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daisyblog · 11 months

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Teddy

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry surprises YN with a new little addition to their family. Warning: swearing

Harry was hoping he could have surprised YN for Christmas, but with everything going on and travelling between London, Cheshire and Doncaster, it just wasn't possible. So on a cold wintery morning in late January, Harry travels across London with Jeff to pick up the new little addition. After chatting with the seller, who Harry had met before with his mother, and her explaining a few things to them about the pup that had grown since the last time Harry had seen him, they were on their way back to Harry and YN's home in London to surprise her.

The little black pup, who was sleeping soundly, was laying in Harry's arms as Jeff drove. Harry tickled the pup's little head as he smiled down at him.

"She's going to freak out isn't she?" Jeff asked, as he glanced over at his friend.

Harry let out a chuckle "Yeh..she's been talking about getting a dog for ages but it just never seemed like the right time..but I think she could do with a little friend"

"You really are a soppy fucker aren't you?" Jeff teased.

"You call it soppy I call it romantic Jeffrey" Harry argued with a proud grin on his lips.

"So I'm guessing this little guy is gonna join us for the tour then" Jeff assumed, as he pulled into the driveway.

"Opening act I heard" Harry joked.

As Harry and Jeff had planned, Harry walked through the door first and his manager followed him with the pup in his arms. YN was sat on the stool at their kitchen counter, working on some the designs for the new business project, and another way of keeping her mind busy.

"Babe?" Harry shouted into the house as he entered, to hear YN shout back 'kitchen'. Walking towards the kitchen, Harry couldn't keep the little smirk off his face.

"Hey..how was the meeting?" YN asked, after Harry greeted her with a peck to the lips. "Hi Jeff" she greeted, before continuing to work the pencil against the paper, until she took another glance at him "Is that a fookin' puppy?" her grin shining through.

Jeff looked down at the pug "Uh no...I think it's a giraffe" he sarcastically replied, making Harry chuckle "Of course it's a puppy you fucking melon". YN and Jeff had a very unique friendship, it was very rare you would see them both having a serious conversation, it was constant witty remarks, jokes and sarcastic comments. And of course, YN was known for her bold personality and not shying away from saying exactly what she thought.

"Oi..who you calling a melon..cheeky fucker" YN playfully scolded whilst giving the pup a stroke on his head "I can get you fired yah know" Harry watched the scnce in front of him, almost like a game of tennis, just waiting to see which one would back down first.

"I'm sure you can darling..but who's going to look after your dog on tour?" YN's eyes widened, mouth opening and closing.

"Fook off!" YN eye's darted to Harry "You're lying"

"All ours baby" Harry smiled, watching Jeff pass the little pug over so YN could hold him. The whole thing made his heart melt, the way YN cradled him in her arms and tickled his little nose.

"I can't believe it" YN smiled and walked over to where Harry stood, placing her hand behind his neck to pull him to her lips. As their lips moved together, she muttered a thank you baby.

Jeff interrupted the couple, continuing to tease the Yorkshire girl "On that note..I'm gonna go before I see any tongue movement" to which YN stuck up her finger to him. Like brother, like sister - Harry thought as he pulled YN into his arms to hold her from behind.

"Bye Jeff" Harry shook his head at his girl and friend.

"Bye lovebirds"

Once Jeff had left, Harry turned so he could see the puppy still in YN's arms. "So you're happy then?"

"More than 'appy" YN smiled up at him "You're the best..you know that?"

"Oh stop..you're feeding my ego" he joked.

"What shall we name him?"

"Uh..that's up to you..name him whatever you want love"

YN looked down at the sleeping pup, names running through her mind, until she spoke "Teddy"

"Teddy..I love it" Harry complimented "Welcome home little Ted"

YN couldn't wait to FaceTime both their families to show them little Teddy. So after popping out to the shops to pick up everything the little pup needed, bed, blankets, food and of course, YN couldn't resist the sage green colour and lead.

The couple were sat on the sofa, Teddy cuddled on YN's lap, and YN's phone leaning against the ornament on the coffee table in front of them as they waited for Louis to answer. After a few rings..

"'ello Tiny..you alright?" Louis greeted "Whot the fook is that on your lap?"

"Meet Teddy" YN smiled as she lifted him so Louis could see him better.

"He's yours?"

"Yeh..Harry went to pick him today and surprised me with him"

"Fookin' 'ell Styles...you really do set the bar high don't you for every other boyfriend in the world" Louis teased.

Harry grinned as he shrugged his shoulders "Anything to see her smile"

"Well I'll pop over tomorrow to see him"

Next, they called Gemma, who picked up immediately when she saw her future sister-in-law's name.

"Hi loves" Gemma's grin was seen on the screen.

"We want you to meet someone" Harry spoke.

YN lifted Teddy up, and a big 'awwww' was heard through the speaker.

"Meet Teddy" YN told Gemma.

"I want him" Gemma confessed and she brought herself closer to the screen "I guess this is as close as I'm going to be to being an Auntie for a while?"

"Yeh..sorry Gem..I've got a clothing line to sort" YN laughed.

"When can I see my little nephew then?"

"Gem you literally live twenty minutes away" Harry stated with a chuckle and running his fingers through his hair.

"True...you need to show Mum"

"Mum already knew..she helped me buy him" Harry admitted "You know how much she loves animals..I thought at first she wasn't going to let me keep him when we went to see them"

YN's heart melted at the thought of Harry and Anne going to choose their puppy. They really had the best relationship, one that reminded her of Louis and their Mum, one she hoped for if she were to have children one day.

And last they called the Tomlinson sisters, a very chaotic call compared to the others. The four girls argued about who was going to hold the phone and then they bickered about who was going to hold Teddy first. It was safe to say Teddy was very much loved!

・・・・

liked by lottietomlinson, harrystyles, and 875,467,931 others

yntomlinson Welcome to the family Teddy💙 View all 19,316 comments

1dfan9 OMG TEDDY! 😍

YNfan He's so cute! Love his name xx

harryfan3 YN we need photos of Harry and Teddy plssssss

annetwist Precious little baby 😍💙

gemmastyles I'm officially a dog-Auntie 😎

jefezoff Should have named him Melon! ⌙ yntomlinson Leave my baby alone Jeffrey

mitchrowland Bring the little dude to the studio ⌙ yntomlinson Only if you let me play One Direction songs ⌙ mitchrowland You do anyway? ⌙ harryfan5 YN is the biggest 1D fan, she's one of us 💞

lottietomlinson Cutest baby boy 😍 I'm in love

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney fanfictioncafe lilfreakjez jerseygirlinca iamahallucinationnn @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @indierockgirrl hittiesontour

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allwaswell16 · 7 months

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All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in September 2023. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #54 | ko-fi | fic recs

—Harry/Louis—

🍁 And What If I Were You by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 109k, famous/not famous) For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him? For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart? And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever?

🍂 Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 44k, mystery) Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

🍁 Endgame by @brightgolden

(E, 38k, royal au) Where omega Crown Prince Harry Styles is trying and failing to get pregnant for four years, but all that is about to change when courtesan alpha Louis Tomlinson comes into the equation.

🍂 That Howling Infinite by @sweettartine

(E, 27k, uni) the one where Louis and Harry fall in love while reading Moby Dick.

🍁 Might've Took The Long Way by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(M, 21k, exes to lovers) Now Harry is back in town, and no matter how many times Louis tells himself they can't be together, they keep falling right back into each other.

🍂 Ace of Hearts by @allwaswell16

(E, 10k, historical) Louis Tomlinson, the alpha Duke of Yorkshire, had returned to England to stay now that he’d married and mated. But since his husband was also the omega he’d once held captive aboard his half-brother’s pirate ship, he held back from pushing Harry into parenthood. Part 3 of Ace of Spades

🍁 Feels Like Magic by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(M, 10k, Marcel) It's been two incredible years with the best boyfriend Marcel could ask for, but is his biggest fear starting to become a reality? Has it really all been too good to be true? Part 2 of Marcel

🍂 Light Up Any Room by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(E, 10k, Marcel) Marcel is a little nervous about having to give a speech at the library’s annual charity gala, but thankfully he has Louis right by his side supporting him. And later that night, Louis shows Marcel just how proud of him he is. Part 3 of Marcel

🍁 In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 9k, famous/not famous) Online dating isn't exactly working for Harry. In fact, it couldn't really be going much worse. But then the door of the bar opens, and the pack of friends walking in parts and - that’s Louis Tomlinson.

🍂 Court Wine by @enchantedlandcoffee , red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 7k, a/b/o) after a misunderstanding during a scrabble game, Alpha Louis starts courting Omega Harry without the latter being aware of it.

🍁 I Remember (The Distances We Covered) by @lululawrence

(NR, 5k, famous/not famous) @ColleenisStylish: @LouisTomlinson my dad thinks he’s sat next to you on a train from Edinburgh right now, so if you could confirm that would be amazing. His name is Harry and he’s just had white wine and says you’re on red

🍂 U-Pop Truck Stop by @kingsofeverything

(E, 4k, truckers) After driving their big rigs all day, Harry and Louis park at the same truck stop.

🍁 Eyes so blue, Shorts so red by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(G, 2k, alien Harry) Alien Harry discovers poetry.

🍂 Tongue Tied by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 1k, roommates) “I wish that I could tell Harry that I love him, instead of getting all tongue tied and chickening out.” The Irishman winked. “You never know, your wish may just come true.”

🍁 Enemies to Lovers by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 1k, poem) There's something happening at Styles' place. Louis can sense it. He's good like that.

🍂 My Muse by skipper / @skipperxao3

(NR, 1k, older Harry/Louis) My love, my life, my everything. Until the day I die, you will never cease to be my muse.

🍁 The Lovers by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 1k, tarot cards) “Come inside,” an eerie voice seemed to echo from the darkness. “Come inside, and seek your destiny.”

🍂 Are We In the Clear by asphodelknox / @iamasphodelknox

(M, 1k, historical) Louis and Harry meet across a crowded court at a time when falling in love would mean their destruction. With help from a friend, they run for their freedom.

🍁 Gaydar Lessons by @homosociallyyours

(G, 1k, girl direction) While standing around after softball practice for the company's women's softball team, Harry gets caught (and caught up) in staring at Louis as she eats a ripe, juicy peach. If only she could be certain that Louis was into women.

—Rare Pairs—

🍂 You Are A Song by @lululawrence

(NR, 3k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) To Louis, Nick felt like poetry in motion. He was a bit of chaos surrounding Louis’ otherwise monotonous days, and Louis was quickly becoming addicted.

🍁 bet on it by @nouies

(E, 2k, Louis/OMC) a fic inspired by Louis at the barricade during AFHF

🍂 you are the magic in me by @beardyboyzx

(NR, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Zayn is eight when he meets the Prince for the first time. His dad is being knighted — the King has seen the way he fought to defend his village from the enemies of the Kingdom and has decided to gift him a piece of land and a title.

#28th appreciation #ficrec #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #trackinghome #ficsfor4am #tracksintheam #1dsource #hltracks

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domsanim · 11 days

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"I'm you, Cyn."

//Jujutsu Kaisen & Murder Drones Episode 7 Spoilers!!! bewarb!!!

This was fun to make (also rlly proud of that background oh my lord)

alsooo those dogs on the second page are a Yorkshire Terrier and a Golden Retriever respectively (those are the breeds i see ppl hc'ing cyn and n as)

Original Panels for Reference !!

#digital art #murder drones #glitch productions #serial designation n #n murder drones #murder drones cyn #md cyn #cynessa #murder drones ep 7 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk manga panel redraw

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sitp-recs · 8 months

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my most dearest Liv, I am so grateful for your existence upon this platform. thank you for running this gem of a blog.

I sincerely hope you’ll forgive me for this annoyance but I was hoping you could recommend fics with a draco that secretly loves physical intimacy and doesn’t shy from it later on w harry.

thank you so much ily

Thank you anon, that’s so lovely 🥹♥️ I’m sorry it took me ages to reply, this ask got lost in my drafts and I found it while cleaning my backlog. I really loved making this list because there are a few underrated gems here, I’ve marked the ones with less than 100 comments with an *. Enjoy!

* On Permanence by @the-starryknight (2021, M, 1.4k)

The possibility of going home with Draco is the only reason Harry comes to the club anymore. Tonight, there's a new kind of intimacy to be found outside the neon noise.

Let Me Count the Ways by @thebooktopus (E, 3.5k)

Intimacy comes in many forms. Draco wants to explore them all with Harry.

Is This Love? by @phd-mama (2021, E, 3.8k)

Draco wouldn’t call himself a tender man. He fights the forces of evil for a living, trying his best to pay penance for the evil he’s done. He’s fought and killed in the name of duty, and when he’s not on duty, he tends either to play hard or retreat alone. He doesn’t lean on anyone, and he knows he’s not the first person anyone goes to when they need care. Comfort. That all changes tonight.

Thermodynamic Equilibrium by @dorthyanndrarry (2017, T, 5k)

Harry's far too hot. Draco's always cold. And somehow against all odds, together they create a perfect equilibrium.

Two Starts, One Finish by @lqtraintracks (E, 5.4k)

I feel him before I see him. Nobody stands this close to me while I’m playing, and I’m about to turn to tell him so when he says, “You’re a tough bloke to track down,” and then leans against my baby grand.

* Service Bell by @shiftylinguini (E, 8k)

Draco is: a werewolf, living in a cabin in the woods, minding his own business, and never going to buy plaid because he's not that much of a fucking cliche (yet). He's also counting down the days until he sees Harry again.

* A Truth Universally Acknowledged by @sorrybutblog (2021, M, 19k)

A year out from the war, Harry agrees to accompany Hermione on a historical walking tour of Pride and Prejudice. Not in the itinerary: running into Draco Malfoy, setting off a summer of stately homes, lavish parties, resentful shagging, and maybe, falling in love.

Nice Things by aideomai (2020, M, 22k)

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

The Last of What the World Left You by @xanthippe74 (T, 25k)

If the wizarding world won’t give Draco a second chance, he has a plan to survive: live in his Animagus form, a carrion crow, in the Forbidden Forest. Not only does Harry Potter come along and ruin it, he’s radiating a strange aura of power. With nowhere to go and a Life-Debt to his mother that Potter insists on repaying, Draco puts himself into the hands of the reclusive Boy Who Lived. Will the bleak corner of Yorkshire where Potter makes his home be another dead end or an unexpected refuge?

REVOLVEVLOVER by firethesound, zeitgeistic (E, 46k)

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.

* The Darkness Before the Dawn by Ren (E, 55k)

A mysterious creature is loose in London, stalking and killing people. Auror Harry Potter requests the help of a liaison from the Beast Division and gets saddled with Draco Malfoy. Will they be able to stop the creature before it claims more lives?

Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (2022, T, 57k)

Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse. That is, until he stumbles upon the surreal and beautiful world of a mysterious fae creature…

A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (2020, T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit. Featuring a grumpy antiques lover who most certainly did not sign up for this, encounters with a vengeful apparition, and a healthy application of Christmas spirit.

Monster by @orange-peony (2022, E, 71k)

“Well, it’s still a music box that is not working properly,” Hermione points out with a very intent grin. “That will give you a chance to see him.” She wiggles her eyebrows, making him snort. As if Harry hadn’t thought about it straight away. As if Harry’s mind hadn’t immediately wandered to Draco Malfoy the moment Zabini mentioned a music box.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (E, 128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter. Hiding out with a taciturn Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #physical intimacy

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 1 year

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where you cook for Simon but the food's not all he eats

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

WARNINGS: food description. established situationship. domestic and angsty. also exactly what it sounds like. 18+ only.

LENGTH: 3.4k

The horror of developing feelings for someone with whom there was no chance of reciprocity was that the heart didn’t care. The heart continued to free-fall and make a constant and consistent fool out of you.

< Prev Part || Next Part >

_____

In all fairness, you had tried your best to stop it, anticipating how things would end. You’d thought about asking for some space—as though Simon Riley didn’t routinely leave for weeks, if not months— hoping you’d find the reset button in your chest that would restore the status quo.

And then he’d come back from…wherever his job had taken him this time around, asked if he could see you.

You were quite proud of how you’d resisted for an entire quarter of an hour before responding.

Sunday roast at mine?

What do you need me to bring?

Just be there.

You spend the rest of the week daydreaming about prepping vegetables and cooking meat, as though your heart didn’t threaten to burst out of your chest, as though you weren’t thrilled at the opportunity of doing this domestic thing for him, with him, as though everything would be okay if he just ate a home-cooked meal with you.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t eaten together before. But you couldn’t help but feel that this was different.

You cooked over 200 covers at work everyday. Fuck, you’d gotten into this profession—given up so many things to get good at your job—to feed people. To make people happy using the food you put in front of them. You knew you were good at it.

But cooking a meal for Simon? Pretending you were someone to him, feeding him on a Sunday afternoon, pretending to be the pinnacle of domesticity? It was almost too much.

It was almost too much because it was exactly what you wanted.

_____

Sunday turns out to be the perfect day for your lunch. Thunder and lightning rage outside your kitchen window, trying brilliantly to outdo one another and you decide that you’ve never been more glad that he’s with you.

You’re honing your knife while he hovers at your elbow, scrutinising your movements.

“So…” you start, and instantly want to kick yourself for being a fool. When has being cagey ever gotten you anywhere with him? “When was the last time you ate a home cooked meal?”

He grunts and shifts on his feet. He’s leaning against your kitchen counter while you stand beside him, working on it. He’s so effortlessly sexy, it irritates you to no end. “You ‘ave something to say about ration packs, dove?”

“As a tax-payer that funds them? No. As someone who cooks for a living? Mm, yes.” You notice how his eyes follow the movement of your knife across the chopping board. “How does it work, do you guys get normal meals when you’re on base?”

“Jesus, watch your fingers!” he grunts, and your eyes slowly turn back to the chopping board, secretly pleased. “And what the fuck do you mean, ‘course there’s food on base.” Oh, he’s nice and annoyed now.

Time to strike.

“I meant, like, good meals. Satisfying, nutritious stuff.”

“Sure,” he shrugs. Then sighs and his chin juts out to motion at the meat he’d helpfully stuck in the oven for you. “Nothing like this, though. Not fancy.”

You snort, and it’s an unattractive noise that leaves you. “This is a roast lunch, Simon. This is not fancy. Fanciest part of this is the Yorkshire pudding, and only because I’m making it from scratch.”

“Could’ve bought it made, dove,” he points out, decidedly unhelpfully.

“Heh, no.”

He keeps you company in the kitchen the whole way through. When you tell him to go sit down, maybe put something on on the telly, entertain himself for a bit, he shakes his head. Came here to be with you, yeah? So he stays.

He asks intelligent questions about your work, what you do, but also why you do things a certain way. Some answers come easy, but others you need to think about. He stays silent during that time, never pushes, content to wait while you think about your answer.

Eventually, the two of you fall into silence—but it’s what you recognise, what you’re comfortable with. He’s not much of a natural conversationalist and you cherish being in a kitchen with your own thoughts—not a luxury you’re often afforded.

“Why aren’t you workin’ today? Thought you didn’t take Sundays off.”

“Hm? Oh I don’t. I can’t, usually, it’s one of the busiest days of the week. But I haven’t really taken a weekend off in like 6 months, thought I’d do it now.”

“And you’re spending your time off from cooking by cooking.” It’s a statement of fact, but his voice has an edge.

You stay silent at first, the motion of your knife methodically working across the chopping board both familiar and reassuring. “It’s…different. Cooking at work and cooking at home. I wouldn’t fucking bother with this usually, true, it’s cereal and beers for me on Sundays, but you have not had a decent roast in some time.” You shrug. “I’m more than happy to spend my day off changing that.”

The oven beeps, and he moves wordlessly to pull the meat out, the rich fragrance of the red wine the meat was cooking in instantly permeating your house. Checking the internal temperature quickly, you direct him to put the meat back in and close the oven door. “About 20 minutes on the meat, then half an hour to rest. We’ll pop the Yorkshires in while the meat rests and then all we’ve got to do is roast the pine nuts. You want to help me make the spuds?”

“Yes,” he mutters, gruff.

“Yes, chef,” you correct, and instantly freeze, your eyes going wide. Shit.

Through the periphery of your vision, you see his body slowly turn towards you, his arm outstretched. He grabs your forearm and jerks him to you. “You like being called that in your kitchen?” His voice is raspy but soft, and it makes you shudder, makes your breathing shallow.

“It’s a sign of respect,” you whisper.

“I respect you,” he whispers back. The hand on your arm winds its way around and rests on your ass. “Respect you so much, sweet girl. Look at you.”

And if anyone, anyone else, had said those words, you’d be put off, offended. By all means, they should be mocking, condescending. But his voice pours so much…reverence into the words, he could almost be singing a love song to you. It jars you, the warmth with which he says the words, makes you want to retreat and hide, as much as it makes you preen.

He doesn’t give you the opportunity to do either.

“Love seein’ you work. So controlled. Organised.” He bends down to you to peck you on the cheek through his balaclava, and your eyes close involuntarily. “You’re gorgeous, chef.” With that, he releases you, and steps back.

You take a second to remember how to breathe, then turn back to work with a flushed face. Your skin feels warm, and your fingers have a slight tremor to them. This is what Simon does to you. He says a few words to you but so ardently and with so much quiet sincerity that your heart overflows. It makes you feel like an unmoored boat at sea. Free to roam the ocean, see sights beyond imagination, free to fight against a storm but come apart anyway. He is both. He is everything.

The feeling that washes over you then makes you pause, but only for a split second. Of course you feel the way you feel. It’s not just sex for you (was it ever?) but what about him?.

You don’t know what he’s thinking, you reason. Maybe this has turned into not-just-sex for him too. You choose to stay quiet.

What you don’t know about his feelings can’t break your heart.

_____

Lunch is subdued.

Correction: You’re pleased with how lunch turns out, lunch is fine, but Simon is subdued. Well. Maybe subdued isn’t the right word, but he looks thoughtful. Reflective, even.

He eats quietly, the mask sitting on the gentle bridge of his nose, exposing his lips and his lower cheeks. He even goes for seconds, which makes your insides feel exactly like the warm pomegranate molasses you’ve been experimenting with at work.

After you’re both done, he offers to clean up—bringing you a glass of wine and practically pushing you out to your living room. The day’s excitement (and your broken sleep from the night before) finally catch up with you, and you acquiesce easily, though not before you turn around quickly for a sneaky view. Simon’s got his sleeves neatly folded up, his tattoo on full display. He cleans the dishes with a precision you would normally use to plate up at work. His concentration never wavers, his motions calculated and steady and…you shouldn’t be surprised.

But, he’s a soldier, you reason. Precision is what he does for a living. More importantly for you, Simon has made you come on his hand, on his tongue, on his cock enough times for you to know quite well by now that he can focus on a task, give it his absolute attention, and that he can keep doing it for hours on end. The thought makes you rub your thighs together, your insides warming.

“Alright, dove?”

Simon’s voice is closer than you expect, and you jerk out of your daydreaming with a start.

He stands behind you, his hand slowly landing on your shoulder, and you lean your head back over the headrest of your settee to look at him, his features equally as lovely from your upside down perspective. The mask has come back down over his face, but his eyes are soft. “You look cosy.”

“Food coma,” you smile. “Lunch okay?”

“Lunch was great, pet,” he says and your relief makes your eyes close of their own accord.

His hands move over your shoulders firmly, massaging the tension from them, and you completely sink into the seat. His hands are calloused, rough, but so warm. His fingers work the muscles in your shoulder, kneading them and releasing knots in your shoulders you didn’t even realise you had.

“Oh, oh, mm” you groan, and you can’t even tell your spine from your settee anymore.

“Christ, dove,” he murmurs. “What did you do to yourself?”

“On my feet 13 hours a day,” you gasp, as his hands move on to the muscles in your neck. “Horrible posture.”

“Pretty girl…let me take care of you.” The words are a whisper that makes your eyes open.

His words are innocent enough, but the way he looks at you makes the muscles in your stomach free-fall and your heart clench in anticipation.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats. And without breaking eye contact, he walks around you, taking your empty wine glass from your hand and setting it on your coffee table, and lifts you bridal style into his arms, walking slowly towards your bedroom.

It drives you insane, the slow walk, the eyes that burn into yours. Something’s changed. You’d thought he was contemplative before, lost in his thoughts over lunch, but whatever he was thinking about then, he seems to have made up his mind.

He sets you on the bed lightly, and within seconds he’s on top of you, kissing you. The kiss starts out slow enough, his mouth gentle but unyielding against yours. If you had your way, you’d kiss this man until the heat death of the universe, and even then, you’d only let him go because the matter you were both made of had fused with each other forever.

He continues to kiss you, his hands moving over your body, manoeuvring you slowly, so he ends up kneeling on the floor in between your spread legs. The lace that covers your cunt is past the point of no return, completely soaked and entirely ruined, just by the burning thought of what Simon’s about to do to you.

“This okay, yeah?” His words are followed by his hands rubbing up your thighs, green eyes almost black with how dilated they are, looking up at you through his lashes. “Tell me if it’s not.”

“More than okay,” you pant. His attention has moved to the soft underside of your jaw, where his mouth keeps moving, all tongue and teeth on the sensitive skin. Arousal moves through you like liquid lava—burning hot, obliterating all doubt and thoughts equally.

“Will you—can I put my mouth on you?” He asks, his words slightly muffled behind your jaw.

His thumbs move just under the edge of your top and rub against your hip bone, while his teeth bite your bottom lip. “Yeah…yeah okay, Simon.”

_____

Simon Riley, you surmise, must be a really good soldier. Well. He’s certainly got the physique for it—the man is cut—and he’s got the discipline and the attitude. But what he’s got in spades is the ability to follow through.

The man’s knees and back must hurt. He’s a big man, much too big to be comfortable hunched over your pussy the way he currently is. In spite of it all, he shows no signs of discomfort, looks like he’s completely content to eat you out for hours without any signs of stopping.

This okay, darling? You like that, like my tongue inside ya? Gonna come in my mouth, yeah? Gonna use me to get off?

He’s coaxed an orgasm from you already, the sensation of it almost bitter-sweet on your tongue. The first one is always intense with him, you find. It’s the sweetest push and pull, and he’d pushed you to your limit with it, had sucked on your clit like he was trying to pull it from your body. When you’d come down, blinking at him, the scar around his lip was even more pronounced with the arrogant smirk bracketing his mouth. You’d asked sweetly, then whined, then begged to suck his dick, sit on it, touch him, something, anything, but he’d shaken his head.

Took such good care of me already, sweet girl. No one–no one’s ever…So good to me, such a good girl, let me do this please let me do this for you.

He’d gone back for seconds for the second time in the day.

You rise on one elbow, the other hand going up to his head. No hair to fist on account of the balaclava, but you run gentle fingers over his fabric-covered head anyway.

He freezes, two fingers inside you, tongue hot on your clit.

“What,” you pant. “What is it?”

He removes his fingers from you, and your long drawn out whine would be embarrassing if you were working with more than two brain cells.

He’s strangely nervous, his eyes darting to yours and away in a split second.

“I–I like you touching me.”

“Uh–okay.”

“I like you touching my hair.”

That shuts you up. The room is lit by the hint of an afternoon sun and so you’re not exactly sure where this line of conversation is going. Obviously, you want to see his face.

You’re curious about his face, his body, God, you haven’t even seen something as uncontroversial as his shoulders. The flatteringly tight t-shirts he wears are almost always dark and it’s not like he ever takes them off. You’ve seen his Adonis belt in flashes. You’ve seen his cock, obviously. His forearms, his lips. Of course you’re curious.

But most of all, more than anything else, you’re respectful of his boundaries. So you try your best to make him feel safe, never ask about the mask. You don’t need to know his life’s history to know that pain and grief are old friends. It may not be clear on his face—not that you’d know if it was—but it’s there in the way he holds himself, in the way he withdraws sometimes, in the way he’d told you not to expect more from him before he’d ever fucked you.

The memory makes you wilt a bit, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. You put your tongue in your cheek and raise your brows at him, questioningly.

He huffs and shakes his head, almost disbelievingly. “Will you…if I take it off, will you keep your eyes closed.”

It’s phrased like a question, but ends up sounding more assertive than anything.

“I will, I promise. I won’t look,” you whisper. “But…would you like to cover my eyes anyway? There’s some scarves in my closet you can use.”

He gulps. Nods. Stands up stiffly and grabs the first scarf he sees.

He doesn’t make eye contact with you the whole time he covers your eyes, but just before your vision goes dark, you catch the way his throat works hard and his eyes are shiny, the way they are when he’s inside you.

Your eyes finally covered, you shift under him, expecting him to turn his attention back to your aching cunt, but there’s only quiet and hushed rustling of fabric. You feel his hands just barely touch your hair with feather-soft touches and an index finger wraps itself around a strand. He breathes deeply and you feel warm lips on your cheek, before he moves down to your jaw bone. You feel his lips move but you can’t hear his words, can’t read his lips to know what he’s saying. His lips move back to give you one last kiss, just on the corner of your lips, before he scoots down all the way, reaching up to put your hand in his hair, and going back to eating you out.

Simon moves with an urgency now, his legs spread wider, so your cunt is at his eye-level. He’s more desperate, licks you with more fervour. His tongue runs tight circles on your clit, one finger, then two pistoning inside you, finding that spot that has an absolutely devastating effect on you. Each thrust of his fingers pulls a gasp out of your open mouth, his lips so persistent but so gentle on your clit, and suddenly, you wish that you’d never met him, never started this thing that’s going to destroy you when it ends.

You feel tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat, and your whimpers must get his attention because he speeds up slightly, hitting that spot inside you just right and you grind against his face once, twice, three times, while your pleasure washes over you. You let out a small sob, and his hand around your hip tightens in response, but his mouth doesn’t stop moving against your cunt, and you think you get away with it.

You should've known better, though, as the scarf is removed from your eyes in a second, and you feel him hovering over you. You squeeze your eyes shut, your hand quickly going up to your eyes to cover them, wanting to give him that extra bit of comfort that you can’t—won’t—look at him without his permission.

“Pet? What’s–what’s wrong?” His voice is hoarse, and you know he hasn’t put his balaclava back on because you hear every peak and trough of his tone. “Did I hurt you?” he says, and his voice breaks a bit.

“No,” you whisper immediately, your eyes still leaking traitor tears. “I’m sorry, I’m okay I promise, I just came really hard. That’s all. It’s the hormones,” you add, and your small, forced laugh sounds unconvincing, even to you.

You hear him sigh before his hand tries to tugs yours away from your eyes. You resist a bit, then give up, squeezing your eyes shut even harder, until you have a head rush.

“Sweet girl.” The tone of his voice doesn’t sound like he believes you, but thankfully he doesn’t push it. Instead, he melts into you, giving you sweet, open-mouthed kisses on the edges of your lips, sipping your tears, his entwined hands moving behind your neck so he can use the leverage to turn you to your side.

You face each other, just making out for what feels like hours. You’re so, so tired, so exhausted from the long day and the roller-coaster of emotions you always feel around him. Your heart’s in it, but your kisses slow, turn lazy, drawn out. You’re soon hovering on the edge of consciousness, in the dream-like state where you’re aware of your surroundings but missing context when he pulls away from you slightly, and whispers against your lips.

You don’t know what he says.

You don’t find out for a long long time.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #ghost #situationship simon #lumi writes

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 7 months

Text

Paulatim sed Firmiter (Slowly but Surely) - Sunday evening

Only one scene to go and (multi) chapter 11 is wrapped

Unless I get murdered for this one lol

Warnings: None, just domestic fluff

Taglist: @glitterypirateduck @letsreadallday @jamesrifftapes @rileyslibrarian

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Sunday evening

Captain Price and Dr. Green’s house

John’s proud beaming face was proof enough to his wife that she had been right about persuading him to invite the ‘kids’ to dinner. Also, the bigger dinner table had been a success, allowing them all to be comfortably seated, and the numerous dishes to be displayed on it.

Heather had roasted a couple of big chickens, made vegetable sides, mashed potatoes, gravy, Yorkshire puddings… and had thought it wouldn’t be enough, given the unholy appetite of the four men present. Johnny had an endless pit in the place where his stomach should be, Kyle was no better, her husband was another bottomless hole when it came to food, and even Simon, given the opportunity, ate like there was no tomorrow.

Thankfully, Kyle brought apple crumble and ice-cream for the dessert, Gabi brought tasty, delicious rice with beans as per her home country recipe, and Christine not only brought a Spanish charcuterie board, but also made a lasagna. Johnny and Simon appeared with several wine bottles, which were as welcomed as the food brought by the others.

And given the rate at which they were eating, there would be no leftovers.

‘‘I can’t believe you’d date a helicopter pilot after almost falling out of one’’ Johnny laughed at Kyle, who didn’t look offended in the slightest as he kept stuffing his mouth full of food with a wide smile.

‘‘Diego is not Nikolai. He doesn’t fly like a madman at least’’

‘‘Who’s Nikolai?’’ Christine and Gabi asked almost at the same time, with genuine curiosity, and John started an intrincate explanation about who the Russian fixer was, that they went way back and even Heather knew him, and told a flowery tale about the time when Gaz almost fell off the helicopter during Kate Laswell’s rescue…

‘‘Wait, wait, wait’’ Christine interrupted, her blue eyes wide and a surprised look on her face. ‘‘What do you mean, ‘rescue’? When did that happen?’’

‘‘November last year’’ Kyle clarified, stealing the last Yorkshire pudding from Johnny’s plate before he noticed.

‘‘Ye bloody asshole…!’’ Johnny complained, trying to steal it back, but Kyle had already taken a bit out of it. ‘‘Ah’ll get back at ye for that!’’

‘‘Johnny, language!’’ Gabi laughed, slapping lightly his arm.

The food by then was mostly gone. After hosting the boys several times, Heather had learned soon that instead of serving entrées, mains and dessert, it was better to just place everything on the table and sit back to enjoy the spectacle. Some were still stuffing themselves with the remains of the chickens, while others were already enjoying the dessert.

Everyone looked full and content, which made her heart happy, and she smiled at her husband. John smiled back at her, and his hand found hers under the table, brushing his calloused thumb on her palm.

‘‘You look happy, sweetheart’’

‘‘I am’’ Heather whispered back, still smiling. ‘‘I like having them here. Can we do this more often?’’

‘‘Not weekly’’ John rushed to say, and she laughed.

‘‘No, no… but a couple times a month at least’’

John grunted non-committally, squeezing her hand before releasing it when he saw Christine standing up.

‘‘If you excuse me just for a minute, I have to make a call’’

‘‘But what about the rest of your ice-cream!’’ Johnny followed her with his eyes, but she ignored him, already scrolling in her mobile phone while she stepped outside, followed by Simon’s gaze.

‘‘Well, thank God’’ John sighed, side-eyeing Kyle and Johnny when they stole Christine’s remaining ice-cream. ‘‘I hope that means Kate will stop asking me to make her take her calls’’

‘‘She’s stubborn’’ Heather smiled, patting her husband’s knee, and he looked at her, amused.

‘‘Which one of them?’’

Heather laughed, and turned her head to look at Simon, who was just listening to the banter around him, as always. He had finished eating a while ago, but had not pulled down his balaclava yet. Wether that was because he forgot, or because he was comfortable in the current company, Heather didn’t know, but she relished in the opportunity to see as little as she could of her friend, scars that made her heart ache and all.

He noticed she was looking at him and his eyes turned to her, in a silent question, and Heather just shrugged and smiled.

‘‘I’m happy to have all of you here’’

Simon simply nodded, his arms crossed over the table and his eyes returned to the arch that led to the hallway, where Christine had disappeared. Heather smiled again and tried to exchange a knowing look with her husband, but John was emptying his glass of red wine.

Christine stopped in the hall, still able to listen to the sounds coming from the dining room next to the kitchen, but far enough to not disturb them with her conversation, already dialing the number.

‘‘Took you long enough’’ Kate Laswell’s voice was a bit dry when she answered after making her wait for almost twenty seconds, but Christine went for the throat.

‘‘What the fuck is this shit about you needing rescue back in November?’’

‘‘Oh’’

‘‘Oh? What the fuck, ‘oh’? Start explaining why and how you were kidnapped and I didn’t know a thing about it’’

‘‘You were… unwell back in November, honey’’ Kate’s voice was gentler now, and Christine gritted her teeth.

‘‘I could walk’’

‘‘Barely’’

‘‘That’s low’’ Christine snarled, looking in the direction of the dining room when she could hear louder laughter, from Kyle, Johnny and Gabi. ‘‘You can’t expect me to…’’

‘‘I can. You were hanging on to your sanity by a thread back then’’ Kate sighed lightly before continuing, soothingly. ‘‘I didn’t have time for anything, Christine, much less for calling for help. I barely had time to radio John and Gaz.’’

‘‘You’re fucking lucky’’

‘‘I know’’

‘‘I would have gone’’

‘‘I know… My wife says thanks for the almond cake recipe, by the way’’

Christine grunted something under her breath, relieved to hear Kate’s low laugh and deciding to ignore her obvious attempt at changing the subject.

‘‘It was nothing’’

‘‘Can we talk when I’m back? I prefer talking to you face to face’’

‘‘… sure. When are you coming back?’’

‘‘Soon. Gotta go, my wife is threatening me with a wooden spoon through the window, I’m not supposed to answer calls on my work phone when I’m off’’

‘‘Serves you right’’ Christine mumbled again, and Kate laughed. ‘‘See you soon’’

‘‘See you soon’’

She sighed and returned her phone to her pocket, and turned around to go back to the dining room. But she found herself face to chest with Simon, who was standing a couple of steps away from her, in silence.

‘‘Joder! (Fuck!)’’ Christine gasped, but then she smiled and laughed, visibly relieved. ‘‘Sorry, did I take too long?’’

‘‘No’’ Simon shook his head, hands inside the pockets of his hoodie as usual, but his balaclava was still hooked over his nose. ‘‘Gabi is recruiting Johnny and Kyle into helping do the dishes’’

‘‘Oh yeah, her and I talked about it before coming’’ She nodded, taking a peek at the dining room arch door, and then at him again when he didn’t move an inch. His eyes were focused on her hair. ‘‘What?’’

‘‘I’ve never seen you with your hair down’’ He murmured, and she couldn’t help but blush, thankful for the dimness of the hallway. It was true that she had decided to wear her hair down for once, instead of in her usual ponytail, braid or bun. And sitting next to him at the dining table, she had noticed him looking at her quite often during dinner.

‘‘Oh, and what’s the veredict?’’ Christine giggled softly, trying to make a joke, but her smile faltered when he leaned in slightly, bringing his face closer to her hair. She even stood on her tiptoes discreetely, feeling stupid, but strangely excited.

Simon was feeling conflicted, once that he initiated the movement before he was even aware of what he was doing. Now, with his nose mere inches away from the crown of her head, so close that he could smell her shampoo – something with flowers, he guessed – he fought himself to keep his hands inside his pockets. They were in Price’s hallway after all.

Being away for almost a week had been torture, and now, having her this close…

‘‘I like it’’ He rumbled, his subconscious feeling her shudder with the sound of his voice. ‘‘I like your hair’’

‘‘Now you’ll say it makes me beautiful to wear it down…’’ Christine teased, trying desperately to hide the way her body was trembling, specially when he finally buried his nose in her hair.

‘‘You’re always beautiful’’

A loud crash sounded in the kitchen, and then a chorus of laughter. They stayed like that for a couple of seconds more, without moving, and finally, she stepped back, he pulled down his balaclava, and side by side went to the kitchen to see what the other three were doing with the dishes instead of washing them.

Half hidden by the dinning room hallway, Heather and John kept their silence until the kitchen’s door closed, and then she smiled sweetly at her husband.

‘‘Oh, honey’’

‘‘That wasn’t Ghost over there’’ John looked half glad and half concerned, with one arm wrapped around his wife’s waist, feeling her excitement. ‘‘That was Simon’’

‘‘I know’’ Heather could barely contain her happiness. ‘‘Oh, honey, I’m so glad’’

‘‘So am I, sweetheart, but…’’ John hesitated before asking, knowing the answer beforehand. ‘‘Don’t think about it as their friend. What’s your professional opinion?’’

‘‘I can’t speak about my patients, darling’’ Heather teased, jabbing a finger into her husband’s full stomach and giggling when he growled and grabbed her hand.

‘‘Then don’t speak about your patients, speak about our kids’’

She giggled again, and then tangled her fingers in his muttonchops lovingly.

‘‘I remember Simon back when I met him in that London café, with you. All smiles and cocky attitude, and so happy with that little toy plane that he had bought for his nephew’’

John nodded, his blue eyes a bit glossy now thinking about back then. He missed that Simon. He was glad that Simon was still there, inside of Ghost, somewhere, and that little by little, the shell was breaking.

‘‘If you’re asking if I think what it’s growing between him and Christine is good… yeah, I think it is’’ Heather continued, tugging lightly at his facial hair and giggling when he grumbled. ‘‘It’s a curious thing. What she needs most is to take care of others, to feel useful. And to be taken care of, to feel loved, needed. And the same goes for him’’

‘‘Well… we’ll see how it goes’’ John sighed, listening to the laughter and the clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen.

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bluewinnerangel · 2 years

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Is the interview good? I cant access it, i guess too many people are trying and it crashed

Yeah I think so (link here for those who can)! He doesn't say that much more he hasn't already said in other interviews, but there's no bs, and lemme just highlight the stuff that's got some new or more elaborated information and/or just what stood out to me:

starts off so unnecessarily grandpa

"TIKTOK IS PROBABLY TELLING THE KIDS WHAT TO DRINK THESE DAYS. I just still drink me vodka Red Bull, you know what I mean?”"

love it, more elaborately explains the writing process which is worth reading for sure, and there's a lil bit more insight to the themes of the songs on FITF

"He favours songwriting that resembles pub chatter and inherently human topics. From one of the tracks borrowing its title from Pulp (yep, that’d be ‘Common People’) to the fact that he consistently pronounces another track as “art a’ me system” (that’s ‘Out Of My System’ for any non-Yorkshire-dwellers), he’s remained proud of his roots and is finally, properly, getting the chance to shout about it. Even conceptually, and with the topics that we speak about, I think it’s a better representation of who I am as a person, this record. And those things are important to me. It’s also, as a songwriter, where I feel most comfortable - writing about these kinds of really normal things. It’s something that I’m definitely conscious of. It was a deliberate choice.”"

He goes on a rant about high ticket prices, of course there's that "it's been seven years now since the band", and I really like him mentioning the distinction between tour and all the other aspects of the music industry, because I felt like this has been shown, so it's nice to see it confirmed I guess.

"He describes touring as black and white, with none of the nuances he has to deal with in the rest of the music industry. It’s the one thing that’s barely changed over his career, the simple exchange of getting a ticket and seeing your favourite artist. It means the world to his fans and, in turn, means the world to him.“My biggest aim since I started my solo career, because it was my favourite shit in the band, was can I create something where it gives me the ability to tour for the next 10 years? So I’ve got one year down. If I could do another nine, I’ll be happy.”"

And last, powerful words about him (and his fans) being underestimated he says that He likes that they never see us coming and that he likes catching people by surprise, which, yeah, I love him

“I think that’s a frustration I’ve found across my career to date. But you know, there’s a little thing that me and the fans say together, and it’s that they never see us coming. It doesn’t matter how many times we fucking do what we do, they never see us coming. But you know what, I like it that way. I like catching people by surprise.”

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muzzzzle · 9 months

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Aesop Sharp/Garreth Weasley 🙈🙈🙈

Ok, I know what you lot might be thinking, but HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE! Or just give this little mischievous story a read 🌝

NSFW 🔞 MDNI

Voyeurism | "Forbidden" love | Teacher/Student relationship

— Minus twenty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. And detention. Again.

Cressida hears the heavy sigh of the Potions Master and looks at her classmate with dislike. Stupid Garreth! For seven years, he hasn’t managed to learn just to follow the recipe, almost every lesson still ends with a nearly blown-up cauldron and a sigh from Professor Sharp. And how many points has Weasley cost Gryffindor over the years! It must have been because of him that her house hadn’t won the Hogwarts Cup for a long time. However, it doesn't matter anymore. Blume adjusts her round glasses with thick lenses and shakes her head. The last year. She should focus on her research!

Cressida proudly raises her head and walks towards one of the closed, "out of order" restrooms. She likes Hogwarts, but there is definitely not enough space for independent practice here. She has to be sneaky if she wants to continue testing her theories. Previously, Professor Sharp allowed her to use his office to practice potions additionally, but after the incident in the Great Hall, when Blume was training Depulso and accidentally sent a Yorkshire pudding right in the face of the Potions Master, he changed his views on favoring her. Oh boy, did it cost Gryffindor points back then!

Cressida importantly pushes the wooden door, muttering a spell of her own composition. No one would have been able to find her cauldron under these charms — the Gryffindor was insanely proud of herself, but so far she kept these achievements secret, trusting only her diary, which she also decided to enchant from prying eyes after a certain incident in the fifth year. A cauldron is bubbling in a narrow booth on a tiny station — lately, Blume has switched exclusively from spells to improving potions. And unlike restless Weasley’s concoctions, none of them have ever exploded. However, none of them have ever improved properly either. But Cressida did not despair and persevered in her experiments.

This time, the silvery flare on the walls is cast by an invisibility potion, the effect of which usually lasts for a very short time. Blume is determined to fix this glaring flaw and extend the effect. After many attempts, she finally calculated the necessary proportions and figured out what affects the duration. Now, with a sinking heart, she pours a not-at-all-hot, playfully bubbling liquid into a prepared vial.

The girl lifts the narrow tube to the light and carefully examines its color and consistency, nodding satisfactorily and ordering the quill to make notes. The potion in the vial sparkles invitingly and Cressida, crossing her fingers on her other hand, knocks the contents into herself. It's quite dangerous to test experimental potions right away, on yourself, but Blume is ready to do anything for the sake of research .

A second later, the girl notes with pleasure that the potion still performs its function — her arms and torso are now nothing more than a slight ripple in space, much less noticeable than the usual effect of the Disillusionment charm. For the beginning, everything is going pretty well, but Cressida does not allow herself to rejoice prematurely. She marks the time to assess how much the effect has been prolonged for — the enchanted hourglass, swaying with pot-bellied sides in the air, began counting down exactly at her command. The only thing left to do is to wait a little.

Ten minutes! This is already an incredible success, the Gryffindor describes her sensations, and the quill, obediently rustling on the parchment, writes down the data. Twenty minutes. Hour. One and a half. Cressida is still invisible, the sand in the clock has long ceased to fall, the quill hovering in the air in bewilderment. Something's wrong. For some reason, it lasts for too long. Blume, worried, raises her wand and, pointing at herself, confidently says “Finite Incantatem”. Zero effect. Of course, counter-curse usually works against other charms, not potions, but it was worth a try. The girl has a spare antidote, but she is clearly not poisoned — will it work?

Three hours. The Gryffindor begins to worry a lot and gives up in an internal struggle, takes the notes and a sample, and heads to the dungeons. It's very funny to watch how students behave without noticing her. Although not everything went strictly according to plan, Blume is still pleased with herself. Surely Professor Sharp will be impressed! Maybe even let her use the potions room again.

Having got close to the slightly open doors of the classroom, Cressida slips inside, intending to raise her voice — the only thing that can give away her presence, but freezes when she sees the familiar red hair. Of course, it's already evening, and Weasley has earned himself detention. There is no sign of Potions Master within her sight — it looks like he is rummaging in his small office, and Garreth, pushing the knot of his tie a little lower, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, exposing a sharp Adam's apple. A mischievous thought flashes through Blume's head — to make fun of a fellow student by introducing herself as the voice of conscience in his head. The fact that there is no other voice of conscience there was absolutely undoubtful to her. Almost shrieking from her own brilliant idea, she sneaks up to Garreth, but the sound of creaking hinges makes her stop — the professor, without his usual jacket and coat, in only a shirt and vest, leaves his office, raising his eyebrows at the troublemaker.

“Mr. Weasley!” the teacher's voice is not as gloomy as usual, it even seems to Cressida that there is a hint of light sadism in it. “For several weeks, classes have been held without incident, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to leave you for detention anymore!”

Garreth turns to face the professor and squints, smiling slyly. What impudence! Cressida holds her breath, waiting for the Potions Master's reaction and completely forgetting why she came here. It is unlikely that the professor will appreciate the fact that she has been shamelessly eavesdropping, taking advantage of the situation. The girl is about to open her mouth to announce her presence, but Weasley is ahead of her, for some reason raising his wand and waving it somewhere to the side.

“It seems to me, Professor, you have never really regretted it,” the door of the Potions room closes with a soft knock, light sparks run along the ornate handle — the entrance is sealed. Cressida looks back at the scene unfolding in front of her with mouth open, trying not to breathe.

The Potions Master smiles like a predator and with a frolic that is difficult to expect from a person with his injury, shortens the distance between him and the student, grabbing Garreth by the bare neck with a sinewy hand and squeezes slightly, lifting student's chin up and forcing him to back away to the professor's desk. Weasley, resting his hips on the table, exhales with a strangled wheeze, teasingly looking into the teacher's eyes, literally devouring him.

Has Sharp just attacked a student? Blume can't even move, not knowing what to do: whether to grab a wand and help Garreth — no matter how much he annoys her, the guy clearly does not deserve such a fate! But she doesn’t even have time to put her hand in the pocket to find the usual rough shaft of the wand there, as the red-haired freckled devil does something that does not fit in the head of the seventh-year — sweeping away papers and bottles behind him with one hand, he jumps onto a round table, with the other hand pulling the professor by the edge of his vest closer, so that the groins of both touch, and wraps his legs around Sharp's hips, pressing even harder, forcing the professor to loom over him. Aesop is still squeezing the student's neck, rubbing his hips against Weasley's groin, breathing noisily, and glaring at Garreth's flushed cheeks with a clouded gaze.

“You're forcing me to take serious measures, Mr. Weasley," the professor mutters hoarsely, feeling a hard lump in the other’s trousers, but not taking his eyes off the cunning squint of the Gryffindor.

The student, fidgeting with his hips on the classroom table and still throwing his neck back, squeezed by Sharp's strong hand, with dexterous long fingers Garreth fumbles for the buttons of the professor's vest and releases them one by one, brazenly withstanding the gaze boring into him. When he is finished with the buttons, Weasley rises in one sharp movement, throwing an unnecessary garment off the teacher's hunched shoulders, and presses his body against the chest of the Potions Master.

"I'm ready to accept any punishment, Professor," Garreth breathes into the teacher's face, and the next second Cressida's eyes crawl to her forehead.

Professor Sharp, a Potions Master, and an ex-Auror, pulls her classmate by the neck closer, and furiously, greedily covers Weasley's lips with his own, keeping pushing his hips forward. Both are breathing heavily and moaning hollowly, not looking away from each other, aggressively kissing and burying themselves in each other's hair. Blume is still standing a little apart, not daring to budge and realizing that she shouldn't be seeing all this, but an unfortunate (or, on the contrary, rather fortunate) viewing angle lets her see almost every movement, touch and every glare in the crazy eyes of both. Their eyes are actually quite strange as if they both had too much firewhisky. Right, maybe it's some kind of hallucination? Of course, the professor realized long ago that she was here, and now he is punishing her for her mistake with some sophisticated potion that causes visions. But if so, why is that what she sees?

Garreth greedily penetrates the teacher's mouth with his tongue again and again, unbuttoning snow-white shirt of the professor with his hands now. Sharp pushes off with a groan, removing his fingers from the red curls, and puts his palms on both sides of the student's thighs, forcing the redhead to rub against his crotch with even louder moans.

"What are you saying, Mr. Weasley?" the professor exhales in his ear in a deep, soothing voice, allowing the student to undress him, biting the lobe of his ear and feeling a shiver pass through Gareth's body from his breathing and touch. “Do you repent of what you did?”

The Gryffindor raises his clouded green eyes to the teacher and smiles ecstatically, already running his fingers over ex-Auror's chest and collarbones, and stroking his broad shoulders. Aesop catches his every move, continuing to frantically squeeze his narrow hips.

“I think you'll have to punish me a little more,” Weasley's fingers got to the heavy buckle of the professor's trousers, and now they are in full possession, greedily touching hot sensitive flesh.

Sharp whines softly, throwing his head back, letting the student take control with teasing movements for a second, but very soon pulls himself together and, gripping the burgundy tie with golden stripes, pulls it behind Garreth's back, admiring the open, sparsely freckled neck. Weasley obediently follows the insistent movement of the teacher's hand and, throwing his head back again, trembles slightly when the hot tongue of the potion maker slides up his protruding Adam's apple, leaving shiny tracks, circles his chin and, again, penetrates into his mouth.

"You don't know when to stop, Mr. Weasley. I'm afraid I'll have to teach you a lesson," the ex-Auror mutters hoarsely, tearing himself away from his student's swollen, flushed thin lips, and suddenly pulling the ribbon of his tie even tighter, squeezes the lump in the other's pants.

Garreth lets out a hoarse moan.

“Yes,” he breathes out in euphoria, feeling a frenzied excitement from the manipulations of the teacher and from the silk strip pressing on his throat slightly. “Harder.”

Sharp, smiling smugly, pulls his tie even more down, listens attentively to every wheeze, and, squeezing Weasley's crotch tighter, feels that he can barely contain his excitement himself. Releasing the burgundy strip of fabric, he takes a couple of steps away, admiring the hot young body, and throws off his trousers, revealing an impressive rock-hard cock, covered with a net of swollen veins. Cressida, who has been on the verge of fainting for a long time, barely restrains herself from crying out, covering her mouth with a sweaty palm. At the bottom of her stomach, a feeling unfamiliar to her before pulls with heat, from which her heart starts pounding faster, and her breathing quickens. Fortunately, with all the loud sighs and groans that these two make, she is the only one who can hear her breathing.

The professor, wearing only an unbuttoned shirt now, sinks into his chair, spreading his legs wide, and, wrapping a tight ring of fingers around his penis and not taking his eyes off the student, begins to move them up and down. Weasley, catching his breath and jumping off the table, immediately puts himself next to the Potions Master and kneels in front of him, his face very close to Aesop's groin.

“Let me make it up for you, professor,” having slid with his palms from the knees to the bare thighs of the teacher, he suddenly swallows the bright pink shiny head and, repeating Sharp's movements before, with wet sounds starts sucking his organ in, helping with his tongue.

Aesop, allowing the student to caress him, leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes and breathing unevenly with a muffled whistle, squeezes the armrests of the chair so that the veins on his hands seem about to burst. Weasley, who seems to be doing this not for the first time, playfully draws circles around a sensitive penis with his tongue, rising from the bottom up, paying special attention to the head, and abruptly swallows the organ as deeply as he can, knocking out an indecently loud moan from the professor. Gasping, Garrett tries to free his airways, but Sharp grabs him by the hair and holds him there, thrusting his hips deeper into his throat. After a few seconds, during which he almost finishes, he lifts the student off himself, barely allowing him to take a deep breath, and immediately kisses him hotly on the lips, insistently groping for the tongue that has just almost brought him to orgasm. But the Potions Master knows what the red-haired devil is waiting for, and has long learned to control himself. They haven't finished yet.

“Well, Mr. Weasley, I must say that you definitely know how to make amends,” the teacher gets up from his chair and, again grabbing the student by the tie, slowly lifts him up and, as if by a leash, leads him back to the table. “But your punishment is still ahead.”

Garreth, excited and ready, jumps back on the table, allowing Aesop to pull off his trousers. Sharp spreads the student's legs slightly to the sides, almost licking his lips, examining the view in front of him. With a slight movement of his hand, he opens a drawer inside the table and takes out a small bottle with a translucent viscous liquid. Generously dripping the substance directly on the student's groin, the Potions Master runs his thumb down the scrotum with reddish hairs, distributing the lubricant around the heated hole. Weasley, leaning back on the table, trembles from the cold touches, but the professor, wrapping his other hand around the student's cock, begins to slowly drive over it, forcing Garreth to relax. Aesop gently circles the edges of the shrunken rim with his thumb and, not seizing to work with his other hand, gently inserts his fingers inside, forcing the Gryffindor to emit a guttural moan of pleasure. Careful at first, finger movements are accelerated, slightly stretching everything inside. Sharp can't stand it anymore, his fingers wrapped around Garreth's organ start flying faster on it, while the ex-Auror, helping himself with his other hand, finally gets his cock in, forcing Garreth's flexible narrow back to arch towards him. Aesop, at first cautiously, but increasingly confidently driving himself into a tight hot space, feverishly wanders with his eyes over the freckled face of Weasley, who, completely surrendering to the caresses of the professor, stands up on his elbows and trustfully pushes forward.

“Yes, Professor," he whines, feeling the approach of orgasm. “I am already…”

Sharp, having accelerated, feels the penis throbbing in his hand and erupting sperm in all directions, and, now grabbing Weasley's clenched thighs with both hands, impales him on himself in a few more strong thrusts, until with a long moan of happy devastation he starts to tremble all over, fingers digging into the student's skin, undoubtedly leaving traces on it.

Like this, they stand for a few more minutes, recovering their breath. Aesop, wiping the sweat off his forehead, comes out of Garreth and, helping him up, pulls him by the hand, this time gently catching his lips. He steps aside, picks up the wand that has rolled to the side, and directs it to the sperm spreading over the sunken stomach with a few ginger hairs in the bottom. Weasley, rising after him, busily pulls on his clothes. The Potions Master, still breathing heavily, sinks into a chair, watching as the student tucks his shirt into his trousers with an expression of pleasant fatigue.

"Garreth, I'm certainly very flattered that you so often look for an excuse to get a detention with me, but maybe we should be careful," Sharp says softly, thoughtfully lowering his chin on his fist. “Let's have a couple of classes without incidents, okay?”

Weasley, pushing back the red curls stuck to his forehead with his palm, approaches the professor and, lifting his stubble-covered chin, kisses him again, slowly and sensually.

“As you say, Professor," he replies with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, hastily adding. “But this time the explosion was unintentional – it turned out that adding pickled growths of Murtlap to the Forgetfulness Potion was a bad idea.”

Sharp shakes his head kindly and watches the student's back. Cressida, flushed and pressed against the wall, prays only for the dust, that has been tickling her nostrils for several minutes now, not to make her sneeze, giving away her presence. What will the Potions Master do to her if he finds out, that she witnessed his secret meetings? At best, he will put an Obliviate on her. However, Blume would probably gladly prefer to forget about what she just saw.

After regaining his breath, the professor rises and with a wave of his wand beckons the clothes scattered on the floor to him, and returns the documents dropped by Garreth to their usual places. For a second, Cressida thinks his gaze is directed right at her, but Aesop calmly walks towards his chair again, pulls on his trousers, and heads back to his office. Seizing the moment, she takes off from her hiding place and runs out of the classroom, finding herself at the other end of the castle in a matter of minutes. It's a miracle that the ex-Auror did not notice her presence — for sure, he was too caught up in other thoughts. Cressida is still invisible, and it seems that another visit to the professor is inevitable.

But there's nothing wrong with staying invisible for a little longer. As long as she doesn’t get to witness somebody else’s secret. As for this one – she will just try to forget about it, and will definitely not tell anyone. Except for maybe her diary.

Ok, so if you got to this point, please let me know what you think, so I don't die of embarrassment 🌚🌚🌚

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