your back into his touch and leaned backwards more, your hands now resting behind you on his legs, nimble fingers massaging his sore muscles at the same time as you used them as leverage while you started to bounce up and down on him, faster and harder, your walls clenching around his cock, your bum smacking against his thighs, your noises filling the air, mixing with that wet squelching sound you got more and more accustomed to.

Goosebumps rippled over your skin, your mewls falling from your open mouth, as you rode him to your heart's content, eyes fluttering close as you succumbed to the tension building up inside, that sweet, searing warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

You barely noticed when his hands left your breasts to move lower, sliding along your sides, holding your hips, but then he moved one hand even lower, and when the rough pad of his finger brushed against your throbbing clit, you cried out and convulsed on top of him.

He rubbed you through your approaching release, as your muscles contracted around him, your straining thighs twitched, your arms shook as you gripped his legs in support. Stars danced in front of your eyes as you mewled and moaned, barely able to keep your rhythm, but then he started jerking his hips upwards, pushing you right over the edge.

You came hard on his cock, wetness seeping past your connection, your walls so tight around him he let out a deep grunt, then more strained groans, and the hand that was not assaulting your clit held onto your hip tight enough to leave bruises as you felt him twitching against and inside you.

You were floating on your high, head spinning, heart racing, breaths too erratic to get any oxygen into your empty lungs, and yet you tried your best to pull him along the edge with you, forcing yourself to move despite the spasming of your body and weak state of your limbs, and in the end he came right after you, his loud moan sending shivers down your already tingling spine.

You felt him pushing in all the way, stilling there, then erupting deep within, his warmth filling you to the brim and beyond as he painted your walls and shot his seed straight into your womb, past the bruises he'd left last night. The pain was welcome, adding to the sensation of blissful delirium.

A soft little whimper escaped you as you froze in your position on top of him, hands holding his thighs, back arched, hair falling over your shoulder, face contorted in nothing but pure ecstasy while your body moulded to his, deeply connected through warmth and wetness and deeper feelings of belonging and affection. He was a part of you, physically and mentally, and it pained you to think about ever having to leave him.

Slowly you came down from your high, arms and legs going limp, and still you remained sitting on him, holding onto him, not wanting to move to break the magic that swirled around you, connecting you on so many levels. His warm hands found your thighs, gently rubbing your pebbled flesh as the occasional wave of goosebumps rushed over your skin whenever he twitched against your bruised cervix.

You felt hot and cold at the same time, and yet you didn't want the sensation to ever stop. The pain was as exhilarating as it was addictive. Once you regained a semblance of control, you even ground deeper against him, wanting him to really press into those bruises, and whenever he did, you'd wince and whimper, shudders crashing through your body.

He watched you for a long moment, mesmerized by those sounds falling from your lips and those tiny twitches that vibrated through his body as well, but the strained expression on your face worried him. His hands found your waist, and even though you protested, he gently lifted you off him. Your walls clung to him, not wanting to let go either, but eventually your connection broke, his spent member slipped out, his seed dripping from your clenching cunt in thick globs, and you rolled off him and onto your side, sighing deeply as you nestled against him.

Wrapping one arm around your tiny frame, he pulled you halfway onto his chest, your head heavy on his shoulder. Your hand rested on his warm skin, his heartbeat steady against your palm, as you relaxed fully, the pain slowly ebbing away into a lazy throbbing deep within. At least it distracted you from the empty feeling inside, but the sudden coldness still gripped your limbs and made you quiver against him.

He raised his free hand and flicked his finger to summon a thick blanket that moved up and gently enveloped both of your bodies, the warmth welcome, even if it was only external. Breathing deeply against him, you looked up at him, surprised to meet his dark gaze.

“How –” you both started at the same time, causing you to giggle and him to grunt a short, deep laugh. He tilted his chin and gave you a curt nod.

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, rubbing his chest under the blanket.

“Better,” he said, and it wasn't even a lie. Your efforts to relax him were definitely successful. He wouldn't leave this bed anytime soon (and frankly, he didn't want to either), but he felt content, and the soreness in his muscles wasn't as incapacitating anymore. “What about you?” he then returned the question, and you bit your lip.

“I'm good,” you replied.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, your cheeks blushing deeply.

“You're not sore?” he asked, frowning doubtfully.

You gave him a soft chuckle. “Oh, I am sore,” you said truthfully, yet before he could say anything, you leaned up and kissed his jaw. “But I love it...” He raised an eyebrow. “It's something I take with me when I have to leave you, your bed, your room, when I have to pretend to be just another student. It reminds me –” You inhale deeply, rubbing your nose against his rough cheek. “It reminds me how lucky I am...”

“Lucky?” he grunted, pulling you slightly closer to him while his free hand moved up to trace patterns on your temple until he moved his attention to your scar again.

“Yes, lucky. Lucky that you allowed me into your life,” you whispered, watching him closely. Neither of you were particularly good at talking about feelings, you mostly conveyed those through actions, so you were a little nervous about your confession.

He looked at you, his face the stoic mask he always wore, but there was a warmth in his dark eyes, the creases around them deepening slightly. “But I'm the lucky one,” he then said quietly, his voice low and husky. “To have such an incredible young woman at my disposal...” He winked at you. “No, I mean it, I am lucky to have you, lucky you indulge me so much...” His face grew more serious again, and you felt your heart swelling and skipping simultaneously. “I truly don't deserve you,” he added darkly, his hand cupping your cheek gently.

“And what makes you think I deserve you?” you whispered back, blinking quickly as you felt your eyes watering. “I'm just a simple girl... nothing special... and you are... you –”

He shushed you by pulling your face up and against his lips, his kiss demanding and sweet at the same time. You sank into the touch, closing your eyes, kissing him back with a desperation that almost scared you. You needed him, so much it hurt, and the pain was not necessarily the good kind. A single tear slipped from your lashes, and when he felt it against his calloused fingers, he leaned back slowly, looking at you warmly.

“Sweetheart, you are very special to me,” he rasped against your lips, his thumb wiping at your cheek.

“A-and you... t-to me...” you replied, choking on your words as a strange feeling flooded your insides, making it hard to speak. It settled deep in your stomach, a weird fluttering motion, warm and enticing, something you could get used to, something you wouldn't want to miss ever again.

He smiled at you and kissed you again before he pulled you tighter against him, his strong arms encircling you protectively. A single sob escaped you as you pressed your face against his neck. You felt him exhale loudly against you.

It should have never come to this.

He didn't even know how it had started. In the beginning he had just wanted to console you, help you along, show you that a simple scar didn't have to define your life and that no one should judge you for it. And somewhere along the way, you had turned it around, you had helped him, first by being there for him, spending time with him, smiling and listening and just enjoying his company. And then...

Then things had taken another turn, and he had started to feel attracted to you, to your beautiful face as well as your beautiful soul. Your kind, lovable, innocent soul. You were still so pure to him, even now (despite the highly inappropriate things he made you do, or rather he inspired you to do to him). He had torn down the wall he had erected, telling himself to never engage with a student, but the line had been crossed so easily, and it had felt right to hold you in his arms, to kiss you, to connect with you, to become one.

You had made him feel cherished, desirable, you still did, whenever your deep eyes would stare into his soul, he knew how much he meant to you, how far the both of you had taken this relationship. Relationship. Something he had never wanted, and yet here he was, holding you in his arms, feeling the love you had for him even though you couldn't quite voice it yet. But he felt it, in every touch, every kiss, saw it in every look, every smile, every blush of your cheeks.

And when he had felt the cold stab of jealousy, the need to call you his and his alone, he had known he felt the same, and he hoped you would see it in his eyes too. Even though he had never wanted this, he was very glad you had stepped into his life.

Pressing his lips to the top of your head, he held you close, taking in your sweet scent, feeling your warmth seeping into his body, easing the pain in his tight muscles. He wished he could give you more to remember him by than the soreness you seemed to be so strangely fond of.

So he opened up even more, more than he would have allowed himself before he had met you. His voice was raw and gruff, very quiet, but you heard him all the same when he whispered:

“I love you...”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and another tear fell from your eyes as you gave a pleasantly surprised little giggle. You had never expected to hear this from him. Despite all the intimacies you had already shared, just how close you were to him, and with how often you saw each other, you had never even hoped to hear these three words that felt so heavy and yet so light, they made you feel so warm and fuzzy, and the pain within your body dissipated immediately.

“I...” you whispered and leaned up slowly, nuzzling your nose against his neck, then his jaw, and when you kissed his cheek, you noticed how warm it felt. He had his eyes closed, feigning ignorance, but you knew he was waiting for a reply. So you leaned over him and kissed him softly. “I love you, too...” you breathed against his lips.

He acknowledged your words with a deep grunt that vibrated through your body before he kissed you back gently, firmly, until his hands grabbed your hair, and he pulled you in more, conveying all those emotions he couldn't possibly put into words into actions as usual.

That was your dynamic, and you were completely fine with it as you rolled on top of him and kissed him hungrily, already forgetting how you had started your morning, already wanting more.

Always wanting more.

End notes: Uhh, a declaration of love, yuck! No, really, I was debating if it fit here, or if it was too much. But I've now written four parts (a fifth is already in the making) of this constellation, and I feel these characters would be at this point now. They didn't have much dialogue before, so this felt a little strange, but also completely right and necessary! Sometimes, you need a little bit of fluff to your smut, right?

Also it's rather tame, but it was the aftermath of a rough night, so I didn't want to overdo it. They'll do more in the next part, I promise!

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp #daddy sharp #hogwarts legacy smut #aesop sharp x reader #reader insert #next part is here

36 notes · View notes