I Love How You Depicted The Complexity Of Tom’s Emotions🙌🏼 This Was So Fun To Read!!

I’m cheesing so hard rn🤭🤭 So perfectttt

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - When Y/N receives a mysterious rose in the Great Hall, Tom Riddle seethes at the thought of an unknown admirer attempting to claim his girl. That night, he makes his move—filling her dorm with sunflowers, signing his name boldly, and ensuring she knows exactly who truly deserves her heart.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - needed a break from writing Riddles Take Hogwarts and the Looking Glass fics. Don't get me wrong I love writing them but wanted to write someting with Tom x Y/N at hogwarts.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, students indulging in breakfast while owls swooped in, delivering letters and packages from home.

Y/N sat among her friends at the Slytherin table, enjoying a piece of toast when an owl gracefully descended in front of her, dropping a single red rose onto her plate.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she picked up the delicate flower, her cheeks instantly flushing with warmth. A secret admirer? Her friends leaned in with wide grins, whispering excitedly, but Y/N could only stare at the rose in surprise. Who could have sent it?

Across the table, Tom Riddle’s fingers curled slightly around his fork, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. His dark eyes flickered to the rose in her hands, the color standing out starkly against her fingertips. A single red rose. How utterly pathetic.

He barely concealed his sneer as he muttered, just loud enough for his friends to hear, "Pathetic."

Draco, seated beside him, smirked knowingly. "Jealous, Riddle?"

Tom scoffed, taking a calculated sip of his tea. "Hardly," he murmured, already formulating his next move. Whoever had sent that miserable excuse of a gift clearly didn't know Y/N—not the way he did.

That night, as the castle settled into its usual quiet, Tom made sure Y/N would never have to question who truly knew her best.

When she returned to her dorm, she barely managed to open the door before being greeted with a sight that stole her breath away—sunflowers. Bouquets upon bouquets of golden sunflowers filled the entrance, their bright petals practically glowing in the dim candlelight.

Her friends shrieked with excitement, their voices blending into a flurry of admiration and envy.

"Merlin, Y/N! Who—?"

"This is so romantic!"

"You can't even get through the door!"

Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding as her fingers found the small envelope nestled between the bouquets. Carefully, she opened it, her breath hitching when she saw the signature at the bottom.

"T.M.R."

Her lips parted in shock as realization dawned. Tom.

Unlike her so-called secret admirer from earlier, Tom knew. He knew she disliked receiving gifts in public, that she preferred the intimacy of private gestures. He knew roses weren’t her favorite flowers—sunflowers were. And most importantly, he had the confidence to sign his name, making sure she knew exactly who had sent them.

As she entered the common room, still reeling, her gaze locked onto his. Tom sat by the fire, his usual smirk gracing his lips, eyes glinting with triumph. He had planned this perfectly.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm as she clutched the note in her hands. Tom simply arched a brow, as if daring her to say something.

She didn’t need to.

He had already won.

Tom’s struggle to finally succumb to the reader’s control is depicted so perfectly🙌🏼 I loved this so much omggg🤩 I love when the reader has the power😈

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 4th. tom riddle — bondage, begrudgingly!sub tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. | 2024

summary: revenge is sweet—but getting tom riddle to beg is so, so much fucking sweeter.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, reader gives tom a lust potion in retribution, PIV, desperate sex, tom so out of sorts he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, so much teasing it’s painful, dirty talk, light bondage, choking.

All is fair in love and war.

This might not be love, but it isn't just war, either. It's something messier, something darker, something with teeth. Every time you and Tom Riddle play this game it seems to follow the same trajectory, almost like a dance—step, feint, clash, retreat—a push and pull, a ritualistic give and take until someone takes a little too much and the tension boils over to something like this. 

A locked door. A stolen breath. His body pressing yours into some surface and his hands on your throat, or in your hair, or at your waist with—

"You did something to me." Growled at your neck. 

Right now, expectedly, is no different.

"What could I possibly have done to you?" You drawl, bored blowing off your breath. "The great Tom Riddle himself."

You want to sound dismissive, condescending—just enough to light a match to his already fraying patience—but Tom is too keyed up to take the bait, and that alone thrills you. You can feel the heat radiating off him. Smell the clean, addictive scent of his hair, the musk of dark magic religiously woven into his skin. 

He smells intense, and it makes you dizzy.

Makes you reckless.

"You’re funny," he exhales, the force of it stirring your hair. He's ripping off his jacket now, rolling up his sleeves like he's ready to wrestle the devil himself. "This is your idea of revenge, isn't it?"

There's a shrug, something vindictive set in your shoulders just to get under his skin that much more—spurred on by the sheer state of him before you; those perfect curls a mess, onyx eyes burning with something primal. 

"This, meaning what, exactly?" You watch the corded tension in his neck tighten as he shoves his hair back, hands visibly unsteady. "You'll have to be more specific."

He lets out a stifled groan from somewhere deep in his chest at that—he's struggling, and he knows you know it, a delicious little factoid that has his patience stretched so thin it's almost see-through—

"You're enjoying this," he snarls, forcing himself over to a nearby loveseat and slumping down into it. His voice is half-hoarse, strangled by the effort it's taking him to keep this much distance between you. "You—fuck."

There we go. 

Unable to stall the grin off your lips any longer, you move forward with something predatory—something devious in each step perfectly placed just to spite him—a deliberate sway of the hips, the slight rise and fall of your chest—anything, really, just to break him that much faster. 

He's right. This is your revenge. 

"Oh, Tom," you creep around behind his chair, lips leaning toward his ear. "Are you feeling alright? You're looking hot."

You take note of the way his jaw pulses as he grinds his teeth. The way that one simple word from your mouth—spoken in the type of low, sultry tone that could make even a dead man hard—affects him.

"You're wicked," his head falls back to look up at you, lips glistening like he's salivating over the mere sound of your voice. Still, he's fighting it—still trying to deny you the satisfaction. "Did you know that?"

"You love it," you murmur, fingers slipping their way over his shoulders, down his chest. You lean closer, catching sight of the sharp bulge straining against his trousers. "Look how much you fucking love it."

Another stifled groan. 

"You don't want to do this, sweetheart," he hisses—and there's the nickname, the nickname you've told him you hate. His way of retaliation. "Not now." 

"And why not?" Your fingers dip lower, tracing over the definition of his abdomen. "Because you're not in control? Or because I am?"

He's fighting himself—you see the war play out on his face in the way his brows knit together—the way his lips part briefly only to swallow back whatever words were about to crawl out of them. 

He's never been very good at being at anyone's mercy, least of all yours. 

"You think you're in control," the words rasp against his throat, as if speaking them too loud might shift the balance. "You're delusional."

"Maybe," you whisper, lips brushing his cheek, the curve of a smirk curling into your voice. "Maybe I'm absolutely batshit." Your hand slips downward, slowly, over his stomach to his belt, fingers ghosting the buckle. "But we both know why you dragged me in here, Tom. Don't we?"

He scowls.

"You—" 

The moment you brush against his bulge with the barest touch, his hips jerk forward—words disintegrating, raw instinct betraying his restraint.

"God, look at you." You nearly choke on the heat between you. If this isn't the sexiest fucking thing you've ever seen. "Just admit it, Tommy. Admit you need me to fi—"

You don't get to finish. Something in him snaps—

"Fucking—" he's moving on auto-pilot, hands reaching up to seize you and yank you closer. "—fix this, then." 

In a blink, you're in his lap with his grip on your hips and he's growling—one hand slipping up to the back of your head to fist your hair and force your mouth to his before you get the chance to snap back—

And as soon as your lips collide it's a fight for dominance—teeth clashing as your tongues tangle, both of you biting and pulling at each other like animals. You're grinding against him and he's excruciatingly-hard beneath you and you can practically hear the intensity of it, both of you caught up in the sheer feral force of this—no rhyme or rhythm, no control—just hunger, desperate and unrelenting, like something unleashed that neither of you can put back in its cage.

After all but an eternity of this, you wrench back with force, breaking the kiss and shoving yourself upright. His head falls back against the chair, chest heaving, his lips slick and parted, pupils blown wide and glittering with fury—or lust. You’re sure it’s a bit of both.

He's trying to gain control, his hand still fisted in your hair, arms trapping you in place like he thinks he can still win this. 

But you see him now, raw and undone, and you know better.

"You want me to fix this," you murmur, skating your fingers over his chest lightly enough to make him twitch. "Then put your hands on the armrests."

He wants to fight that, you can tell—wants to yank you back into him, wants to wield that weapon of a tongue—but other things take precedence now, like you, here, on his lap—so close to giving him everything he needs.

You think, to him, the demand must sound less like an order and more like salvation. 

He all but slams his hands down onto the armrests.

You smirk. "Good boy."

Unsurprisingly, he scowls again, a dangerous flash in his eyes—but that doesn't stop his hips from jerking greedily when you grind down against him—fingers digging into the leather underneath them, twitching like they want to make you do it again. 

That doesn't escape your notice. 

"Mm. Just incase." Pulling out your wand, you cast a spell that binds his wrists to the chair. "I know how you are." 

His expression shifts instantly, lips curling back into something like a snarl as he yanks at the invisible binds. They don't budge—your work is seamless—his own spellwork mastered and turned against him.

"I'm going to fucking digest you," he spits, all venom and heat, eyes blazing as he pulls harder. "When I get out of this chair, you'll—oh, you'll beg for-"

You shut him up with your mouth, crushing your lips to his. It's all teeth and tongue, desperate and wild, as your nails rake down his chest and he arches into you—

"Who says I don't like it when you make me pay, baby?" You breathe, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw a groan from deep in his throat. "Maybe it's my favourite part."

For a moment he doesn't respond—he knows that's true. You love this game too much not to toe the line when possibilities arise. He's pulling uselessly at the binds again as you roll your hips against him, dragging him further into ruin.

"You are," he chokes out, head tilting back as your teeth scrape along his jaw, "an infuriating, wicked little witch."

You huff against his skin, against the pulse point at his throat and the sensitive area under his ear—he's squirming—making strangled, animal sounds that have you seeping through your panties. 

"You're only just noticing?" You’re drinking in his hypersensitivity for all it's worth. "You're losing your touch."

He scoffs, or tries to—it comes out closer to a moan stuck between shallow breaths. 

"Noticed it...the day I met you," he gasps, hips jerking up as you rock against him. "But, fuck—you've gotten a hell of a lot worse."

Perhaps he's right. Perhaps it's the company you keep—specifically, the one pinned beneath you. 

"You're just mad I'm beating you at your own game," you’re grinding down harder, fingers drifting to the buttons of your blouse. "You're a terrible loser."

"And you're—" he starts, but his words falter when you pull the last button free and shrug the fabric off your shoulders, exposing black lace and soft skin. "—an insufferable winner."

"I think the real problem," you toss your shirt to the floor, hands returning to slide down his chest again, undoing his buttons now. "Is that you secretly love losing to me." 

You'd think that would earn another snarl from him—or perhaps a sharp retort about how he'd never lose to anyone, or how he’d never enjoy being at your mercy—but he's clearly too far gone to keep up with even that as he watches you, all but trembling at your touch. 

"Stop—“ he twitches when your fingers glide over his exposed chest, trailing lower. "—talking."

"Make me," you make your way to his belt buckle, taking your time to undo it, sliding the leather free before moving to the zipper of his pants, dragging it down even slower. "Oh, wait. You can't."

He’s helpless to fight the growl you force out of him at that—a vicious sound that makes you clench. His fingers tighten around the armrests, yanking hard against the bonds holding him in place. Useless, you both know, but it doesn't stop him from trying, from straining against them like he might will them to break through sheer desperation alone. 

He exhales through his teeth. "Stop teasing." 

"Now where's the fun in that?" you dip your hand below the waistband of his boxers. He jerks beneath you as your fingers tease just enough to make his breath catch. "You should be grateful l'm taking pity on you—" your tone as soft as it is mocking, "—being oh so kind to help-"

Another groan, another almost snarl. "Stop. Teasing." 

Oh, how the tables turn. You know precisely how he's feeling—you've been here like this, with him, a million times before. It’s the sweetest torture. One you’re sure he doesn't want you to stop—not really. Not with a lust potion dripping from his pores. 

He fucking needs this.

"And what happensssss," you drag your words out as your fingers glide slow, featherlight strokes up and down his rock of an erection. "If I don't?"

His response is a wrecked string of profanity—some of it strangled, some of it guttural, and none of it in English. He's not even remotely coherent anymore, and you're not surprised. Eloquence had abandoned him long before you'd even stepped into the room.

"I will—" he hisses through clenched teeth as you tease your thumb over his leaking tip, "— fuck—I will fuck your ass so hard—“

Now that gets a moan from you—the filthiness of his words, at the way his voice drops so dark and low it should probably be a fucking felony. He's swearing, writhing, desperate, and you're absolutely dripping from it—from the way Tom Riddle has unraveled into this devastating, feral thing underneath you.

"Is that what you're thinking about right now?" Another murmur, lips brushing against his ear as you shift to tug his pants and boxers down. "Fucking my tight ass? Punishing me?"

"Without mercy," he spits, breath hitching as you free him—his cock springing out, thick and throbbing, twitching in time with his shallow gasps. "Fuck—"

You pull away to get a better look at him—and god, the sight almost makes you lose your mind. The man always so put together, always so self assured and smug and in control of every goddamn thing—reduced to this. 

"Such a vulgar mouth, for such a pretty face," leaning forward, you lick a slow, deliberate stripe up his neck. He tastes like sweat and sin. Just how you like him. "Tell me more."

"Fuck," his head tips back involuntarily, exposing his throat to you like it's instinct. He's twitching as you grind your slick heat along his shaft, soaking him, teasing him until his hips buck up against you. "Put me inside you—"

You're barely holding onto yourself, every roll of your hips against him leaving you dizzy and aching—but you drag it out, grinding down harder.

"That's an order, isn't it?" You breathe, catching his earlobe between your teeth. "You giving me orders now?"

"I'm giving you pleas," he rasps. "You fed me a potion that's made me so hard it physically aches, and now you're sitting here—fucking teasing me—"

"Retaliation," you reply with a smile. "You're the one who thought it was a good idea to feed me a truth serum before dinner at Malfoy's."

That night still lingers in both of your minds—things involuntarily said that can't ever be unsaid. Things that still make Draco avoid your eyes at every turn.

"A mistake," he grits out. In any other moment, you know he'd be smirking. "A mistake—I'll admit it, fuck-"

"You're not the type to make mistakes," it’s a true statement, one overridden by the feeling of his dick twitching as your hips still, going maddeningly idle. "You wanted the Malfoy’s to know I'm yours. And now, well, now I have to show you that you're mine."

There’s a moments pause at that. One that makes you realize just how loud your pulse is pounding in your ears. Tom looks at you, holding your eyes until—

"I am," he concedes, finally throwing in the towel with a gasp that's half desperation, half devotion. "Yours. So fucking take what's yours."

"Oh, baby," you purr, cupping his cheek in your palm. He leans into it without realizing, like he's starving for your touch. "I always do."

And with that, you rise up—slick soaked inner thighs leaving damp spots against his half pulled down trousers—humming with a smirk as you slide a hand over his chest, nails raking over his skin, holding him down against the chair—

"Be still," an order. "Or I'll take it a hell of a lot slower."

His whole body shudders at that—but does what he's told and keeps still—chest swelling with each shallow breath as he watches you—dark eyes flicking from your lips to your tits to your cunt—muscles straining and wrists firm against their binds. 

"Just—do it," he mutters through parted lips and clenched teeth—squeezing his eyes shut. "Please."

The world stops. Time freezing to nothing. You swear you'd forgotten how to breathe.

Please. Like it's a holy thing, a sacred word to be used only in worship. Like he's said something he's never uttered in his life. Please. Like a prayer, like a begging benediction. You'd never loved the sound of anything from his lips quite like you do that. 

You will hear it again. You long to make him say it until he forgets every other word he knows.

"How could I refuse that?" His eyes fly open as you reach down, gripping his aching length and gliding the head against your soaked slit. "Fuck, you're so big. So hard."

"Hard," he echoes as his hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction. "Because this is—torture."

"And whose fault is that, Tommy?" You taunt, just barely sinking down, letting the tip of him sit against what you know he wants. "Oh, that's right. Yours."

"Mine," he grunts before his patience finally snaps in half and he jerks his hips up—shoving his cockhead inside you with a strangled moan. "Fucking mine."

Oh, Merlin help you.

Your head falls back with a moan, eyes slipping shut as the sensation steals the breath from your lungs. He stretches you in the way only he can, and for a moment, you think you should punish him for disobeying you by taking back control—but you can't bring yourself to care about anything other than how fucking good it feels.

"Yours," you breathe, rolling your hips to take him just an inch deeper. "All yours."

"More," his voice cracks, the veins in his neck straining. "Take more. Please."

Theres the word again—please. It makes you weak, makes you greedy. Makes you break and give in on the sheer knowledge of how much it fucking pains him to say it. 

"Oh, gods"" you moan, shifting your hips to take him deeper still, inch by aching inch. "Fuck."

"Take it," he sneers, as if it's his turn to taunt you. Even like this, he's still the same bastard. "You can take more than that."

You curse lowly and sink your nails into his chest for it—because it's the kind of challenge you can't win, even like this you know you'll still lose. He knows it too. 

"I can," you hiss, sinking another inch deeper, and then another. "But can you?"

"Can I?" There’s a mocking lilt to his voice that knows. "Release my wrists, and we'll see."

Christ. That's a question you don't want to answer because you know anything other than yes would be a lie. It's tempting. You know as soon as you let him go he'd put those beautiful hands to use—he'd take back control and you'd immediately let him. Like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Even if this is supposed to be his punishment.  

"Be," you gasp, sinking down all the way and clenching tight as he kisses your cervix. "Quiet."

He lets out a sharp, strangled curse—a guttural string of something you think might either be Latin or Parseltongue—something rough and beautiful all at once—and you decide, right then, that it's undoubtedly the most sinfully delicious thing you've ever heard. 

"I love it when you swear," you manage to breathe out through moans, rolling your hips and savouring the stretch, the ache, the impossible fullness of him inside you. “And I love it even more that it's in languages I don't know—makes me wonder what you're saying."

"Things that'll get me slapped," he grunts, and the tone he uses is the one that promises trouble—trouble, if you let him go. "Or hexed, perhaps."

"Mm. I should hex you right now. I’m considering it," you’re gasping between moans, pleasure buzzing in your brain. "So hard."

"I think, right now," the words split between a groan as your nails leave faint red lines on his shoulders—as you clench around him again, dragging your slick walls up and down his shaft in rhythm. “If you tried to hex me, I’d let you. If it meant you’d keep going.”

You almost take him up on it. You love him like this far too much. So much it’s almost pathetic.

"Good boy." You force the words out, fighting through the sting on your cervix every time he bottoms out inside you, slamming against it. "So. Fucking. Good."

"Jesus Christ," he chokes, muscles taut as the veins in his neck strain. His hips jerk up to meet you at every bounce, greedy for more. "Don't stop."

"Oh, I won't," you dig your nails deeper into his skin for balance. The sting shoots through his body, his reaction delicious. "Not until l've made you swear to every god in the sky."

"Shouldn’t take long," he hisses through his teeth, shoulders cresting as your pace grows faster, more erratic. "I'm practically praying now."

"Good," you breathe, thighs burning as the heat coils tight and relentless inside you, every roll of your hips making you feel fuller, wetter, closer to falling apart. "I want to hear you pray my name."

"You're sadistic," he hisses. "Fuck."

"Pot, kettle," you taunt, biting lightly at the curve of his neck—not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to make him feel it.

The sound he makes—half moan, half growl—is filthy.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" You murmur, dragging your lips toward his ear, breath molten. "You like pain. I know you do."

"I'd like to inflict some right about now," his voice breaks as you nip at his earlobe. "My hands on your throat. That smart fucking mouth—"

"Mmm," you hum, rolling your hips slower, deeper. "And what would you do with it?"

"Fill it," his voice is broken, head tipping back as his body begs for release. "Fuck. I'm so fucking close."

"You're filthy when you're desperate," you whisper, dragging your hand up to his throat, fingers wrapping around it, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch. "I fucking love it."

His eyes flash—for a moment, you're not sure how he'll take it—your hand curling around his neck, fingers pressing against the pulse hammering beneath his skin. The unpredictability of him—always teetering between fury and something far more intense—makes you hesitate, even in this state. You wonder if he'll snarl, buck you off, or somehow counteract the spell to rid of the restraints entirely—

But all he does is swallow against it, hips jerking up, cock pressing bruisingly deep—dark eyes fixing on your lips, wild and glassy with want—

And then, he fucking grins. "Tighter."

"Freak," you moan far too loudly, heat pooling low in your belly as you oblige, tightening your grip. You bounce faster, adrenaline fuelling you, panting growing sharper with every wild bounce. "Cum for me."

"Like I have a choice," he rasps, voice shredded, his teeth gritted as his eyes squeeze shut. "Fuck—ffffff—"

The sound he makes when he finally breaks—guttural, filthy, your name torn from his lips—is fucking devastating. Devastating enough to drive you directly to your own orgasm, eyes rolling back and crying out words you aren’t even aware of as he shudders and jerks and tenses underneath you.

"Oh, fuck-yes," you breathe, riding him through it, clenching hard until the aftershocks start to fade out, as you slow your pace. “Tom—“

"God," he gasps, his head falling back in exhaustion, voice stumbling over the word. "God. Fuck."

The incoherence coming from his mouth is a treat—and through your fog, for only the most fleeting of moments, you wonder who exactly he's praying to when he says that.

His chest is rising and falling like he's just run miles, sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. His head rolls forward, eyes still heavy-lidded, and when they meet yours, there's something feral still dangling in their depths. A lingering hunger that makes your breath hitch.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" He finally speaks after he finds whatever oxygen is left in the room. "To ruin me?"

You're still seated on him, still full of him, and even now, you can feel him twitch inside you. Strong potion.

You exhale with a smirk, feeling your pulse slow. "You're still in one piece, aren't you?"

He laughs—dark, deep, and utterly sinful. It's the kind of laugh that promises you haven't won anything at all. His wrists flex against the bindings, and you swear the leather creaks.

"For now," his tone is almost gentle, but the fire in his eyes betrays him. "But if you think I'm going to let you walk away after this..." he grins. "You're more delusional than I thought."

Oh, Tom. If you only knew.

Bob reynolds x f!reader

FATAL ACCIDENT

Summary: When Bob accidentally caught you in a deeply inappropriate moment, he decided to make it up to you. He brought muffins and suggested a movie night. Neither of you expected what would happen next… or how everything would change between you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, unprotected sex (piv), dry humping, multiple orgasms, stimulating through clothes, cum in pants, soft sex, creampie, sleeping inside of each other, sweet ending, sub!Bob, use of Y/N

A/n: Hi there! I hope you'll like this story/smut! I really tried my best so…anyways, if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

It was late, well past midnight, when Bob found himself standing outside your door. The rest of the tower had gone quiet hours ago, wrapped in the peaceful hush that only came once the chaos of the day had settled. Lights were dimmed, hallways empty, and the low hum of distant generators was the only thing keeping him company. But he knew you. You were a night owl, always the last one to go to sleep. That’s what brought him here in the first place.

He told himself it was just a small question about the mission briefing tomorrow. Something minor. Something he could’ve asked anyone else, sure—but not at this hour. And not with the way his brain kept coming back to you, no matter how many reasons he tried to invent.

So, he knocked. A quick, rhythmic tap. Nothing.

He paused, waiting for your voice, footsteps, any movement. Silence. He knocked again—same rhythm, a little firmer this time. Still, nothing.

He called out your name gently, voice soft but just loud enough to carry through the door. Not a yell, but enough that you would’ve heard it if you were in there.

Still no answer.

That ache in his chest started to grow—tight, warm, and completely irrational. He knew you were probably just asleep, headphones in maybe, passed out after a long day. Nothing bad had happened. He told himself that twice, then again, like repetition would make it true.

But it didn’t ease the tension building behind his ribs. It didn’t stop the way his fingers curled against his palm or the faint pull in his stomach as the silence stretched on. And still—no sound from the other side of the door.

Bob’s worry was growing by the second. He knew that you were probably fine. But still, that uncomfortable knot in his chest didn’t go away. He lingered by the door, biting the inside of his cheek before clearing his throat softly.

“Can I come in?” he asked, still hopeful for a response.

Nothing.

He hesitated only a second longer before his hand reached for the doorknob. He turned it slowly, carefully, as though the metal itself might protest. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, just a crack at first.

He peeked inside, half-expecting to catch you mid-change or in a situation where he absolutely should not be present. But the room was empty.

No one in sight.

He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room smelled faintly like your perfume and something warm, like vanilla and fabric softener. Familiar and comforting.

But then he heard it. The sound of running water. A soft, steady stream. His eyes darted toward the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, just enough for steam to be drifting out and curling into the air.

You were in the shower.

Relief rushed through him like a wave. You were safe. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and smiled to himself, already turning to quietly slip back out of the room. He could talk to you tomorrow. No big deal.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice rang out from down the hall.

Bob froze. Panic hit him like a truck. The sound of footsteps rushed toward the door. She was heading this way. Fast.

“Oh no no no,” Bob whispered under his breath, looking around in a frantic circle. His brain went blank. If Yelena saw him in your room, especially this late, especially without you even in the room, well, that would definitely send a message. One he wasn’t ready to explain.

His eyes darted to your closet. No good. Not enough room. Under the bed? He’d never fit. His thoughts were racing. The doorknob outside jiggled slightly as Yelena neared—

And in a moment of sheer panic, Bob made the only decision he could. He turned and slipped into your bathroom. The steam hit him like a wall and before his brain could yell STOP, he realized where he was. Inyour bathroom while you were still in the shower.

Bob’s hands were up like he was surrendering to an armed SWAT team, his fingers trembling as sheer panic rushed through his entire body. His chest was tight, breathing shallow, and every cell in his brain was screaming, Why are you here? Why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?

He stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, as the sound of the shower continued, taunting him. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. He was in the bathroom. With you. While you were still in the damn shower.

And before he could even string together a plan, or even a thought, he heard her again.

“Y/N!” Yelena’s voice echoed louder now, clearly already inside your bedroom.

Bob’s soul practically left his body. From inside the shower, your annoyed voice finally rang out over the sound of the water.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, clearly frustrated.

Then the stream shut off. Bob’s heart jumped into his throat. His tongue felt dry as sand. His skin was burning and cold at the same time. Oh no. Oh no. Oh God.

He stared helplessly at the fogged-up glass of the shower door, and when you slid it open— he saw you.

Completely naked.

Water still clung to your skin in droplets, sliding down the curve of your neck, your collarbones, gliding along your thighs like liquid silk. You hadn’t seen him yet, but he was already about to combust from embarrassment and sheer secondhand shame.

And then your eyes landed on him.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you screamed, your voice pure panic and fury as you instinctively reached for a towel and yanked it around your dripping frame.

“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t—” Bob choked out, immediately spinning around to face the wall, his entire face a violent shade of red. His hands went back up, this time like he was trying to blot himself out of existence.

But fate wasn’t done dragging him through hell just yet. Because just then, Yelena pushed the bathroom door open. And paused.

“Woah. What the fuck is happening here?” she asked in her signature deadpan tone, heavy Russian accent slicing through the awkwardness like a hot knife through shame.

You, still clutching your towel and dripping on the floor, looked absolutely stunned. “I have no idea what he’s doing in here!” you snapped, eyes wide with a cocktail of betrayal and pure what-the-actual-hell.

Bob didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He was practically vibrating with anxiety, lips pressed into a thin, miserable line. His whole body was trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

He was so unbelievably screwed.

It was the next afternoon when you heard a soft knock on your door. You didn’t even need to ask who it was. You knew instantly.

“Come in,” you called calmly, already anticipating the awkwardness that was about to step through the door.

Bob peeked his head in first, like he was making sure it was safe before fully entering. Then, with a hesitant “Hey…” he stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him.

He looked… guilty. Shy.

His cheeks were flushed pink, his posture small and careful, and his legs? Slightly shaking. He was holding a plate of something in his hands—and the second he came closer, the sweet scent of freshly baked muffins filled the room like a warm, edible apology.

You were sitting on your bed, a book in your lap, one brow raised as you watched him silently. You weren’t mad anymore—but you were curious. And you were definitely going to make him squirm a little first.

For a moment, the room was wrapped in silence. Bob shifted awkwardly, his weight bouncing between his feet, clearly searching for the right words.

“I, uh…” he started, eyes flicking to yours then immediately down again. “I wanted to apologize… for yesterday. I—I didn’t mean for any of that to happen and… as an apology, I… got you these.”

He stepped forward, extending the plate like a peace offering, holding it out to you with a hopeful look in his eyes.

The muffins smelled amazing—still warm, soft in the center with little chunks of what looked like chocolate and banana. You looked up at him and took a deep breath.

He looked so genuinely remorseful. That kicked-puppy look on his face nearly made your heart melt. You knew he didn’t mean to barge in on you, and you definitely knew he wasn’t some creep.

Still. You had one burning question.

“Why were you even in there?” you asked gently, but there was still a bit of edge in your tone. You needed to hear it straight from him.

Bob’s arms retreated slightly as he clutched the plate back toward his chest, like the question caught him off-guard.

“I—I just wanted to ask if you were coming with us to the England mission,” he said honestly, blinking fast. “That’s all. I swear.”

Ah. That explained it. That put the final puzzle piece into place.

You nodded slowly, letting out a small breath and placing your book aside. You scooted forward, settling on the edge of your bed, resting your hands down on the mattress beside you.

Your expression shifted, now more playful than stern.

“So…” you said, tilting your head just slightly. “How much did you see?”

Bob blinked, clearly caught off guard by your question.

His eyes widened just a bit, and his shoulders tensed.

“Uh—I didn’t see anything,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly. “Like… nothing at all. Swear.”

You raised a brow. Just stared at him. That stare that you knew always made people squirm. Bob shifted awkwardly, the plate of muffins now looking like the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

You didn’t say anything. You just waited and it worked. Eventually, he cracked. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, gaze flickering down to the floor like it was the only thing willing to forgive him.

“Okay… I—I saw a little. But I barely remember, I swear. It was just a second.”

His voice was soft, guilty. And you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head with a smile and stood up from the bed.

“It’s fine, Bob,” you said with a gentle wave of your hand. “I’m over it.”

You walked up to him, close enough to smell the sugar and chocolate clinging to the muffins.

“You made these?” you asked, nodding toward the plate.

He nodded sheepishly. You narrowed your eyes, suspicious.

“You don’t bake.”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a shy chuckle. “But… I looked up your favorite recipe. I figured if I’m gonna apologize, I should at least do it right.”

His voice was so genuine, and there was something so… stupidly sweet about the way he stood there, just hoping they were edible.

You smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to pick up one of the muffins. You took a bite. It was warm, fluffy, and the flavor hit perfectly. Just the right balance of chocolate and banana.

Honestly? Kind of impressive.

“They’re actually really good,” you said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thanks.”

There was a moment. A quiet beat between you where something sparked. You looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Try one,” you offered, nudging the plate toward him.

“Oh, no, I—” Bob took a tiny step back. “They’re for you.”

Before he could make another excuse, you rolled your eyes, grabbed the plate from his hands and picked up another muffin.

“You’re eating it,” you said, no room for negotiation.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you were already pushing the muffin into it.

Literally.

He choked out a laugh as you shoved it into his face. He bit down instinctively, chewing with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, crumbs already on his lips. You giggled, watching him use his fingers to wipe his mouth, and that’s when something shifted.

Suddenly, time slowed. The laughter died down, but that flutter in your stomach didn’t. A pulse between your legs sparked to life, and you became acutely aware of the heat building inside you.

You watched the way Bob chewed, the way his jaw moved, the way his tongue darted out to catch a crumb near the corner of his mouth.

And just like that… you were wet. Soaking.

And all you could think about was how pretty he looked. How soft and gentle.

Of course, Bob had always been cute to you. From the very first time you saw him, with that messy hair and his little giggle that felt too soft for someone who flew jets and handled missions like a pro.

He was sweet. But never hot. Not in a “I want to drag you into bed and ruin you” kind of way. But now? Something had shifted.

You didn’t know if it was the ovulation hormones messing with your brain chemistry, or the fact that he saw you naked in the shower, or maybe it was his maddeningly addictive cologne, but something clicked.

And suddenly… he was sexy. Like, you-couldn’t-stop-thinking-about-his-mouth sexy.

You bit your lip and watched as Bob finished chewing the piece of muffin you’d shoved into his mouth. His lips moved slowly, tongue catching a few crumbs.

He swallowed, glanced at you and said, “It’s not that bad, actually.”

His voice pulled you out of your internal spiral. You nodded a little too quickly, letting out a soft hum in agreement, a smile playing at your lips. He smiled back, a little shy, a little unsure.

“Well…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably let you get back to your book.”

You tilted your head. “You’re not bothering me.”

But he still insisted. “Yeah, but… I mean—you probably wanna, y’know, process everything. I just—yeah.”

He moved toward the door, slowly, awkwardly, and you returned to your bed, settling into the pillows with your book in one hand and another muffin in the other, though your eyes weren’t exactly on the page.

Bob was halfway out the door when he paused and turned back.

“Oh! Uh—one more thing,” he said, his voice just a bit higher than usual. “Bucky finally helped me set up that TV in my room, so… I was thinking maybe, tonight, if you’re not busy, we could watch a movie?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want me to be your test subject?”

He shrugged, smiling nervously. “I just don’t wanna sit there and watch it alone like a loser.”

You laughed softly. “Sure, Bob. I’m in.”

His smile widened, that same boyish grin that somehow made your stomach twist now in a very different way.

“Cool. Uh—great. I’ll… come get you later then?”

You nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Sounds good.”

He gave you one last smile before he disappeared behind the door, and the second he was gone your book was forgotten. Your thighs pressed together, the ghost of that look he gave you still lingering.

The lights were dimmed in Bob’s room, the only real glow coming from the soft flicker of the TV screen. You were both sitting on his bed, technically his bed, but it didn’t really feel like that now. Not with the way you were both perched on the edge of it, backs resting lightly against the wall, a shared blanket covering your legs.

You sat just far enough apart for it to be considered “friendly.” A safe distance. But god, you wanted to move closer.

The movie playing was some classic, older film, one of those feel-good, slightly cheesy ones with warm lighting and 90s nostalgia oozing out of every frame. It was so Bob. Of course he’d like something like this. Comforting, predictable and sweet. Just like him.

From time to time, your eyes would drift toward him. He was so focused on the screen, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly during tense scenes, mouth curled just faintly at the corners when something funny happened.

And maybe that was the problem. Because his pure, oblivious cuteness was driving you insane.

Your eyes trailed down to his hands, resting in his lap. To the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. To the way his Adam’s apple bobbed whenever he swallowed. You could practically hear the blood rushing in your ears.

You licked your lips, trying to focus on the movie, but the images blurred. You weren’t even listening anymore.

Why the hell was this happening to you? Why are you suddenly feeling like this? Was it the way his thigh was just barely brushing against yours under the blanket? Or maybe it was that familiar soft scent of his cologne, sweet and woodsy and him?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair. Not when he looked that innocent, completely unaware of the storm building inside you.

You’d been pretending to watch the movie for the last ten minutes, but let’s be honest—you hadn’t registered a single scene. Your mind was elsewhere. On him. The steady warmth beside you, the way his scent filled your lungs, the shape of his jaw in the soft glow of the screen.

And then… you cracked. You turned your head slightly, looking at him from under your lashes, your voice soft—almost too soft.

“Hey… um, I’m kinda cold. Mind if I scoot closer?”

It wasn’t even cold.

Bob’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, like you’d just asked him to recite Shakespeare in Russian. He blinked, then gave the tiniest nod.

“Y-Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

You moved closer, slow and deliberate. Your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t flinch—didn’t pull away. Good. But his whole body tensed like a drawn bow.

And then came the real move, you gently laid your head on his shoulder.

Bob didn’t breathe. Like literally, he just froze. His fists clenched in his lap, not from discomfort—but from sheer sensory overload.

He could feel you. All of you. Your warmth sinking into his hoodie, your hair brushing his jaw, your scent melting into the air around him. His brain short-circuited.

This wasn’t a dream, right? You weren’t just… doing this?

He swallowed hard, throat dry, trying not to move or ruin the moment. Your thighs were just barely touching under the blanket. That soft friction, the tension—goddamn.

You noticed everything. The way his jaw clenched. The shudder that ran down his spine. The way his breath stuttered ever so slightly.

Your lips curled into a small smile. He was nervous—but not in a bad way. Not because he was uncomfortable. He was nervous because it mattered to him. And maybe that made it all the more intoxicating.

The sexual tension was practically radiating off his skin—buzzing in the tiny space between your bodies, where your arms nearly touched.

You shifted just a little closer. So close now that you could hear his heartbeat pounding like a drum.

The movie was still playing, but your focus had drifted miles away. Not on the screen. Not on the plot. But on Bob.

The air felt thicker somehow, heavier with something unspoken. Every small glance at him only made it worse. That gentle look on his face, the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, his throat bobbing every time he swallowed—everything was unbearable in the best kind of way. You had this ache, low and steady, impossible to ignore.

So you moved.

Under the blanket, slow and casual, your hand found his thigh. Just a gentle rest, as if you needed a place to land. Bob tensed immediately, his whole body reacting like a live wire being sparked. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop you. Not even a flinch. He stayed still, as though frozen in place, except for the way his chest was rising just a bit too fast to be calm.

Your thumb began to brush soft circles along the fabric of his sweatpants. Just small, teasing motions, and yet you could feel how it made him react—his thigh twitching slightly beneath your touch, his jaw clenched tight, lips slightly parted as though he didn’t trust himself to breathe through his nose anymore.

You turned your head and whispered, slow and velvety, “By the way… those muffins? They were amazing.”

Bob blinked, once, twice, and barely managed a grunt of a response, like speaking full words would crack him wide open. He gave a slight nod, clearly trying to keep his composure, but failing beautifully.

You smiled, wickedly pleased, and lifted your head from his shoulder so you could really look at him. His eyes locked on yours immediately, wide and uncertain—but undeniably filled with heat. And hope.

“Did you…” you started, voice dipped low like velvet on skin, “like what you saw yesterday?”

He froze.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hands, still clenched in his lap, curled even tighter. It was obvious he was trying to say something, trying to figure out if this was real or a fever dream he was about to wake from. The red on his cheeks deepened, and his eyes darted from your face to your lips and back again.

“I—uh—I didn’t mean to—I mean—I didn’t really see—”

You leaned in closer, your hand still warm and steady on his thigh.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind.”

And then you moved your hand. Just a little higher, right where his twitching dick was.

Bob let out a shaky breath—one of those breaths that almost sounded like a prayer, or a curse, or both. He looked like a man on the edge, hanging by a thread spun from every suppressed feeling he’d ever had for you. The tension in his body, the nervous flicker in his eyes, the way his lips parted and didn’t quite close again—all of it screamed one thing:

He wanted you. Badly. And you knew. You leaned in, lips inches from his ear, and asked one last question, barely more than a breath:

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your fingers moved slowly, so slowly it almost felt like an accident. A barely-there stroke through the soft fabric of his sweats. He twitched. You felt it. And still, he didn’t move. He just stayed still, frozen, his breath hitching in his throat and he couldn't even answer you.

Bob’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. His lips parted slightly, a quiet sound slipping from his mouth—a mix between a gasp and a helpless whimper.

You turned your head just enough to see his face. His brows were drawn together, his jaw tight, and he looked so unbelievably vulnerable. Lost. Struggling. But not stopping you.

“You like it?” you whispered, voice low and warm.

He nodded, quickly, too quickly, but didn’t speak. You kept going, slowly, tenderly, through the fabric, feeling the way his whole body reacted to your touch. He was holding onto the edge of the blanket with white knuckles, his other hand hovering, as if unsure where to go or what to do.

“And did you like yesterday?” you asked softly, meaning the shower incident. You leaned a little closer, lips brushing his ear.

Bob choked on a breath, and his head tilted back slightly. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to— I mean—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice cracked.

You smiled.

“I think you did,” you murmured.

And then, just as his breath caught and his hips gave the tiniest, helpless twitch beneath the blanket, you felt it. His whole body tensing, stuttering, a soft, broken noise escaping his throat as he came apart completely under your hand.

Bob froze, then practically curled into himself. Face flushed deep red, breathing erratic, shame washing over him like a wave.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His voice was small, strained, like he wanted to disappear.

“No I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” you felt guilty, more than Bob did. You just wanted to tease him a bit, just a few touches. Who knew Bob was that sensitive, but in the end you didn't mind.

“I uh…it's been a while since I've been with someone…” Bob tried to explain himself, even tho he didn't need to. You understand. You smiled at him, sighing.

“It's okay…we can go slow,” your sweet tone calmed Bob down, his chest wasn't raising that fast, and his eyes softened.

The eye contact was so loud, but at the same time so quiet. Soft and gentle, barely brushing your lips against his, just testing the waters, but when you kissed him again, he melted. Your lips were making wet sounds, as you explored your mouths, touching your tongues and mixing your salivas.

After a long make out session, you slowly swung one leg over his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, the quiet rustle of your clothes and the soft shift of the bed were the only sounds for a moment.

Settling on top of him carefully, you totally made him forget everything else but the feeling of you, the heat between you, the way your mouths moved together like they were made for this.

His hands finally moved to your hips, trembling just slightly, like he needed the confirmation that this was real.

The pressure of you settling onto him was electric. Your bodies fit together like matching puzzle pieces, your chest pressed gently to his, and you could feel the way his breath stuttered beneath you. Your forehead met his for a moment, just a shared breath, your fingers tangling in his tousled hair.

Then, really gently, you began to move. Not urgently, not to finish something, but to explore. The softest grind of your hips into his, dragging fabric against fabric, building friction that made his lips part in a quiet, broken gasp. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes kissing his cheeks, and his hands clutched your sides like he needed grounding.

You could feel it all. The growing heat pooling low in your belly, the ache between your legs intensifying with each shift, and the clear tension in Bob’s body as he whimpered helplessly. His head tipped back against the wall, exposing the long line of his neck, and his thighs tensed beneath yours.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, your voice breathless but sure.

He nodded quickly, voice cracking. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, please.”

The desperation in his whisper made your stomach flip. You leaned forward, kissed along his jaw, his ear, and then back to his lips—this time slower, deeper, letting him feel how much you meant it. How much you wanted him.

And still, your hips moved. Measured rolls that made his breath catch and his hands dig just a little harder into your waist. The tension between you thickened like honey, sticky and warm, and everything slowed down.

He whispered your name like a prayer, and when you whispered his in return, voice thick with want and wonder, he shivered, completely undone beneath you.

Your fingers moved cautiously, tracing the hem of his shirt. You paused, eyes flicking up to meet his, giving him a silent chance to pull back. But he didn’t, he just nodded slightly, and that was all you needed.

You slid your hand under his shirt, your palm meeting the heat of his skin. He shivered immediately, muscles twitching beneath your touch, and you felt him grip your hips just a little tighter — not to stop you, but to anchor himself.

“Still okay?” you murmured against his lips.

He swallowed thickly, nodding. “More than okay.”

Piece by piece, you began to remove each other’s clothing, slowly, like unwrapping a secret. Every inch of exposed skin felt like a discovery. His shirt first, then yours. His eyes widened when he saw your chest, and for a moment, he just stared, completely speechless.

You smiled softly, brushing his cheek with your fingers. “You’ve seen me before, remember?”

“Not like this,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent.

His hands ghosted over your sides, hesitant at first, as if afraid you might vanish. But you didn’t, you leaned into his touch, and his hesitation melted into something bolder.

The more skin you revealed, the more the tension between you tightened, until it was a living, breathing thing. And when the last layer of clothing fell away, when you were both completely bare, there was nothing left to hold back.

Bob looked up at you, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on your hips. His eyes, full of something deep, searched yours, like he needed your permission again, even though you were already here, already his.

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your lips moving against his in a way that made both of you sigh quietly into the space between. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell faster, how his body tensed beneath yours as you slowly rolled your hips, letting the sensation build gently, teasingly.

He moaned — not loud, but broken, like the sound had been pulled out of him without warning. His hands flexed against your skin, not guiding you, just holding, grounding himself in the reality that this was happening. That you were here. That you wanted him.

“God… you feel so good,” he breathed, voice low and shaky.

You smiled softly against his neck, then whispered, “So do you.”

When he finally slid into you, it was careful — almost reverent. There was no rush. No hunger to claim. Just the slow, aching press of bodies coming together, like a deep breath being exhaled after being held too long.

Both of you stilled for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync. You were full of him — not just physically, but emotionally. And in that moment, you swore you felt something inside you settle. Like a missing piece had finally found where it belonged.

You began to move together, slow and deliberate, each thrust more about connection than release. His hands roamed up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blades, like he couldn’t bear to let go of even an inch of you. Every time your hips met, a soft gasp or whimper left your lips, answered by the way Bob groaned low in his throat, utterly overwhelmed by how good you felt around him.

The air between you was thick with warmth, your bodies slick with sweat but never frantic. The way you kissed him between moans, the way his hands stroked your sides with a trembling tenderness, it all spoke louder than anything you could’ve said out loud.

“I’ve never—” he choked out, voice cracking, “—never felt anything like this.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”

Your pace quickened slightly, not from desperation but because your bodies knew each other now, moved together naturally. You could feel yourself getting closer, and from the way Bob’s grip on you tightened and his hips stuttered slightly, you knew he was too.

But neither of you chased it. You let it build, let it take its time, let it matter.

And when you finally came — together, as if perfectly timed — it wasn’t explosive. It was soft. Like sinking into something that had always been waiting for you. You held each other through it, every muscle trembling, your mouths finding each other again and again as if to say, I’m here. I’m still here.

Even as your breathing slowed and your bodies softened, you didn’t pull away. You just stayed there, tangled together in warmth and silence, hearts thudding gently in the same rhythm.

The world had gone quiet. Neither of you spoke for a while. There was no need to. You were both still coming down from the high, your minds slow, your bodies heavy and satisfied.

Bob’s chest rose and fell beneath you, his heartbeat echoing faintly in your ear where your head rested against him. You could feel that he was still inside you, the connection unbroken, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to move.

You shifted just slightly, a tiny sigh escaping your lips as your thighs twitched from the lingering tension. Bob pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, the gentlest thing, like he was afraid he’d wake you even though you were still very much awake but fading.

Your voice was quiet, half-murmured against his chest. “You okay?”

He let out a breath, almost a laugh, and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I just… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this calm before.”

You smiled, your eyes closing at the sound of his voice, that low, warm rasp that made your chest flutter even now. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, not heavy, just peaceful. The kind of pause where two people are so content, silence feels like part of the conversation.

You felt yourself drifting, your body melting further into his. Your legs tangled with his, your arms limp, every inch of you relaxed in a way you hadn’t known you needed. You were safe. You were full — in every sense of the word. And his presence beneath you was like an anchor, a soft place to land after everything.

Your breath started to slow. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. Sleep pulled at you like the tide.

And then, just as you began to slip under, Bob’s voice, barely there, a whisper made of breath and feeling, broke the stillness.

“I love you.”

He didn’t say it like he expected an answer. He didn’t even say it like he meant for you to hear. It was quiet. Almost scared. Like a secret that had waited far too long to be set free.

But you didn’t stir. You were already gone, lost to sleep in the safety of his arms, your face soft and peaceful against his chest.

Bob looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, then full of something tender, something real. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, let his fingers rest against your naked back, and closed his eyes.

He will never forget this moment.

And so do you.

best friend's brother! tom finally gets you alone

NAVIGATION // home. tag. moodboard. more.

author's note: the demons...they're getting loud again. i'm actually so feral for possessive and obsessive tom. I fear I might make this my whole personality now.

obsession. 

tom riddle was, in every sense of the word, obsessive. the fixation and compulsion he poured into the things he loved had always been a marker of his character. tom was not the type of person to casually partake in something; for the eldest riddle brother, the best things in life were worth being consumed by. 

and he was. 

utterly and irrevocably consumed by you. 

y/n, mattheo’s sweet and innocent best friend. the one whose pretty eyes and lovely smile haunted his every waking moment. the one whose honeyed voice played in his head like a melody and enticed him like a siren’s song. the one whose gentle touch sent his heart racing until he felt as though the damned thing was going to burst out of his bloody chest. 

you had no idea what you did to him, but you would soon enough because tom had a plan. for weeks, he had been plotting and scheming. trying to find the right time to finally get you all to himself. 

fortunately for him, the opportunity arose one fateful evening when mattheo left his phone unattended in the living room. it was so easy, almost too easy, to guess his brother’s password and open up his most recent text thread with you. 

mattheo: come over tonight? 

tom watched as three dots appeared on the screen, indicating that you were currently typing a response. 

y/n: will tom be there?

now that was interesting. perhaps you were asking because you wanted him to be there. wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

mattheo: yes. why do you ask?

y/n: I just don't want to be a bother. I know tom likes to study on tuesdays and me coming over would probably disrupt that.

tom couldn’t help but smile. such a thoughtful, caring girl. he couldn’t wait to ruin you. 

mattheo: tom will be fine. so, are you in or not?  i'll grab your favorite snacks. 

y/n: you had me at snacks.

half an hour later, you were standing in the doorway of the riddle home, dressed in one of those pretty little dresses that tom had imagined ripping off of your body a million times. as the door swung open, those innocent eyes widened at the sight of him. you flushed when tom met your gaze, a light pink hue dusting your cheeks. 

"oh. hi, tom. um, is mattheo here? he asked me to come over." 

tom casually leaned against the frame, giving you a once over that only deepened your flush. "my brother just stepped out, but he should be back soon." 

"o—okay. he's probably out getting snacks." 

tom watched as you lingered in the doorway, anxiously fidgeting with the hem of your dress. he thought it was adorable that you were still nervous around him after all this time. biting back a smile, tom opened the door to his home a little wider. 

"are you coming in?" 

“hm?” you asked absentmindedly. “oh. yeah. yes, i’m coming. not like that. I mean, obviously. shit. ignore me please.” 

tom raised a brow, but said nothing as he barely gave you enough of a gap to squeeze through the door. he smirked to himself as you maneuvered your way inside, perky breasts brushing against his solid chest. tom could smell the sweet scent of your strawberry shampoo as you passed through. he wanted to drown himself in it. you timidly avoided his gaze, choosing instead to follow him into the kitchen in silence.

“would you like something to drink?” 

you nodded. “yes, please, i’ll take a —”

before you could finish your sentence, tom handed you a cold can of vanilla cherry soda. your favorite. you thanked him with a shy smile before following him upstairs. instinctively, you turned in the direction of mattheo’s room, but tom gripped your wrist and kept you in place. 

“you can wait in my room if you’d like. mattheo might be a while. he reeked of weed when he left."

you chuckled. “it does take matty forever to pick out snacks when he’s high.” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other before glancing up at tom through your lashes. “are you sure you don’t mind? I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“i’m sure,” tom confirmed. “I could use the company.” 

with that, you followed tom into his room. unlike mattheo’s, tom’s room was neat and organized. everything was perfect and pristine, much like the man standing before you. tom busied himself by putting away the books and notes on his desk while you fiddled with your fingers, not quite knowing what to do with yourself. 

“sit on the bed,” tom commanded. “make yourself comfortable.” 

“okay.” you replied in a small, breathy voice. 

carefully, you settled at the edge of his bed and crossed your legs. you drummed your fingers against your thigh, pondering how strange this situation was. in all your years of knowing tom, you had never once set foot in his room. at most, you caught glimpses of it when you passed by on your way to mattheo’s room. 

everything was so foreign and interesting. that was the desk where tom does all his studying. that was the closet where he keeps all of his clothes. that was the night stand where he places his glasses on before he goes to sleep. 

that was the bed that he laid in every night. your mind started to wander through all the things that tom had done in this bed. maybe by himself. maybe with someone else. the intrusive thoughts fired off one by one, leaving you flustered. does he soak the sheets when he gets himself off? does he tie his partners to the bed post when he eats them out? does he push their faces into the pillows as he rails them from behind? 

you were so engrossed in your dirty and filthy fantasies that you nearly jumped out of your skin when tom rested a hand on your thigh. 

“hm,” tom hummed. “you’re so jumpy, love.” 

you held your breath as he leaned closer, his face mere inches away from yours. the tension between you ebbed before he carefully took the soda can in your hand and placed it neatly on his nightstand. tom smirked when he noticed the hitch in your breath at his close proximity.

“do I make you nervous, doll?” 

“yes,” you answered truthfully. there was no point in lying. it was written all over your face. “you’re just so…intimidating.” 

“am I?” tom drawled as he slid in beside you, scooting in closer until his thigh was pressed against yours. even through his neatly pressed trousers, you could still feel the heat of his skin on yours. “maybe we just need to get to know each other better.” 

you bit your lip. “i’d like that, tom.” 

“good,” tom drawled. “let’s start with why you think you’d be a bother to me. mattheo told me you were hesitant to come over earlier.” 

you flushed as you stared at your shoes, the curtain of your hair shielding you from tom’s intense gaze. “I know you like your peace and quiet, which mattheo and I probably constantly interrupt. i’m sorry if we’re ever being annoying.” 

“you don’t have to worry about that. you could never bother me,” tom stated in a silky, flirty voice. “the only thing I find annoying is that you’re always with my brother. I just can’t seem to get you alone, can I?” 

you shivered as tom’s gaze flickered down to your lips. “well, we’re alone now.” 

“indeed we are.” you held your breath as tom leaned in closer, the bed dipping under his weight. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this. just you and me, without my brother to interrupt. I think about it all the time.” 

tom watched your pupils dilate, reacting to his admission. “what do you think about?” 

“I think about all the things I’d do to you. I think about the way you’d feel, the way you’d sound. if you’d scream or moan or whimper for me.” you shuddered at the sinful confession, rubbing your thighs together as heat rushed to your core. tom’s green gaze felt like a brand against your skin as a predatory look flashed through his handsome face. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” 

before you could react, tom’s mouth was on yours. the kiss was neither soft nor gentle, but instead hungry and possessive. the magnitude of his desire took you by surprise. you had always thought that tom viewed you as nothing more than mattheo’s pesky friend, the one that came over unannounced and wreaked havoc in his life, but apparently you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

tom kissed you like a man starved. he poured all of himself into the action, tangling his fingers through your hair, yanking your head backwards so he could kiss you deeper. you could barely keep up with the way he was devouring you, his tongue dominating yours while you moaned softly into his mouth. 

a gasp escaped your lips as tom picked you up and placed you on his lap. you were dizzy with desire as you straddled him, whimpering when tom bucked his hips against yours which caused his erection to rub against your soaked core. never in a million years would you have imagined tom to be this dirty and filthy as he grabbed and groped and gorged himself on you. 

your breathy moans filled the room as tom slid his right hand underneath your dress and squeezed your thigh before palming you through your panties. you melted into his touch, moaning his name softly while he growled in response. as he slid the lace aside, tom kissed your neck and teased your slit with his fingers. 

“you’re soaked, doll.” tom said with a dark chuckle. “do I make you wet, hm?” 

“yes,” you breathed, eyes rolling back as tom spread your slick ever so slowly. 

he seemed to take this as encouragement, taking his time teasing you, rubbing your clit and spreading your folds until you were reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess. 

“tom, please…”

“so needy,” tom murmured. “what is it that you want, love?” 

“I want…” you bit your lip as tom stroked your pussy. “I want your fingers. I want them inside of me. please, tom.” 

“aw, doll, you sound so pretty when you beg,” tom cooed. “don’t worry, I couldn't resist you even if I tried.” 

without warning, tom plunged his fingers into your pussy. you groaned at the stretch, face heating from how vulgar the scene unfolding before you truly was. tom watched with rapt attention as you squirmed and panted, drinking in every little moan and whimper like a fine wine. his fingers felt like magic as they curled and scissored and flicked inside your walls. the other hand that wasn’t playing with your pussy rested on your hip, gripping tightly as you grinded against tom. 

“that’s it, doll. ride my fingers just like that.” 

tom was mesmerized at the sight of you using him to get yourself off. mattheo’s sweet and innocent best friend was no longer sweet and innocent as tom fingered and ruined you like the perfect little slut that you were. his perfect little slut.

“are you going to be a good girl and cum for me?” 

tears streamed down your cheeks as you rode tom’s fingers like your life depended on it. your mascara and lipstick were both smeared, but you didn’t care as you chased after your orgasm. you gave tom a weak nod, half out of your mind with pleasure. 

tom gripped your chin and forced you to look at him. “answer me, doll.” 

“y — yes. i’m going to…oh god, tom!” you writhed as tom rubbed your clit with the heel of his palm, pushing you over the edge. 

the glimmer in your eyes right before you came unleashed something within tom. the flushed cheeks and fluttering lashes; the parted lips and strained scream, it was enough to drive him insane. he wanted to see you make that face over and over again. 

“you look so pretty when you cum, doll.” tom murmured as he bit down on your neck, staking his claim on your skin. “you’re fucking exquisite.” 

amusement danced in his gaze as you shied away from the attention, cheeks flushed from the praise. tom locked eyes with you before sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean in the most obscene and erotic way you had ever witnessed. 

“don’t get all shy now, love. it’s your cum i’m licking off my fingers and i’ll be damned if you ever feel nervous around me again.” 

you chuckled in disbelief. the tom riddle in your head was supposed to be prim and proper, but the real tom was salacious and vulgar; a version of him that was better than what you could have ever imagined. still, despite the heated exchange, tom was surprisingly tender as he helped clean you up. you blushed furiously as he pulled your dress down and kissed your cheek. 

the timing couldn’t have been more perfect because soon after you were situated, the two of you heard footsteps in the hall. you barely had time to compose yourself before mattheo came barging into the room. 

“tom, have you seen my phone?” mattheo paused in surprise when he found you staring back at him. “oh, hi y/n. what are you doing here?” 

“you asked me to come over and hang out, remember?” 

“did I?” mattheo wondered aloud. “I was pretty baked earlier. guess I must have texted you then. well, i’m free now if you want to watch a movie.” 

tom smirked as you shot a bewildered glance at him. “oh, yeah sure.” 

“by the way, what are you doing in tom’s room? is he boring you to death about his coin collection again?” 

you blushed furiously. “no, uh, we were just…tom and I were…” 

“we were discussing the finer points of human anatomy,” tom lied smoothly. his smirk was still perfectly in place as he glanced over at you. “it was a rather…stimulating conversation. was it not, doll?” 

the tips of your ears were bright red as you nodded in place of a response, because you couldn’t trust yourself to speak at the moment.

mattheo rolled his eyes. “well, if you’re done being a weirdo, y/n and I will be in the basement.” 

you fiddled with the hem of your dress, not quite able to meet tom’s eyes. “um, well, I guess I’ll see you later?” 

tom winked behind his brother’s back. “you know where to find me, doll.” 

Everything about this was so beautiful 😍

Sweet Juice

Severus Snape x Alumni!reader.

NFSW! Basically (fluffy) smut with a massive plot. //! Incorrect use of Potions.

Severus is 30 years old in this fic, you are 23, minor age gap. 

Summary: Ever since your youth, you were passionate about the art of Potions. Luckily, during your time at Hogwarts, you found a mentor in the strict and cold Professor Snape. Having made a habit of spending hours after class talking to him, all of this came to an abrupt end during your final year. Leaving you in a total mystery, with no answers.  It was only years later that you took your revenge, in the hope of moving on. Not suspecting that it would bring you face to face with your deepest desires. 

A/N: I admit I could have turned this into a multi-chapter fanfic, but I figured that would break the rhythm, so enjoy this long read! This fic is inspired by ‘Sweet Juice’ by Purple Kiss, go stream it for a better life! Trust me (;

Word count: 14k. (hehe)

"Ah- Miss Y/f/n, please accept this price. It is an honour to be able to reward young talents like yourself." The little cup was hurriedly placed in your hands.

"It is an honour to be awarded with this prestigious prize," You politely thanked the crowd.

Your eyes lingered on the name of the prize, ‘Research & Development, winner of the best potion of the year'. And without even realising it, your lips drew a somewhat smug smile. Standing upright, ready to have your photo done, to appear in the next edition of the Daily Prophet, with pride, you held the cup in your hands. In that busy room, you were the youngest. And yet, you are the one who has been praised for your achievements. Earning jealous glares from the potion makers, who coveted it as much as you did.

"Miss, can you tell us more about your potion, how did you get the idea?" You were asked, for what you guessed was now an actual interview.

"I wanted to be able to help the Wizards and Witches to unwind more easily, it is sometimes difficult to let go of work pressure and its boredom. That is why I decided to study Amortentia, and its derivations, in order to create a potion capable of releasing in us the hormones necessary to enjoy ourselves... Without the negative effects of the ancient Potions." You explained, in the simplest way possible to the journalists.

"So it's a potion that gets you aroused?" One adds.

You frowned, a little offended by this shortcut, "Yes, in theory, but it goes deeper than that. Otherwise, I wouldn't be rewarded today. But if you want to know, you have to taste it... All the reviews have been very positive." You commented, with a wink. 

To summarise months, almost a whole year of research, is almost an insult to your work. Amortentia is one of the most dangerous potions. Studying it to the point of understanding its mechanism and removing the obsession it causes, was the greatest achievement of the process. The rest was just a series of experiments, an understanding of the human body and its hormones, and it was done. 

The result was prodigious, it brought a sense of relaxation, without the risk of an eternal sleep like the Draught of Peace. Comfort and love, without the risk of being manipulated by an evil liquid. And then, depending on the quantity used, the effects could be more or less intense, but never dangerous. Quite remarkable, considering all the side effects that most Potions could provide. 

You deserve your reward tonight for many reasons, no one else has been able to do it in the past.

“Have you always held an interest in the subject?" The interview proceeded, to have some content for the beloved magazine.

"Yes, since my school days at Hogwarts. I quickly found a vocation in the subject, expressing my talents at an early age.” You paused, before continuing, "But it would never have been possible without the support of my teacher and mentor, Severus Snape, who taught me everything. His talent is second to none, and next to it, I am nobody, even after tonight." You humbly added, with another smile.

At the end of this sentence, your eyes searched for a certain dark silhouette. 

Unlike earlier, that smile was particularly forced on your lips. To say that he had supported you was a fine lie. While at first he was indeed ‘supporting’ you (more like a tolerating you), graciously accepting you to attend his prestigious private Potion club, the entirety of your last year was a failure. 

In your first years, you never had to face his wrath and nasty comments, simply because he couldn't blame you for anything. Your work was perfect, from theory to application. But to him, you were nothing.

With time, and your growing skills, things changed. There was a time when you even assumed that an understanding had developed between the two of you, you were not friends, it was impossible with such a man, but it wasn’t nothing either. Eventually, the discussions after class or the club, sharing theories and experiences, became quite regular. Sometimes up to dinner hour, and even after curfew, the time went by so quickly in these periods, as neither of you paid attention, caught up in the interaction. After all, the discussions were very entertaining, between two Potions enthusiasts, and you gained a lot of knowledge from them.

Perhaps because you had succeeded to raise his esteem for you, Professor Snape, during class, would give you one of his infrequent compliments on your methods, or provide you with advice while experiencing in the club. Over time, you came to really treasure this exclusive ‘bond’, with such a cold and distant person. It would be a lie to say that in every class, your shared private discussions weren't the moment you were most looking forward to. You felt special.

You couldn't remember exactly when or how this routine started, it had developed naturally during the end of your fifth year and lasted all the way through to the sixth. However, you could remember bitterly how it had ended. 

By the start of your final year at Hogwarts, a cold shoulder from Professor Snape had begun to creep between the two of you. He no longer commented on your work, or even dared to give you one of his rare compliments. It was simply as if you didn't even exist. This drastic change was particularly noticeable when you tried to revive another discussion after class, only to be rejected. 'I don't have time Miss Y/f/n', 'I've got too much work', 'Go, and revise', these were, obviously, bland excuses. 

You had spent time thinking about it, trying to understand this radical change, but nothing could be found. The discussions had never overflowed on personal information, at least on his side, you - You had been more talkative. And again, nothing major, just simple information like your preferences in terms of flowers, cake flavours, and favourite literature. It never looked like it bothered him to listen to you, and yet strangely enough it seemed to interest him. But, in the end, most of the talk was about Potions, nothing odd that should have ended it all brutally.

In the course of your discussions, you had always expressed an interest in a career in the field, and Professor Snape had consequently supported you (in his own way) in this idea. In all honesty, having his approval really encouraged you. Until, once again, your senior year. While you had been able to get decent, if not perfect, results up to this point, the downfall continued when you saw your grades drop for unfair reasons. You had never witnessed his unfair grading, but when you became one of his victims, he was unforgiving towards your harmless mistakes. It was as if he was trying to ruin your future career as a potion maker.

All this unjustified hatred, discouraged you, but not to the point of giving up your aspiration, otherwise you wouldn't be standing there with the precious prize in your hands. 

Was it some kind of revenge? Definitely. 

Mentioning Severus in your ‘thank you speech’ was perfectly legitimate, he had given you more than anyone else in your life. But, even though you kept telling yourself that it was already 3 years ago and it belonged to the past, your heart was still broken, disappointed. And by his presence tonight, you were hoping to finally put an end to it all. Snape had witnessed your happiness, you had won, the revenge was completed. Time to move on. 

However, it was easier to convince yourself than to apply it. It would be wrong to claim that you hadn't worked hard to impress him. Ever since that cold war between you two, no matter how strange it may seem, you couldn't get over it. 

Sometimes, in your most private moments, you would close your eyes in the hope of being able to remember. The damp smell of the dungeons invading your nostrils, your teacher's deep voice echoing within the cold walls to your ears, praising you how well you had worked. His dark eyes focused on you, and only you. In fact, the intensity of his dark gaze could suffocate you, and yet you would not care. You desperately wanted to reclaim that relationship, as someone to whom he would give his precious time, where he would share his passions anew, a time when in his mind you existed and were important. And no matter how embarrassing it was, the idea of finding pleasure in these memories was enough to make your knickers wet.

At the time, you had convinced yourself that you were not holding any affection regarding your Professor… Another fine lie from you, obviously. It had taken a few years to come to this conclusion, to get out of the denial of this forbidden love. But now it was clear and explained a lot concerning your addiction and pain. The feeling of anticipation at the end of each lesson, the way you would pour your soul into the subject in the hope of receiving a ‘compliment’... Or simply the way you kept seeking for his attention, even after years. Nothing about this behaviour was appropriate, regardless how hard you tried to maintain the classic student-teacher relationship, on your own. 

Perhaps Snape had even realised this, explaining the sudden cessation of your individual time together. 

And even though, with hindsight, you should have felt guilty, you couldn't throw away that attachment. It was as if he had put a spell on you, that the lack of contact with him since you graduated from Hogwarts had reinforced that love. 

But today was different, it was your revenge, your mourning over this period of your life. 

The sound of the camera flashes snapped you out of your thoughts. The lights blinded your eyes for a moment, and you blinked frantically to regain your sight. Hoping that the pictures would look nice on the magazine...

"Well, congratulations Miss Y/f/n, we hope to see your Potion soon on the market amongst our merchants. I can’t wait to taste it, as you have suggested." The interview ended on this note, and the journalists dismissed themselves to make room for those who wished to thank you or congratulate you in person. 

Thus, you were greeted with a new wave of questions, of praises, mostly it was older wizards and witches who were attending the event, and thus more 'experienced' than you in Potions. Their words tasted like hypocrisy, but you accepted everything with a polite smile. You actually enjoyed the attention, although deep down it was a particular Potions Master you were looking for, so it all went over your head. After a few moments you managed to escape from the conversation that had been built around the right to use the Felix Felixis at the Ministry's work, to get yourself a glass of alcohol from the buffet. 

The taste of alcohol eased your nerves, rejoicing in the moment of calm you just gave yourself after all the attention you received. But the moment was short.

“Miss Y/f/n. How fortuitous to find you here." A voice commented sarcastically on your presence at the bar. 

There was no need to look up at the person speaking to you because you already knew who he was. His deep voice was like a melody, a music composed by the finest musicians of this world. How, Merlin, you truly missed it…

“Professor Snape- Hum, or should I say Severus now that we are colleagues?” You answered him a little too smoothly for your taste, One drink and my anger is already forgotten? I need to get my act together!

“Snape will do, we are not direct colleagues. Let's keep some formality.” He replied somewhat distantly. Ouch- Years did not seem to have quieted the hatred he had against you.

You had not yet looked up to him, postponing the moment when you would be blessed with his physical presence. But you could see from the corner of your eye that he was pouring himself a shot glass of what seemed to be a fire whiskey.

"I must say that I am surprised that the award was given to you tonight... However, it would be wrong not to congratulate you." Severus began slowly, as if preventing himself from saying too much. “But…”

“But?” Your voice cut him off, a mixture of excitement and sheer joy at the thought of receiving praise from your dear Professor. This special praise you had been longing for. 

"But-” He sighed as if you had annoyed him, “I object to the fact that my teachings have led you to produce such a grotesque Potion." 

If your eyes had been glued to your glass since the beginning of the conversation fearing to feel butterflies in your stomach at the sight of Severus, you suddenly raised them, eyes wide with surprise. And in your stomach, anger. How dare he humiliate my work like that?

However, you were at a loss for words. He hadn't changed at all, he hadn't even made the effort to wear another suit for the event. He remained the same man as when you left him. Your eyes fell on his face, he had a neutral expression, as if his hurtful words were the most well-deserved ones. His eyes were on you, but because of the dim light and his dark pupils it was impossible for you to discern any judgement within. Otherwise, his hair was still the same length, falling gently over his shoulders, soft… His hooked nose made him look sterner than ever, and the crease between his over-frowned eyebrows did not seem to have increased.

He was still the same man, the one you were so fond of, and that made it more difficult. 

But it was as if you two had evolved in two different time spaces. It had only been two years since you left Hogwarts, and it was certain that the occasional times you ran into a former classmate, they all had trouble recognising you. Obviously, you have grown in maturity through your work. You were no longer a young girl, you were a woman, a lady, with stature and respect. You were even certain that if your name wasn't mentioned at your prize-giving, Severus wouldn't have known who you are. 

"A grotesque potion?” You took back his words, insulted, “You know perfectly well all the work that lies behind it. I explained it in a briefing for the association. You must have read it, right?" You tried to hide the irritation in your voice.

"I read it, of course. And although I must admit that it was all a tremendous amount of hard work... All these efforts, for such a clownish result, is disappointing."

You couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief. You were supposed to be the one to get your revenge tonight. And here you are, in the shoes of the student you used to be in your last year, being jeered for your hard work. His words were harsh, and perhaps because they came from your professor, they hurt you badly. 

"The mere fact that I am the one who taught you everything is even more terrible." He added nonchalantly, bringing his glass to his lips. 

You remained quiet, thinking of all the things you could say to him. After all, he was no longer your instructor, Severus no longer had superiority over you. What can he do now, if I snapped at him? Expel me from Hogwarts? Perhaps, it was the moment for you to confess everything that was weighing on your heart. How his coldness and distance had made you miserable. 

"I thought it was only fair to thank you in my speech." You retorted, "But as far as I can see, you don't even want to be associated with me anymore, even as a mere tutor. Your hatred of me, I don't know where it comes from, but it's all unfair. This was supposed to be my special night. But now you've ruined it.” You hesitated before speaking again, “Like you’ve ruined my seventh year at Hogwarts."

Severus’ face remained as neutral as ever, but in his posture you felt a kind of irritation, he was caught off guard by your curt reply. Well, he must understand that I won't take his nastiness easily anymore. 

However, you took no pleasure in giving him this answer. You had imagined many scenarios about your reunion... You had hoped that he would apologise, show that he felt sorry for having been cold to you, and in the more realistic scenario simply shake your hand, congratulate you and that was it. In no way, had you expected that he would remain so hostile. 

A heavy silence fell between the two of you. His lack of response bothered you further, so you grabbed your glass and finished it straight down. "I'm going to get some air, if anyone is looking for me." Your voice was less angry, as your throat tightened dangerously, poised to burst into tears and it was slightly audible. It was a disaster.

You took your trophy with great care, the only thing that gave you comfort, and left without even bowing to Severus. You were never going to see him again in your life anyway. 

The evening of the association for Potions makers of Great Britain (or simply those with an interest for the discipline), was held in the large manor house of the current Chairman. After escaping from the hall where the main event was taking place, you looked for a way out to the garden. Your heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing in the various empty corridors. The laughter and voices of the party began to fade with each step you took. 

You were getting away from these jealous and condescending people and above all, from Severus. Good, you didn't feel like crying miserably in front of everyone. Your hopes were already destroyed, your ego wasn't going to be the next crime. After a moment, you spotted a windowed door leading to the backyard and quickly rushed to open it, taking a deep breath of air in desperation. 

Stepping out completely, you were pleasantly surprised to discover the lovely atmosphere. The garden was well tended with bushes of various flowers and the grass was green and healthy, while lanterns lightened the path leading to the depths of the garden. You were caught up in the sense of peace and quiet that it gave you, feeling much more comfortable on your own. 

It was summer, late August, school was beginning soon, work was about to restart and the merchants would soon be back in business. But it was already late, the moon was already high in the sky, almost full, and the stars shone brightly in the country sky away from London's city lights. The air was a bit fresh, but cold enough to get your mind back in order without freezing in your evening gown, which was quite revealing… But still elegant and pretty.

Venturing into the garden you finally found a bench to settle down on and think about what just happened, alone. Your eyes lifted to the magnificent starry sky before you, and its darkness made you think of Severus... The way his pupils were fixed on you, the image replayed in your mind... Over and over. You wanted to despise him for his behaviour, he had broken your heart! Not to feed your already distracted mind with lusty thoughts. Did he, at least, appreciate the sight of me in this dress? Your mind began to wander in a dangerous area, and you needed to stop right now.  

Severus had been nothing but spiteful, he hadn't changed for sure, whether it was physically or mentally. And yet... You couldn't hate him in the slightest. It all seemed wrong on his part, as if he was forcing himself. Pushing you away. 

You sighed, it was truly a disaster, you were frustrated with Severus, with yourself. Tonight was about revenge, moving on was the main mission and now you were fantasising all over again, like the flame of your love had been rekindled. 

A tear rolled down your cheek from sheer frustration, disappointment in yourself. Then one tear broke into a silent cry. Were you doomed to love a man you will never see again, who is out of reach and seems to be loathing you? Put like this, it was as if you enjoyed suffering. 

Now, you had no desire to return to the house with the other members, the possibility of running into Snape again and worsening your mental state, made you dread the prospect. Great, he had won and definitely broken your heart. 

It was decided, you were going to stay there, with your trophy in your arms and with a bit of luck you will be able to leave unnoticed by floo powder. The plan seemed reasonable. 

But fate seemed to have decided otherwise. 

You jumped when you heard someone cough to get your attention. You were so deep in thought, your eyes fixed on the sky, that you didn't hear anyone approaching you. Your little moment of peace had been ruined, and you frowned as your eyes fell on the culprit. Severus’ brooding silhouette in the darkness of the garden lived up to his Hogwarts reputation as a bat. 

You sniffed, "What are you doing here? Go away. You've already hurt me enough, there's no need to make it worse, I heard your nasty comments once already." In your pathetic state you asked Severus rather rudely to leave. 

There was a small silence before it was broken by his voice, "Are you crying?"

You couldn't make out his face, so you concluded that he couldn't see yours either. You hesitated between telling the truth or lying before answering, “Why do you care…?” Your voice was weak, in no way hiding the truth. 

“I asked you a question, Y/n” He persisted.

Hearing his voice pronounce your first name, as he used to do when you were in private conversation, made you weak in the knees, much more than you would have liked to acknowledge. 

"I, hum... Yes." You replied, sobbing quietly. Resistance will only make things worse. 

"It's a wonder you've managed to make a respectable place for yourself in the business, with such a weak mind." But unlike earlier his voice was gentler, firm, but gentle. "I've talked a bit with some of your fellow peers, people who have been around you for the past few years. Supporting you in carrying out your work… Believing in this project of yours.” He paused for another moment. 

You didn't know what he was getting at, confusion all over your face. The people you had surrounded yourself with for work were not in attendance tonight. They were mostly former students just like yourself, who had attended the advanced Potions class. If they were absent tonight it is because in their research of Potions, unlike you, they had not managed to produce a viable solution. 

In the darkness, you discerned him taking his place beside you on the bench. The warmth of his body spreading over your arm, allows you to evaluate how close you were to each other. And the answer was easy, very close. You could smell the light scent of his fragrance, a bit musky, the bare skin of your arm was grazing against the thick fabric of his frock coat, and it was a miracle that he was still able to breathe under all those layers in this warm weather. You noticed that it was the first time he was so close to you, usually he would keep his distance. His desk or the potions station had always been a well-respected barrier between the two of you. And thus, it made you a bit timid.

"Well, talking…” He spoke sarcastically to rectify himself, “I’ve exchanged letters with them. Checking on my former students, those you are working with now. Ensuring that everything was going well for you." He emphasised the last part of his sentence. 

And Severus doesn't need to amplify his words, for you to understand what he was implying secretly. 

Severus had checked on you, taking news through his letters over the past two years. 

Each of his words hit you straight in the heart, making it pound faster each time. You thanked Merlin for the obscurity, because between your tears that must have drenched your makeup and the crimson spreading over your cheeks, the sight must be pretty dramatic. 

"Why didn't you send an owl directly to me?" Your voice was still weak, but your tears had ceased. You ran your delicate hand over your cheeks to remove the remaining tears. 

You heard Severus sigh quietly at your question. It took him a while to answer, as if he was tortured to answer honestly or lying, hesitating in the same way you did a few moments ago with his question. “It’s complicated.” Severus opted to be vague, "In any case, I've got nothing but praise for your work or even your person... They like you just the same as they did back at Hogwarts."

You didn't know if your mind was playing tricks on you by wanting to romanticise everything, but in his voice there was a faint hint of nostalgia. Severus' note brought a smile to your lips, "I'm glad to hear that, I appreciate them as well. At least they're not hypocrites like everyone else tonight..." Your honesty seemed to catch what sounded like a quiet chuckle from your former Professor. 

"I must grant you, Y/n... That my words were harsh against you." Severus' voice regained its usual firm tone, "But I must confess, that such a potion, with such utility, surprises me coming from you."

That was what you guessed, his form of apology, and you accepted the way it was. "It is true that in my youth I never showed any interest in Healing Potions. What interested me the most were Poisons... But Amortentia is a poison like any other, in its own way, and research can lead us to expand our minds, can't they?” The fact that Severus knew perfectly your preferences in the area, made it easier to explain. "And then, with hindsight, I'm proud that my invention helps people, rather than killing them."

Severus nodded quietly, indicating that he fully understood the meaning of your words, as you had hoped he would. He seemed to remember all the information you had told him about yourself three years ago. That made you more than happy.  

“‘Sweet juice’, that's how you named it?” He spoke with sarcasm, gently mocking. 

It was your turn to sweetly chuckle, “No! I had originally named it 'Aquae dulcis', from the Latin ‘peaceful liquid’... But for the promotion, I was advised to change the name to a more sales-oriented one, which would fit better with my image as a lady.”

"I was wondering why the name doesn't match you… I've got my answer." He sounded somewhat relieved, "Many people have mentioned the taste." Severus sounded less reticent over your Potion, it was even if he was aware of the feedbacks that were provided in order to boost the pre-sales. 

"Ah- yes, the taste... That's what gives the potion its reputation for being arousing." You sighed a little embarrassed to talk about this with him, “Unlike many Potions, with a disgusting taste… Mine is sweet. The liquid drips slowly down the throat, the taste hooked up everyone wishing to take it. The feeling is strange to describe, and actually I can’t… Like a flame, it all burns, it all gets on, the throat-burning sensation is taboo.” You added the last part of your sentence in a whisper due to the embarrassing nature of your language. It sounded sexual, you must admit. 

Again there was silence and you wished you hadn't said what you revealed about this special taste, fearing that you had gone too far and brought your former teacher into equal discomfort. 

But he answered with an unexpected thought, “I’m curious about the experience.” You caught your breath surprised, not even realising that you had stopped for a moment out of fear,  "No potions so far have managed to ease my nerves. The Draught of Peace made me feel like I was too tired to continue working properly, so I stopped years ago. And if there's one time when I'm extremely irritable, it's at work, or when I'm grading papers… Especially when I grade the papers.” It was as if Severus was 'justifying' himself for wishing to try it. But deep down, some peace would only do him good. 

"Only a few drops then, otherwise you'll regret the tiredness you got from the Draught of Peace when you'll feel aroused during your teaching." Even yourself was surprised by the bold words you used.

Thankfully Severus took less time to answer than last time, "Of course. I'll be careful. I'll give you a personal feedback on my impressions over the next few days following the start of term."

"Send the owl directly to me this time, it would be unfortunate if anyone found out you had an 'uncomfortable issue' because of my Potion." You laughed softly, clearly more comfortable around him. You were both adults now, fellow colleagues in the Potions discipline, you have the right to tease him about the unwanted side effects.

Well, unwanted for Severus’ case. You knew that many were looking forward to taking bigger doses... Precisely to get horny. 

“I will Y/n,” He answered in a tone that seemed to be almost as amused. 

“So… You want it, you want some Sweet Juice?” You ask him, hardly believing that you were asking Severus Snape, your cold former professor, if he wanted a stash of your own (arousing) Potion. 

"If you don't mind, as it will only be sold on the mid-September market, if I understand correctly. I will, of course, pay for anything you may want to send me." He firmly says, 

You shook your head sharply, "Absolutely not, I'll send you these for free as a thank-you. And before school starts, so everything will be ready for you to face those annoying and incompetent first years." 

Severus sighs, a mixture of exasperation and relief. Exasperation because you were strict about him not paying you for anything, relief at the idea of finally having a solution to calm his tense nerves. “Stubborn as ever, I see. You may have changed physically, mentally you’re still the same.”

His little statement had the power to make your cheeks even more flushed. So he noticed that I had changed… That I’m now a lady. “Thank you, I guess?” You had no idea how to reply to that. 

"That's a compliment.” He clarified for you, “You are, indeed, now… Excuse my choice of words- a pretty woman. But besides your appearance, you are blossoming in what you always dreamed of, with a remarkable career start. It's a good thing you've kept parts of yourself intact, fame must not go to your head. But you are a reasonable lady, I know everything will be fine." It was Severus' turn to be a bit awkward with his words.

His compliment went straight to your heart and seemed to soothe all the pain you had felt over the last few years. However, in his tone, Severus sounded as if he wanted to keep his words strictly formal, as he had always done even in your deepest discussions in the past. 

"Thank you Severu- Hm, Snape.” You hated how easy it was for you to say his first name, when he had just corrected you a few moments before. However, he didn't correct you this time, letting that minor error slide. 

You indulged in the peaceful silence that settled between the two of you. The way the conversation had progressed was comparable to the ones you had in the past, if not more comfortable. Two enthusiasts discussing about their favourite subject, trying to understand each other's opinion with respect and interest. Obviously, a formal one, Severus always maintains his distance from you, as if he was always your Professor and couldn't afford to be more. Your hopes were not high on a potential romance with Severus, he was older, your former teacher, mysterious… In the end you know nothing about the man and his job was keeping him busy all year long. However, a friend would be a good start… A rather affordable hope.

In the end, when Severus opted not to act cold, it was as if there hadn't been a rupture in your relationship. The chemistry had returned back in a flash. It made you bitterly regret those three lost years... Besides, you still had no idea of the exact nature of his past harsh attitude. Maybe even tonight was just an exception and the question will never be answered.

However, if Severus ever decided, as he had suggested with his impressions, to exchange letters, perhaps with time you would find the courage to ask him. Now, it would be a bad idea and would ruin the calm atmosphere. 

"Maybe it's time to get back to the party..." Severus offered, his voice not exactly enthusiastic about joining the festivities again as well, "The others will wonder when they notice our absence."

“Right, It would be unfortunate if they started to wonder about our connection..." You laughed lightly, mocking his constant worry about being paired with you. Severus huffed, outraged. 

He stood up, and in the half-light you saw him offering his arm to you, like a gentleman. You took it without hesitation, linking yours to his.

"It's been pleasing tonight…” You spoke quietly, as Severus escorted you back into the manor.

He inhaled shakily before answering, "Yes, I agree. And hearing from you, - personally - is always preferable. I hope this will last in your future letters." 

You smiled at his words, "Obviously, Severus." There was a deep fondness evident in your voice. This time you couldn't help it, saying his first name felt right, and he didn't correct you either. 

-

The October leaves had just fallen, the soft light with its morning rays of sunshine was reaching into your office. The scenery was quiet, peaceful even. And even though you had no reason to be in your office this early, you were waiting for a special occurrence. 

Sweet Juice' had been on the market for almost a month, at various shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and sales were more than encouraging. In fact, it was a real success. Some minor stock-outs caused even a panic among the sellers when they couldn't satisfy their demanding customers. Everyone was talking about the benefits of your Potion, and how it changed their life.

The money you received was considerable, allowing you to take a break. After two years of hard work, you deserved it. And a new solution cannot be invented that easily anyway. So your days were pretty uneventful, sometimes you were occupied with checking in with the producer, the one you had trusted enough to share the secrets of your mixture, and the sales. Otherwise, most of your days were spent taking care of yourself, enjoying life and, above all, waiting for Severus' letters. 

Currently in your hands, the last letter you received, already dated from the previous week. The other letters, which numbered five, were neatly folded and kept in the first drawer of your desk. Severus' handwriting was as elegant and delicate as ever, and you took great comfort in receiving them. The content was kept formal, but somewhat ‘casual’ or ‘friendly’. Which was a good development. 

The letters were quite brief and mostly structured the same way. Severus would write about his thoughts on Potions, then about his days at Hogwarts, and finally he would reply directly to the contents of the letter he had just received, making his comments on your daily life. 

In each of his answers, you could tell that he was making the effort to maintain the relationship despite the distance. When the first correspondence started, you were quite surprised to see his owl on your windowsill within less than a week. You were pleasantly surprised, expecting to receive a response within a relatively long delay. To be honest, you weren't expecting this much from him, because you know how occupied he is.

Your eyes lingered on the contents of the one you held in your hands. 

Dear Y/n, 

Thank you for the new batch of Potions you have sent me.

I would like to use it sparingly, addiction would be regrettable. So I take precautions, even though the peaceful effect it brings me is always efficient. Being able to sleep properly is, I must confess, a luxury I had not enjoyed until recently. And it's all thanks to you. 

I would say my days at Hogwarts are bearable. Work is draining, as always. 

I hadn’t found a moment to read the book you recommended. I will try to make up for it before my next answer. 

However, I am glad to hear that you are taking the time to have a break. Don't worry if the days can be boring, and you miss work, you need it. Do not become like me, please.

Yours faithfully, 

Severus Snape,

You had lost count, you must have read the contents of the letter ten times already. In fact, every letter you received from Severus was read more than once. It was a forbidden pleasure, but seeing his words specifically directed at you, gives you butterflies in your insides. 

But, you put your mind at rest with the fact that they were just letters and nothing more. It was less severe than when you were seeing him daily, in your student days. It was impossible for Severus to even guess the depth of your feelings towards him, when the only contact the two of you had was a piece of paper and a few words. You weren't likely to offend him or make him feel uneasy with your feelings towards him. So you were living your affection for this man to the fullest in the privacy of your own home. 

Leaning back in your desk chair, while your mind wandered over Hogwarts’ dungeon bat, you heard a tiny clatter against your window. Looking up, a sweet smile came to your lips. Your hands folded the current letter you were reading, folding it carefully and storing it away before standing up to retrieve the new one you had been expecting. 

Severus' owl was just like him, black plumage, piercing eyes. The only thing they did not have in common was their sweetness. When you opened your window, you were immediately greeted by a warm hooting.

“Hey, I hope the journey wasn't too long.” Your voice was almost too mellow for just an owl, and your hand gently stroked the top of its head as you greeted back. With a smile, you carefully untied the letter from its grasp. Once done, you put the envelope on your desk and collected grains to feed the owl. The owl pecked into the palm of your hand, now used to this small ritual. A hoot of gratitude indicated that the mission was accomplished. 

"Return safely to Hogwarts." With a last small pat, you gazed at the black owl as it flew off into the distance, back to its owner. 

Returning to your desk, you opened the envelope carefully and unfolded it. You were surprised to see that the content was longer than usual, twice as long. You didn't remember that your previous answer was that interesting to deserve such a detailed reply... Thus, you hurried to read it. 

Dear Y/n, 

I fear I haven't kept my promise.

I think I underestimated the side effects of your Potion, and this past week I've ‘suffered’ the consequences. A few drops was the dose I set myself to respect every night before going to bed, following your advice and the instructions for its use. Alas, after a particularly difficult day, I wanted to experiment with a higher dosage. I don't need to tell you in detail what it did to me, I think you've already guessed…

But I must, at least, keep our initial agreement, so if you don't object I will give you a report on this new experience. For the sake of the profession. 

The usual few drops prevented me from being able to experience in its fullest, the unique taste of the potion's effects. And I must say congratulations, never in my life have I tasted anything so sweet. The description you gave me a few months ago has stayed in my mind since, and I must say that you were right, nothing can describe how it feels. Heaven? Maybe. On that night, I reached heaven.

I was starving, I was out of control (or so I thought). I was almost unable to bear it, and then, it was time to awaken the sleeping madness in me... 

The hardest part is, I can't blame the Potion. It's almost cruel, but as you said, unlike with Amortentia, I had full power over my body, I wasn't intoxicated or bewitched. I succumbed to my impulses on my own. And… It feels good. 

This followed, of my own accord, a kind of addiction. The nights prior to this uneventful ‘accident’ I made a habit of taking these larger doses, for my own pleasure… Thus, I would conclude the entire experience to be more than enjoyable. 

In the future, I will try to find a balance to avoid abusing what is more than good. For the time being, I'm still enjoying myself. 

However, even if your potion is a miracle, it does not take away all the work I need to complete. 

And I must say, a thought came to my mind. In fact, Dumbledore was the one who suggested it to me years ago. And even if I was reluctant to the idea at first... The prospect feels less unpleasant if you are the one taking on this duty. 

Not wishing to interfere with your precious break, would you like to be my occasional assistant? 

You have the right to refuse, I wouldn't blame you. 

If the answer is positive, the first period I would wish to ask for your help would be mid-November, before the first exams. And that's for a few weeks, maybe for two, more or less. 

Naturally, you'll be welcomed at Hogwarts with all the necessities, a private chamber and a paycheck. But I'll give you the details in due time.

In any case, I will respect your decision and will look forward to receiving your answer, as I always do. 

Yours faithfully, 

Severus Snape,

PS: I trust you to keep this information confidential. 

Your eyes frantically scan the contents of the letter, there is a lot to take in. Your cheeks were flushed, your heart was pounding, the first major piece of information was that Severus was using your potion for his own sexual needs. And while you detected some reserve in his wording, he had admitted it without shame in that letter. You would never have thought Severus capable of speaking in such a way (at least, towards you), even if his words were formal, they were nonetheless heavy with meaning and bold.

You couldn't help it, your mind perfectly pictured Severus. At night, alone, under the pleasurable effect of the Potion. In your fantasy, his face was focused, his eyebrows a bit furrowed, some sweat rolling down his forehead because of the heat. A few strands of his hair would fall into his eyes, but his attention was so focused on the intense pleasure he was experiencing that he couldn't care less. Was he the type to moan? Or to remain silent? Or… Maybe the cravings were so powerful that he would bite his lip to keep quiet. 

At first, his hands would temptingly wander down his body, slowly, carefully, intoxicated by the rising pleasure. Touching himself was a pleasant torture, and as he said himself in the letter, he was unable to stop. Knowing how the potion would affect his senses, his skin must feel sensitive, leaving burning trails with every brush of his fingers over every inch of his skin, over all erogenous parts of his body, making him lose his mind. 

The way Severus’ hands would desperately clutched his already erected manhood, dripping precum with impatience, hoping to reach an orgasm, maybe even one or several. Seeking frantically for friction to satiate his craving, his hips bucked, his hand tightening to increase the contact pressure. The sight must be sumptuous. 

You wondered, for a moment, about the thoughts Severus might have to stimulate his mind. Was the Potion working enough to turn him on? Or was he seeking greater satisfaction with some dirty images? This left you with a real question. And you realised that even after all this time, you knew many things about him, but not at all in such an intimate setting. Which made sense, since most of the time you were his student... The first glimpse you had of this point was the letter.   

And, you're the only one who knows his nightly routine. He trusted you, beyond the fact that you were the creator of the Potion who helped him satisfy his lusts. The mere idea to be in the confidence of this secret, made your knickers wet. 

And even though it was already a lot to process, this was not the only exciting news. Severus asked you, himself, to be his assistant. He even suggested it, because the idea of working with you sounded appealing. You. Of all people, he thought about you. 

You didn't question it, it was decided the moment the information reached your brain. You were going to accept. And how could you turn down the offer when the mysterious and reserved Severus Snape admitted on his own, that he was eagerly expecting your letters…

After years of longing to feel that special feeling again, in one letter Severus had given you a lot. 

-

Returning to Hogwarts was a hope you never thought imaginable. However, a week ago you arrived with a suitcase packed, ready to work. The stone corridors, the moving stairs and even the staff had remained the same. The only change was that instead of sitting at your house table for dinner, you were now placed between Flitwick and Snape. And of course, that most of your time was spent in the dark, damp dungeons of the School brewing Potions, or grading papers. 

Unlike what many might think, working alongside Severus was much more manageable than they might have thought. In any case, with you, he trusted your work enough not to question it. In fact, when you arrived, you were quite worried when you saw the dark circles under his eyes, which were more prominent than you used to remember. And when you became his assistant, you understood why. Severus was a perfectionist, and his teaching methods were all tailored to ensure the success of his students. So your tasks were simple, like preparing the exams, the basics for the Potions that were going to be taught, correcting papers, arranging the ingredients... And while you were just assisting him, within a few days he had managed to find more rest. Something that made you feel better.

Apart from that, the working conditions were quiet and calm. Severus was conversing with you during the simplest of tasks, he didn't seem as tight as usual (in private, at least), what you guessed were the effects of your Potion. At times, it was simply work performed in a comfortable silence. But between you, there was no longer any sign of discomfort or coldness. It was as if it had never happened, actually. 

Well, until today. 

"I wonder..." Severus began his sentence thoughtfully, his eyes focused on the cauldron in front of him, his hands busy chopping up ingredients, "How I used to find time to work and talk to you, back then."

You had a similar task, but unlike him you looked up in surprise. Severus rarely mentioned the past between you, or even the letters you had exchanged the past month. "I don't know either... That's why you stopped in my seventh grade, right?"

You didn't particularly want to mention the subject that had become nearly forbidden with time, namely your cold war. But you felt that under the current circumstances, you were old and mature enough to take it on yourself. Even though you might never get any solid answers about his past behaviour. 

“Y/n, we both know that’s not the truth.” 

Your eyes were still fixed on him, and you didn't know if Severus was too focused on his Potion to realise the implication of his words, or if he really wanted to discuss the issue once and for all. But you weren't going to miss your chance, trying to summon all your courage. "Oh- Really? Those are the excuses you gave me, would you like to tell me the truth then?" You answered casually, trying to play it cool despite your racing heart. Years of seeking the answer, it was as if what haunted you most was finally going to be removed. 

However, the answer did not come as easily as the conversation had started, Severus stopped in his tracks and raised his head to you. His expression was hesitant, or perplexed, you didn't really know. "It was best for us to stop there, that's the real reason." He replies vaguely, his eyes fixed on your face where you stand across the Potion station. 

You frowned, you were an adult now, you could handle and accept the truth. Severus, on the other hand, was being vague, as if putting a finger on what had happened was forbidden. "Are you implying that in our professional discussions, we were going down the wrong path?" You didn't want to tempt him, but getting the truth out of Severus' mouth was more complicated than you expected. 

"Our discussions were nothing professional." He sounded a bit irritated with himself, indeed, the subject was sensitive on both sides. He put a lid on his Potion and dried his hands with a cloth, "We're done for the day, you can leave me." He waved you off, putting an end to the conversation. 

But you stayed in your place, it was as if your feet were frozen to the ground, you couldn't leave. "You are the one who started the conversation. Don't be angry with me." Your voice was quite composed, you weren't afraid to face him. And just like at the event, he seemed stunned by your tone of voice. 

You put the tools down and placed a lid on the Potion in the same way he had just done. "You cannot cut off the discussion and asked me to leave, Severus. You don't know how I've suffered my entire last year because of this, because of you. You can at least look me in the eye and give me a proper answer.” You sighed, as he tried to keep his eyes from looking at you. Perhaps because of guilt. 

"Severus, we can sort this out, and go back to the way things were. But I need an answer, to move on. To be free of this guilt. Did I do something wrong? Was I bothering you so much? Tell me…" You hated how your voice was almost begging. But with every word you said, you could feel it, it was like he was re-building that distance between you. You didn't want to lose him, not that quickly. 

"Severus... Please." You finally decided to move, taking a step towards him, the atmosphere in the classroom had totally changed. But even if the tension was heavy, you weren't going to abandon him, not this time. He did not move as you approached him, however, his face was tense. You hadn't seen him this cold in a while. 

"I can't answer you. Things wouldn't be the same after that.” His voice was harsh, but not offensive. He sounded frustrated with himself, “But… If you want an answer, I must admit I'm not sufficiently secure to reveal my past intentions." 

His words were odd, leaving you confused. The enigma that was Severus Snape was impossible to understand no matter how much time you were spending by his side. Can he give me an answer or not?

Several times your mouth opened in an attempt to answer, but nothing came to your mind. The problem seemed to be stuck. It left you upset. "I... I want an answer." Your words were both hesitant and confident, the statement was, frankly, a bit silly. 

This seemed to amuse Severus, who laughed silently in mockery, warming the atmosphere. “Why are you so…” He paused for a moment as if hesitating, then at last he gave in, "Endearing?” 

His words slammed into your heart, leaving you baffled. But you didn't have time to answer, Severus resumed speaking just as soon, "But, if I can manage to calm myself, maybe I'll be able to talk to you. Does that please you, Y/n?"

You hesitated, understanding what Severus was implying behind those words, 'relaxing' meant taking a few drops of Sweet Juice. And as much as you wanted to keep a respectful image of Severus, the last words written  in his letter about its use stayed in the back of your mind. But, how can I refuse?

"Fine.” You agreed, nodding slowly.

Severus seemed somewhat reassured by your agreement, the walls he was starting to build around himself to push you away, were falling down again. It was his turn to approach you, offering his arm. A habit he'd adopted with every walk you shared at Hogwarts. You took his arm, the gesture had become natural, Severus added, "Follow me."

With that, you walked after him. Severus led you, in the utmost silence. Your heart was pounding, you didn't know exactly what to expect. The path he was taking, staying in the dungeons of the school, made you realise that he was inviting you into his personal quarters, which did not help your state of mind. Every step you made, was a step towards the possible truth. 

Your recent exchange had been unclear, Severus was just as confused by his attitude as you were, you could tell with the look on his face. Torture between two separate decisions: to hate you back or accept what was happening between you two. 

Still in silence, Severus finally arrived, unlocked the door to his quarters and let you in first. It was the first time you had entered, and the surroundings seemed oddly familiar. Everything reflected Severus, with its dark tones and simple, yet elegant furnishings. Your eyes rest on the many books, all meticulously arranged, and then, a little farther away, on the bed. It was impossible to miss the three vials filled with the purple liquid that you had conceived yourself, one of them was nearly empty. The sight of Sweet Juice beside his bed only made your heart flutter, as if it was confirmation that everything he had described to you was, indeed, true.  

"Well, sit on the sofa. I'm coming up with what's needed." Severus breaks the silence as he removes his cloak, stopping your dirty thoughts dead in their tracks.

"Yes, of course." You nodded, quite flustered, and you did what you were asked as you sat down on the couch, next to the fireplace and the bookcases. Your eyes followed Severus' actions as he made his way to his bed, lighting the fireplace with his wand as he passed. 

He came back with a new bottle of Sweet Juice in his hands, and sat without discomfort at your side. "Do you use it daily as well?" He asked you, an undeniable curiosity in his voice. 

"Um... No, I just tested it on myself a while ago before I submitted the notice. I have no use for it." You looked at him blankly, you didn't know what Severus was trying to find out with his question, "So, it was only for professional purposes." You added rather quickly, in case he wondered if you too were finding sexual satisfaction through its use. 

"Well, this will be the occasion to taste it again then." His hands opened the bottle carefully, and with some skill showing how familiar he was with its use. 

You looked at him, confused by his words, "I don't intend to take it, you said you were the one who needed it to speak honestly." 

"I think it's wiser for you to take it, to learn the truth. I don't want you to get mad at me." He replied with his calm voice, "Don't you trust me?" He raised an eyebrow with his usual expertise in the motion. 

Of course you trusted him, the question didn't have to be asked. And right now, with all the tension in your body from the pressure of the whole situation, you had to agree. He was right, it was wiser if the both of you were in the same state to discuss. "Fine, but only a few drops..."

Severus nodded, "A few drops will be more than enough."

You reached for the vial, but Severus placed his hand on your chin before you could get your hands on it, and directed your face in his direction. “Open your mouth, please Y/n.” 

His eyes were fixed on you, you felt like melting under his gaze, so intense was it. You couldn't ignore the intimate intensity of the situation, your cheeks were starting to burn. The scenario was far more pleasant than anything you could have imagined in your dirtiest dreams. 

Without even adding anything, you parted your lips for him. Severus seemed satisfied with your willingness, and put the eyedropper to let a few drops fall from it. A promise he kept. And even though it was only a few drops, the taste burned in your throat, taking effect as soon as it was swallowed. It was addictive, sweet… Divine. A tickling sensation settled in your body, you felt perfectly fine, as if your body had never felt any tension. 

Severus watched your every reaction, his hand still on your chin, you felt like your skin was burning under his fingers, "Well. You seem to be reacting well."

He withdrew his hand and this gesture left you with a feeling of need. Your eyes never left him for a second as you watched him perform the same operation with himself. His previously tense face, softened in an instant. To have Severus so effortlessly relaxed was quite an exclusive sight. He trusted you enough to be so vulnerable without shame, in front of you. It made you smile.

"Y/n, I've been intending to talk to you about this for a while, it weighs on me just as much. I'm sorry for the way I acted," Severus began quietly. 

Hearing him apologise was strange, he was such a proud man. It made you happy, because while he was under the effect of the potion, he was still aware of what he was doing or saying. He was not controlled by the Potion, in front of you there was a sincere and apologetic Severus. One of the many facets you were starting to find out about this very mysterious man. 

"I apologise as well, I wasn't always straightforward." You matched his gentle tone, 

Severus shook his head, "You were not the problem, I handled the situation very poorly. It's all my fault, I hurt you." He put his hand over his face, ashamed, "When, in fact, that's all I wanted to avoid... It haunted me, until I saw you again a few months ago. I wanted redemption, to make sure you were fine without me... But, I’m selfish as I am taking a role in your life again,” He sighed hopelessly, “There's still this guilt in me.”

Hearing Severus speak with such regret, made your heart grow fonder for the man, you couldn't fault him. He had suffered the same pain from his choices, he acted in order not to lose his teaching position, in order to not deprive you of a possible 'happy' life. And even if the Potion worked miracles, guilt and pain couldn't be erased. You wanted to reassure him, to remove this pain from him, to leave it in the past. "Severus, I only wish to understand what I did wrong..." You whispered, your eyes focused on the buttons that fastened his cutaway coat.

The more minutes passed, the more the Potion worked through your body. The sensation was odd, like a kind of ache, but it was unmistakably delightful. This only served to reinforce your self-consciousness about the situation, your body tickled everywhere, straining, trembling, longing to be close to him. 

"You have done nothing wrong... As the days went by, my regard for you changed. Your radiant smile, the way your eyes brighten at my every word, the way your perfume intoxicates me when it stays in the classroom, your delicate hands working with agility... All of this, I should never have noticed, and yet, I couldn't help but feel captivated. Charmed because of what you were, and still are, in fact." 

He slowly pulled his hand away from his face. But, you didn't want to leave him in his demise, so you laid your hand on his as he lowered it, encouraging him to continue. "I wasn't blind, I knew the feeling you held for me. I believed it was for the benefit of the both of us. But after rejecting you, I was terribly missing you. Inside me, it built up a terrible guilt…” He paused for a moment before concluding, “And without realising it, I was feeling the same way about you."

Severus gently takes your hand in his, as if you were a delicate flower, or would disappear at any moment. His gaze is now focussed on both your joined hands, "Since, I haven't stopped thinking about you, night and day. Seeing you again... Was a breath of hope, I thought impossible. And even though you sounded different, like you were angry with me, I couldn't help but appreciate you. I soon realised that despite all my efforts, pushing you away a second time was beyond me... Beyond my strength."

He intertwined his fingers with yours, "You can hate me, yell at me. I hurt you and yet, selfishly you're here with me, instead of enjoying what life has to give you. I’m older, grim, and stern. I don't deserve you."

As he confessed, what you were focused on, was the heavy pounding of your heart ringing in your ears. The intensity of his emotions was heartbreaking, as you listened to him. 

Your body's reaction to his was overwhelming, everything seemed like a raging fire that neither of you wanted to quench. The sensation of his own skin against yours only made it burn harder, leaving you with an insatiable urge of need and want. Your body knew what it wanted, the heat started to build up in the lower part of your stomach.

"I- Severus… I'm sorry that I was angry with you, when you were trying to do the right thing. I had no idea how you might be feeling on your own. But today, everything has changed, I’m not your student anymore.” You spoke with all the determination you could muster to prove him wrong, “And I don't care what life has to offer, if you are older. I know what I want. And it’s you.” 

“It's only been a few weeks since I've been back with you, and I've never felt so happy. I feel alive.” Your cheeks flushed hot at your blunt words, “And to be honest, the club, the award, Sweet Juice, I did it all, to get your attention. I wanted to be special to you again."

"Come," Severus uttered in a deep, rumbling voice. His hand, the one that was already holding you, pulled you towards him, and his other hand guided your hips as he gently settled you on his lap, straddling him. The way your body easily accepted his request, was a reflection of how much you wanted to be with him, to be close to him. 

"I wanted to move on, to forget you, but it was impossible. But nowadays, as I am closer to you..." Your eyes fell on his face, Severus seemed to be listening to you with such intensity, that coupled with this sudden intimacy caused you to speak in a shaky breath, "I burn and my body is feeling new things, and the intensity is only growing, nearly out of control. I can't think anymore, you're always on my mind…- I just want to be close to you, like I've always hoped." Your voice died down near the end, admitting your deepest thoughts. You were nervous, the aching sensation started to get on your nerves, overflowing with desire for the man in front of you.

His hands gripped your clothes, as if to remind you that he was indeed there, by your side. You were taken aback by the violent wave of emotions that flashed through his eyes. Severus had said nothing after your own confession, but there was no need for him to speak in order for you to understand. His eyes were speaking for him. Need, lust, desperation, want, longing- And most strikingly, love. His hands clasped your face, leaving you no choice but to lock your eyes with his. You couldn't escape the impact of his emotions, of the intense waves crashing over you nearly suffocating you. And the truth is, you had no desire to avoid him. 

It was as if time had stopped, his beautiful face, his lovely hands, the wildness in his eyes, and the way he made you feel was beyond description. 

"I love you," He exhaled as his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt like a weight was being lifted from his chest, 

Your fingers found his shoulders, pressing into the soft fabric of his coat, “I love you as well,” You answered, the same weight disappearing from your heart. 

The affirmation of your feelings towards him seemed to ignite something new in Severus. His thumb went down to your lips, running it over them, "You know, I thought about you as my assistant not only because you're the smartest, most diligent and serious person I know to handle the task perfectly," He spoke in a low grumble that made your whole body quiver, "But also because every night as I took a stronger dose of that delicious elixir you conceived, I always find myself thinking about you. I found satisfaction only when I thought of you.” 

He sighs, "I must admit that if you're here, it's also because I couldn't bear to keep all this to myself, I had to confess. I wanted to see you again, terribly."

“I’m here Severus, I’m here for you and only you.” You replied hurriedly in order to reassure him.

He took a deep breath, your words seemed to have reached his heart, "Maybe it's a bit premature, but I should ask you."

It sent a ripple of delight through your entire body, increasing the desperation you had to be against him, “What do you want to ask me, Severus?”

Your question, perhaps somewhat naive given the situation, brought a smile to his lips, “Would you like to make love with me?” The question was phrased extremely graciously, contrasting dramatically with the ferocity of his eyes. 

Your body shivered under his powerful stare. Your reply was obvious, and yet in the warmth of his body, in the puddle of intensity that Severus was bathing you in, you were at a loss for words. He looked at you like a hunter ready to chase down his prey, your consent was all he needed for him to pounce on you. It should have worried you, but behind his raging stare were years of self-restraint and pain. You felt more than special, being loved by such a cold and distant man made you feel like you were the only one in this wide world, the one and only for him. 

You couldn't make him wait any longer, it was torture for him as much as it was for you. So you nodded, silently at first, then you found the courage to finally voice your need, "Yes, Severus, I do."

He smiled again, it was a delightful sight to see Severus smiling, and you took a moment to observe him as if to commit the image to memory. It was so infrequent, that you were pleased to know that you were the only one to be blessed by it. He was perfect, you could do nothing but kiss him. Passionately, freely, desperately. There was nothing anymore to stop you from doing it. You tasted him, setting all your senses on fire. You licked the inside of his mouth, as his tongue linked with yours in an intoxicating dance that only the both of you seemed to know. The scent and taste of him captured all your senses, and you couldn't stop humming with delight as it resonated through your chest from the pleasure of kissing him. 

In that first kiss, you feel it all. 

Both of his hands clasped your face tightly to keep you close to him as your hands trailed through his long hair, down to his neck. The warmth that radiated from him made your flesh flush, your heart pounding so hard in your chest that even Severus should be able to feel it. He tasted like heaven. 

He skillfully guides you, allowing you to get lost in his adoration. One hand gently grasped your throat, while his other hand travelled from your cheek over your neck, down to your waist where his arm snaked around to press your body against his in a secure embrace. 

Severus didn't break the kiss, as he stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your eyes were closed, allowing you to get completely absorbed in the feverish kiss, but you knew he was heading for his bed. The next moment, your body found its place against the soft fabric of his sheets, enveloping you once again in his wonderful manly scent. Wrecking you, in the most pleasing ways possible. 

You moaned into his mouth as your fingers tugged his hair a bit tighter, Severus growled at your action, searing your whole being from you body to your soul. You were desperate for more, to see him, to touch him, to feel him. Your clothes were simply a suffocating barrier that separated you from Severus. Your irritation didn't seem to escape Severus as he broke off the feverish kiss you two were sharing. 

You finally opened your eyes, to be greeted by a dishevelled and flushed Severus. You were both out of breath, panting. However, he was quick to lay another kiss on the exposed skin of your throat. Sweetly, lovingly, small kisses from the tip of his lips teasing you, all dripping with desire.

"Love, you're perfect," He hummed against your neck as he gently nuzzled his nose against it to inhale your fragrance. You were like in heaven, your blood was running through your veins, your stomach transformed into butterflies out of worship for him. 

His hands ran along your body, before undoing the button on your skirt. Your thighs were released quickly from the constraint that your clothes provided you as he dropped the first piece of fabric on the floor. Your hands hesitantly passed over his upper body, your fingers delicately unfasten the buttons of his coat. Once done, your hands grabbed the lapels of his coat to let it fall over his shoulders, quickly meeting your skirt on the floor. 

Severus certainly was consumed by an insatiable urge, never getting enough of you. His lips never leave you, trailing against your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. His warm breath left your sensitive skin tingling with delight. Your hands were slightly trembling as you began to reach for his shirt, while his hands reached for the rest of your clothes with utmost care. 

The clothes that had been a painful barrier, began to strip from your bodies, slowly, teasingly. Falling one by one on the floor. Severus leaned on his arm as he took a few steps back, your breath caught with worry and missing his warmth. His eyes roamed over your body, in an intimidating powerful manner. You had never felt so vulnerable and exposed, only covered by your underwear, his intense gaze left a heavy feeling on everything you could offer him. 

However, you didn't have time to think for long when his lips captured yours. “Perfect,” He whispered as his eyes met yours. With burning cheeks, you averted your eyes. You could not hold his gaze, so much the intensity of his emotions caught your heart. His pupils were dilated, too wild, too fiery. 

Your reaction left Severus laughing in a deep breath, "You really are more lovely than anything I could have imagined. My mind didn’t do you justice, love.” The gentle title he gave you made your heart beat faster, and as your hands were pressed against his chest you sensed the intense pounding of his as well. Both your hearts were beating in perfect tune. 

Your hands began to undo the upper part of his shirt, releasing his neck from his stiff attire. You were still shaking, but proceeded nonetheless. There was only a layer left before you could see him as vulnerable. Severus waited, letting you take all the time you needed to finish. And the next thing you knew, you were pulling his shirt off his shoulders in the same way you'd done before. 

You marvelled at the sight in front of you, your breath caught in your throat at the sheer beauty of Severus, his broad shoulders, his pale pearly skin, his strong arms were now at your total disposal. You gave yourself a moment to appreciate the one you've craved for, over the years.

"Perfect," You whispered with the same adoration he had for you, your fingers spread over his bare skin, temptingly. You were amazed at the softness of his body despite his strength, he, who held himself so rigidly in his daily life. 

"Not as much as you, love," Severus left a warm kiss on your cleavage and his hands found the clasp of your bra as your hands found down his trousers. He removed the rest of his clothes at the same time as you.

Your skin was flushed, your breaths quick and uneven with anticipation. It's a good thing you had taken a few drops of Sweet Juice, otherwise you would have been a nervous wreck. This allowed you to handle the whole experience with confidence, coupled with your trust in Severus, it was pure bliss. And this must have been the case for Severus, because behind his expert strokes, he seemed a bit unsure with himself. 

Your skin burned under his every touch, letting the fire spread over your skin down to your trembling, hot, insides. You were wet, swollen and soft. Severus sat on his knees, between your legs. The action left your body screaming with desperation, arching with anticipation for more, for him. Until now, you had not dared to lower your eyes to the level of his girth, but now it was time to get acquainted with what was about to enter you. Your breath was taken away at the sight of his long, veiny and erect manhood. That’s going inside of me?

"Love, I'll be gentle with you," Severus sensed your apprehension immediately, his hands gently resting on your knees to spread your legs leaving your body on high alert. He leaned forward, and placed a first kiss on your jaw, then another one on your breast, before his mouth wrapped around your already hard nipples to sweetly suck on it. 

You didn't know if you'd taken a sufficiently large dose of the Potion for it to play on your sexual sensibilities, but you gasped. The feeling of his soft lips over your most forbidden body parts was exhilarating, your insides tensed. Your breasts were sensitive, responsive to every lick he gave. You were blown away by the way your body fit to him, catching his slightest touch. And as if he wasn't satisfied enough with himself, he moved his hand up from your hip, running teasingly along your skin to find your nipple, toying with it, pinching it. You couldn't help but moan, the sensation strains you again, leaving you longing for more. Your mind failed to follow, a wave of pleasure overtaking your whole body. Everything felt heightened, the sound of Severus' sharp breath, his tongue, his touch, his scent. Even the cotton of his sheets was seemingly intense. 

Severus let out a long, deep growl from the back of his throat, and it made your whole body shudder. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ready to welcome him. He understood the sign, but continued to whisper his words of adoration, of love for you. How he had dreamed of this for years, that he didn't want to be apart from you anymore. His words that met the hollow of your ear, made you feel in a whirlwind of emotions, cherished and safe. You held on to him, your arms reaching around his shoulders. 

He wanted to slowly devour you, until your rational thoughts were consumed by pleasure.  

“Sev,” You breathed out a long, deep moan as his finger slid inside you. You were soaking wet at this point, drenched for him. His finger stroked your insides, his thumb brushed against your sensitive bundle of nerves while his lips lingered on your throat, placing numerous small kisses. 

“You are perfect,” He hummed out, right by your ear, “Perfect for me,” His nose dragged along your skin, in the hope of finding a new spot to kiss. He pressed another finger into you. Your legs tightened while your insides softened further. The stretching of his fingers was astounding. “You are the only one for me, I love you,” His words shattered everything, all the common sense you had in you. You wanted him to ruin you with his love. In a manner as violent as the emotions you had for each other, giving him everything, everything you ever had. 

Removing his fingers, your eyes fell on his hand as it darted back and forth between his legs. You gasped as his delicate hand folded around the girth of his manhood. "Love, I'm here. It's going to be fine. Tell me if you don't feel well, I'll stop," he hummed softly as he laid back against you, pressing his body over yours. You nodded, and his lips found yours anew. 

You felt his body lowering, and the next instant, he was sinking inside you. You hissed from the pleasure that suddenly caught hold of you. There was no discomfort, no pain, your body adapted, moulded itself to him. Your body was being taken by Severus, and everything at that moment, finally being one with him, felt right. 

“Look at me,” He ordered you gently, holding himself up with one arm, ready to move. When your eyes met his, you were immersed in the depth of his love. You felt calm, in heaven, as you were shaped to accommodate him. He was the only one in this world, especially when he was looking at you with such worship. 

“Good,” He smiled in satisfaction when you complied. Your eyes were hypnotised by all the love he bore you. He began to draw out, slowly. And as with your skin, your insides were just as sensitive causing electricity to run through your body, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze intensified as he began to move a bit faster, his movements always precise and well controlled, making it more intense. 

Catching his breath, Severus kept praising you, “You, are, magnifi-cent,” He growled in a low tone, between thrust as you moaned out his name in a barely comprehensible manner. You find satisfaction in being filled and stroked, to be loved in such a carnal manner, it was intense, overwhelmingly intense. He was everywhere, he was everything to you. 

“Sev-, Severus, I love you!” Your voice was slurred, your mind was unable to form a coherent thought, and yet you felt the urgent need to confess your love all over again. At your words, he quickened his pace and buried himself inside you, over and over.

You were consumed by him, by his love, by your love for him. You were his, and he was yours. Entirely, irrevocably, ineluctably. There was no other way. Severus was breaking everything you owned, and it felt right. With every push, with every pull, with his loving hands, with his loving words, with his hungry breath, he was breaking you.

“Please,” You pleaded for him, a moan escaping through your sore lips. His movements became powerful, irregular, hasty. As if to satisfy you as much as possible, even if he was exceeding all your wishes, pushing your mind to the edge of depravity with each of his thrusts. 

“Love,” He growled in a feverish manner, as if he had been entrusted with the most valuable mission possible, to please you. He shoved in so deeply that your eyes rolled back and watered from the sensation of being nothing but completely filled. You back arched in pleasure, welcoming the emotion in its fullest. 

“Awh-” You gasped as he started to pace harder, faster. Your legs were quivering from the pleasure, your lungs burned from your moans. He held onto you tighter, in order to be able to dig into you with more vigour. Over and over. It was relentless. His need for you became beyond desperate and engulfed him into the same depravity. 

“I love-, you,” He moaned darkly under his gruff breath, “I can’t-” He growled this time, in a low rumbling. His movements became irregular, erratic. 

You kissed his neck, inhaling his sweaty scent and the taste of his skin stirred in your mouth. “Me too-” You whispered, in a rather dark tone, meeting his love and distress at the same time. 

“Y/n-!” He growled, and after a split second, you felt him growing within you, as his whole body tightened, hardened. His cock shifted faster inside you, pounding against your inner walls. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and moans his release before his movements come to a slow halt. 

Ripples of heat mingled with the throbbing of muscles and the warmth of the skin inside you. You held him close and marvelled at the sensation of your orgasm, of being filled and being enough for him to reach such a fierce release. To be enough for him to love you, to be enough for him to be so intimate with you. 

You caught your breath, you were in a state of pure bliss. The last waves of pleasure take over your body, making the pleasure last longer. Severus withdrew from you, leaving you with a longing that he satisfied by taking you in his arms enjoying your post-orgasm state.

He placed a kiss on your sweaty forehead as he affectionately snuggled you pressing your body against his. After the intense encounter you'd just experienced he still longed to feel your burning skin against his. “I love you,” He said it again, as if he needed to prove it to you, but you knew by now that his affection towards you was wrenching. 

"I love you more," you lay your head against his chest, letting the sound of his heart lull you to sleep as it only started to calm. His soft laughter vibrated through his rib cage, 

"I doubt it, love, but this is not the time to talk about it. Tomorrow is another day, a day when I can finally enjoy you without any rules or barriers," Severus sounded enthusiastic, he pulled the blanket over both of your naked bodies and took his wand to stop all sources of fire from making any light. 

His uncharacteristic lively tone brings a peaceful smile to your lips, you are now the one that makes Severus eager to wake up in the morning, to carry on with his life. He was your source of happiness, and you were his. 

After years of trying to understand everything between the two of you, you were now in his arms. 

Peaceful. 

Loved.

Halloween and Loki?! MY FAVOURITE COMBINATION!!! This was so wholesome🤭

Guess Who? (Loki x GN!Reader) Halloween Oneshot/Short

Summary: You manage to convince Loki to come to Stark’s Halloween Party, but why were you so insistent he came?

Rating: All ages/SFW

A/N: just a fun little oneshot, kinda idiots in love trope, best friends who are oblivious they are in love, fluffy/humour

Divider by @whimsicalrogers

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

“Well… it’s exactly what I said. I’m not coming. I don’t know what else it could possibly mean-“

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“A themed party with strangers in tacky costumes? A ridiculous dress code to which I will be forced to follow?”

“It’s fun!”

“It’s tedious.”

You pouted slightly, shoulders sagging a little as the God of Mischief leaned against the counter, his cup of freshly brewed tea steaming next to him. His arms folded over his chest, a brow raised as he looked at you, seeing the disappointment in your gaze.

Halloween.

It seemed you were rather excited about the yearly mortal tradition, whereas Loki… Well, you heard him. He thought it was ‘tedious’. Of course, Stark was throwing a party - shocker - and whilst you weren’t usually fussed about them, this one was different because it was Halloween. Plus, you may have spent far too long making your costume. Sure, you could’ve just bought one, but it gave you something to do in your free time and you were pretty proud of it.

“I thought Halloween would be right up your alley.” You quipped, raising a brow of your own in a silent challenge. “You don’t even need to dress up, you can just shape shift into something scary.” You paused, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Or you could just go like this.” You teased, gesturing towards him. “I mean, you’re pretty scary.” Loki tilted his head, biting back a smirk.

“Ha. Ha.” He breathed out, deadpan. You grinned, eyes crinkling before a sigh escaped.

“Come on, please.” You took a step closer, standing before him. “You won’t have to talk to anyone else except me, we can just stand off to the side and judge everyone’s costumes. I know you’ll love to do that.” You tried, trying to coax him into agreeing to attend the party. Loki narrowed his eyes slightly, picking up on some hidden agenda you seemed to have behind your encouragement.

“Why is my attendance so important to you?” He asked skeptically, making you shrug faintly, trying to appear casual. “Barton is choosing not to attend and yet, I don’t see you badgering him.”

“Because he’s taking his kids trick or treating!” You argued, seeing Loki roll his eyes. “Besides, we’re best friends-“

“I’m your best friend-“

“We’re best friends-“ You repeated, making Loki smirk as he reached round to grab his cup from the counter, turning slightly away from you to do so. “And I may have a surprise for you.”

Loki’s brows raised at those words, his actions pausing. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you once again. “A surprise?” He asked, curious as you nodded. “For me?” Another nod. Loki hummed lowly in thought, lifting his cup to his lips, taking a small sip. You watched him intently, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes ever so slightly. He had to admit, whenever you pulled that move it was hard for him to say no.

With a heavy sigh, Loki conceded.

“Fine.”

You let out a whispered ‘yes’ in triumph, a smile tugging at your lips. “But-“ Loki raised a finger. “I am not staying until god knows what hour nor am I to be expected to enjoy myself.”

“Seems fair.” You mused, unable to stop the small giddy shuffle of your feet as you cleared your throat. “I promise, it will be worth it.”

Loki stood outside your quarters door, dressed in a tailored all black suit. He refused to adhere to the costume dress code, it was bad enough he was going, let alone having to dress as some sort of ghoul, the undead or something else that was considered ‘spooky’ by the humans. Knocking, he could hear rustling movement behind the door, along with a ‘just a second’. Adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket, he glanced down the corridor, spotting the familiar figures of Wanda and Vision who had seemingly dressed up as a couple - although, the reference of their outfits was lost on him.

Whilst his gaze was turned, he heard the door click open, seeing your familiar figure out the corner of his eye before he turned to look at you.

Loki’s brows raised, lips parting as he took in your appearance. You were stood with a big grin on your face, arms spread in a ‘ta-da’ manner, clearly extremely pleased with your efforts.

“So… what do you think?” You asked, watching his face closely.

Loki blinked, blue eyes trailing over your form, trying to find the right words.

“You’re…” He muttered. “Me?”

Yes, you had spent the last few weeks putting together a very rough ensemble that was supposed to look like Loki’s Asgardian attire. The horns that sat upon your head had been made out of cardboard, painted gold and fixed to you via an elastic band that went around your head. The emerald cape looked like an old velvet blanket that you’d managed to clip together around your neck with a number of safety pins, draped around your all black one piece that you had decorated with gold paint for details. It was very makeshift.

You nodded your head to his question, the cardboard horns moving with you as Loki processed the sight before him. He didn’t know if he should be offended or flattered at first, before he saw the genuine joy in your eyes. And knowing you… He knew it was a compliment and not a jab.

“Well… It’s certainly…” Loki cleared his throat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “A look.” He mused playfully. “How long did you spend on this?”

“Too long.” You replied wryly, letting out a small laugh, looking down at your attire. “A few weeks?” You shrugged.

“So, this is what you have been doing in your free time?” He asked, raising a brow as he gestured towards you. Another nod from you. “You spent hours putting this together? You could’ve just… purchased a costume though, correct?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to go as you.” You answered lightly, meeting his gaze again. There was sincerity in your tone, making Loki’s own gaze soften a fraction. “Halloween isn’t just about dressing as something scary or creepy-“ You began to explain. “You can also dress as something you like, or someone you admire or-“

“You admire me?” Loki blinked, surprise colouring his tone. You furrowed your brows, pausing.

“Well… yeah?” You replied, your words coming out in a ‘I thought that was obvious’ tone. “But not in a ‘wow, he’s a God, he’s so cool’ way, in a ‘that’s my friend and he’s kinda cool I guess’ way.” Your words made Loki let out a sound that was a mix of a scoff and a laugh. “I didn’t do it so your ego got bigger.” You added playfully, giving him a knowing look.

Loki couldn’t stop the slow grin that tugged at his lips, the sentiment that you had chosen to dress as him for the costume party was… strangely warming. “I’m afraid that’s the exact outcome this-“ He gestured towards your attire. “-has created.” He teased, leaning casually against the doorframe, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. You rolled your eyes in amusement. “In fact, I fear my head may be too big to get through the entrance to the party-“

“Uh uh- You said you were coming, so you’re coming.” You pointed up at him, tone stern, making Loki inwardly groan. “I accepted the fact you didn’t want to dress up and let you wear your Gucci suit.” You added, making Loki narrow his eyes into a playful glare. “It’s called compromise, Loki.” With a dramatic sigh, Loki conceded again.

“Fine.” He muttered, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Let’s go make people think I’m even more narcissistic than they already believe me to be.” He quipped, raising a brow. “Considering I will seemingly be in my own company for the evening.” He mused, smirking faintly as he eyed your costume once again. He had to admit, he was secretly… endeared by it. And you did look rather good in green and gold, not that he would admit that aloud.

“If I must attend this farce, it may as well be in company I can endure.” You lowered your voice, mimicking his way of speaking. “Myself, of course. Because my own company is far superior than any of you mere mortals.” You raised your chin, feigning haughtiness as Loki raised brow, tilting his head slightly. His features morphed into a look of amusement and feigned indignation.

“I do not sound like that.” He furrowed his brows, watching as you grabbed your bag.

“I do not sound like that.” You mimicked again.

“Please tell me you’re not going to do that all evening.” His amusement slightly faded, a hint of genuine concern creeping into his voice as he took a step back to allow you to leave your quarters.

“Don’t be absurd.” You commented, one last impersonation before you let out a laugh, closing the door behind you. “No, it’s exhausting being you.” You waved a hand, making Loki let out a breath of relief, hearing you begin to head down the hall. After a moment, he realised what you had said, his lips parting, brows creasing as he quickly moved after you.

“Uh- I don’t think ‘exhausting’ is quite the right word!”

Tom Riddle’s Future Wife beware this is smut soo...mdni

It should have scared her. The way he needed her. The way his fingers gripped too tight, the way his eyes darkened whenever she so much as breathed the thought of leaving him.

But it didn’t.

Not anymore.

Y/N had fought him for so long, fought the inescapable truth that she was his—body, mind, soul. But now, as she lay beneath him, feeling the weight of his obsession pressing into her, she didn’t resist.

She surrendered.

A slow, sinful smirk tugged at Tom’s lips as he hovered over her, his dark hair tousled, his shirt already discarded somewhere on the floor. His eyes gleamed with something primal, something possessive, as he traced a fingertip down the center of her chest, following the silk of her nightgown.

“You’ve finally accepted it,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/N’s lips parted as his fingers dipped lower, grazing the edge of her bare thigh where the fabric had ridden up. She didn’t move to stop him.

“What took me so long?” she whispered, teasing.

Tom inhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his hunger tangible in the air between them. “Oh, my love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot below her ear, “you have no idea what you've just done.”

His mouth was on hers before she could respond, claiming, devouring, kissing her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. His hands roamed beneath her gown, warm and insistent against her skin, his touch reverent yet desperate.

“You were always mine,” he rasped between kisses, trailing his lips down her throat, over her collarbone, leaving marks in his wake. “But now… now you know it.”

Y/N gasped as his teeth grazed her skin, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her open beneath him. His hardness pressed against her through his slacks, and she shuddered at the sheer need she felt radiating from him.

“Say it,” he urged, his voice low, dangerous, his fingers sliding up her inner thigh, teasing her. “Say you’re mine.”

A shiver ran down her spine as he dragged his fingers through her slick heat, parting her folds with slow, deliberate intent. Her breath hitched, her hips shifting beneath him as he circled her clit with agonizing patience.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, breathless, body betraying her resistance long before her mind did.

Tom groaned, the sound rough and primal as he plunged two fingers inside her without warning. She arched against him, her hands fisting into the sheets as he curled them deep, stroking her in a way that made her see stars.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against her ear, his fingers pumping inside her at a ruthless pace.

Y/N whimpered, her legs trembling as pleasure coiled low in her stomach. His name left her lips in a breathless gasp, and he shuddered.

“I need to feel you,” he rasped, pulling away just long enough to rid himself of his remaining clothes.

She barely had a moment to breathe before he was positioning himself between her thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her entrance, teasing, waiting.

“You’ll never leave me now,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers as he thrust into her in one deep, merciless stroke.

A cry tore from her throat as he filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her. Tom groaned against her lips, his grip bruising on her hips as he pulled out only to slam back in, setting a brutal, possessive rhythm.

“You’ll be my wife,” he growled, punctuating his words with deep, powerful thrusts. “The Dark Lord’s queen.”

Y/N could barely think, barely breathe, as he drove into her with relentless precision. His body pressed flush against hers, his breath hot against her skin, his hands everywhere—gripping, claiming, worshiping.

She dug her nails into his back, moaning as he hit that spot deep inside her that made her body tighten around him. Tom groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second as he felt her surrender, felt her body embrace him the way her mind finally had.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice ragged as he buried himself deep, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, barely coherent as pleasure surged through her.

Tom let out a broken moan, his hands trembling as he lost himself in her. He thrust harder, deeper, dragging her over the edge with him.

She came with a cry, her body clenching around him, her vision going white as she shattered beneath him. Tom groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he followed, spilling inside her with a shuddering gasp.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, the echo of their bodies still pressed together.

Then, Tom lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming as he smirked down at her.

“You were made for me,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her swollen ones.

Y/N, still dazed, let out a soft hum, threading her fingers through his dark curls.

And for the first time, she didn’t just accept it.

She wanted it.

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pure Smut, 18+ Minors DNI!

A/N: My first piece of writing on here so I’m gonna keep it basic🤭 Ofc I had to go with everyone’s obsession…WOLVIEEEEE! Lemme know what you guys think! Enjoy my lovelies😏

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Mr. Howlett here is a green flag in that he accommodates to his partner’s needs. If you prefer to cuddle after sex, be prepared to stay in Logan’s arms for hours on end. Hungry? Well your man’s already up and grabbing you your favourite snacks and comfort foods.

Let’s not forget the bare minimum where he makes sure to clean you up and remind you how well you did. He reassures you and focuses his entire attention on you because he’s so grateful that he gets to have you to himself (Words of affirmation GALORE!) He may be a hardcore, grouchy man to the world but he’s a total sweetheart for his favourite person🥰

B - Body Part (Fav body part of themselves and their partner)

As much as he struggles with his claws he actually really loves his hands (at least with you). In the beginning of your relationship Logan expressed his hardships with his claws and how he lacks control over them when he gets riled up. This caused him to limit how much he touched you during sex (preferred to eat you out rather than finger you, or grab the headboard when he was about to cum instead of holding onto your hips). But overtime your reassuring words and your trust in him won (plus he couldn’t say no to you begging him to fill you up with his fingers).

Logan is in love with the entirety of your being but if he HAAAAD to choose he’d say that your lips and neck are a heavenly gift. This man is OBSESSED with your lips to a point where he can suck and bite on them for hours on end. He loves making out with you and more importantly, he loves to see those lips wrapped around his cock as you take him in as far as you can. Your neck is a whole other ball game though🫣 You already know this man is like an animal so you can imagine how much he enjoys leaving his scent on you. He makes sure to leave marks on your neck before you leave the house (after all everyone must know you’re taken). He loves to hear the sound of your pulse and how much it speeds up when he scents you. And when he’s reaching the finish line you better believe he’ll bury his face in your neck and growl deeply as he prepares to fill you up with his load.

C - Cum

Simply put, your man cums a lot. And where does he enjoy releasing it? Inside of you of course. Sure he may occasionally release on your chest or in your mouth (maybe even on ur ass cheeks if he’s taking you from behind 👀) but ultimately, he goes feral watching his cum pool out of your pussy.

D - Dirty Secret (Any dirty secret of theirs)

We all know that massages can lead to some filthy moments right? This obviously applies to Logan too. The catch, however, is that sometimes instead of using lotion or oil to massage out the knots in ur back he’ll use his cum instead🫣 Let me paint a picture for you real quick:

You’re lying on your stomach fully naked with Logan straddling you from behind. He begins gliding his calloused hands up and down your back and after 20 minutes or so he finally snaps and begins to massage your ass. At this point he’s hard as a rock and is leaking with precum. Eventually he takes his leaking juices and spreads it on your back to help his hands glide easily. The idea of his cum absorbing into your skin and his scent mixing with yours has him feeling extremely possessive and proud. He usually ends up lifting your hips and having his way with you.

E - Experience (How experienced are they?)

The man’s old af okay🤣 He has EXPERIENCE! Though it is to be noted that he’s very particular about who he sleeps with. He obviously has trust issues and this applies to who he’s willing to share his body with. Yes, he’s animalistic and enjoys having sex often. But he would rather have a lot of sex with a trusting partner than have meaningless sex with a handful of random people that he happens to come across.

Don’t worry love, he knows how to show you a good time and he’s YOUR personal whore🤭

F - Favourite Position

He loves to take you while you’re on all fours but his favourite position is missionary. He loves to watch your reactions as he plays with your body in different ways. Remember how I mentioned that he loves your lips? Well missionary is the best way for him to abuse your lips with his mouth and watch you suck on his fingers while he rocks into you.

You can also find yourself getting fucked against the wall on occasion because he just loves how his body and the wall traps you, leaving you at his mercy.

G - Goofy (How serious are they during sex?)

Logan can get serious at times especially when he fucks you after one of his nightmares or when he’s had a rough day. But for the most part he’s a mix of passionate and a tease. Typically the silliness comes from you when you crack a lighthearted joke which has Logan shaking his head and chuckling before he goes back to devouring you.

Eg.

Logan: Whose pussy is this?

You: Mine…

Logan: …You’re gonna be the death of me bub. Let’s try that again. Whose pussy is this?

H - Hair (How well groomed are they?)

Oh he’s hairy everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE! He definitely tries to trim his pubes a little bit to make it easier for you when you suck him off. But other than that you gotta take him as he is.

As a side note, Logan doesn’t really care if you shave or not. So don’t even stress about anything with him. The man is obsessed with you regardless.

I - Intimacy (Romantically how are they during sex?)

He is so passionate about you and never takes you for granted. He counts his lucky stars that he gets the privilege to worship your body whenever he wants and his actions during sex are evident of that. Even if he’s having rough, jealous sex with you he makes sure to praise you and give you loving kisses along the way. His life has never been easy and he always struggled with finding trustworthy people in his life. So just know that the fact that you made your way into his heart, he’s going to spend an eternity showing you how special you are to him.

(Just make sure you reassure him as well from time to time)

J - Jerk Off (How often do they masturbate?)

Despite his animalistic urges, he actually has a lot of self control. As much as he loves sex he prefers to cum when you’re with him. So when you’re away for a while he’ll just busy himself with other things until you get back and help him out.

That being said, he’s not opposed to sexting or phone sex so do with that information as you will🤭

K - Kink (What are their kinks?)

This man is obsessed with your breasts. It doesn’t matter how big or small they are, he just wants to have his way with them. He’ll lose his shit if you let him fuck your tits and will cum harder than ever.

Choking is another one of his favourites. He loves to watch you lose yourself to the combination of his dick pounding into you and his hand restricting your air flow. He swears you cum harder this way.

L - Location (Favourite places to have sex)

He’s pretty old school so he prefers to fuck you in your bedroom. But he also enjoys some passionate shower sex (don’t worry about slipping because this man is strong af).

He occasionally loves to fuck you outside when no one is around (he’s the only one who gets to see you like this so don’t worry about anyone catching you).

One time he fucked you on his bike at nighttime while you guys were overlooking the city.

M - Motivation (What turns them on?)

Logan has a high sex drive so many things about you turn him on. But what really does it for him is when you take care of him. You got up early to make him breakfast? He’s going to bend you over the counter and have you shaking while he bites your ear and whispers what a good girl you are for feeding your man. You give him a massage after he comes home from a long, gruelling day? Be prepared to sit on his cock and lose your mind as he fucks into you from below.

N - No (Turns offs/What they wouldn’t do)

He will not allow for any threesomes or for anyone to watch you two have sex. He’s too possessive and believes that sex is an intimate act between the two of you. You’re his and he’s yours, no question about it.

He won’t do anything to severely hurt you. He already inflicts a lot of pain on others when he goes on missions so the last thing he wants to do is hurt the love of his life. The most he’ll do is spank your ass, choke you or pull on your hair. But that’s about it.

O - Oral (Preference in giving/receiving, skill, etc)

Homeboy loves to eat your pussy like it’s his last meal. He can keep his face between your legs for hours if he could! Nothing gets him going more than the scent of your heat and the taste of your sweet juices. Please do him the honour of using his face as a seat. The man will gladly die from lack of oxygen if it means stuffing his face in your warm cunt😌

He also goes crazy for your mouth around his hard cock. He always reiterates how much he loves you and your filthy mouth every time you suck his dick because it’s an honour to have you on his knees for him. You’re giving up breathing for his pleasure? You beautiful human! He’s going to reward you big time when you’re done bringing him down from his high.

P - Pace (fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

With Logan the pace really depends on the situation. If he’s frustrated and you offer to let him fuck away his worries, he’ll fuck you fast and rough. If he’s jealous and wants to remind you who you belong to, he’ll pound into you until you can’t walk the next day. If he’s feeling overwhelmed with his love for you or is feeling emotional he’ll fuck you deep and slow while he makes eye contact with you. If it’s a slow and quiet morning he’ll rock into you gently while he spoons you from behind.

Q - Quickie (Are they game for quickies? If so, how often?)

As much as he prefers to take his time with you and show you how much he appreciates you, you guys can have moments when you get too busy. Therefore, quickies are a great way for the two of you to have a few moments of closeness during a chaotic day. Don’t worry though because given the right opportunity Logan will make up for lost time and give you the time of your life.

R - Risk (Are they willing to experiment?)

Logan is always open to hearing your fantasies and is willing to try new things with you. But once again he draws the line at sharing you with someone or hurting you badly. At the end of the day he’s still a bit old schooled so he’ll definitely have his boundaries.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

This man can last a LONG time! We already know he has regenerative abilities so he’s up and ready to go pretty much immediately after he finishes. That being said, he knows your body very well and will stop once he knows you need to rest. But yeah he can pretty much keep it going for hours.

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them on themselves or their partner?)

The only toy he owns is a cock ring which you insisted he try. He was pleasantly surprised when he realized how hard he could come once he used it. As for you, he occasionally uses handcuffs and vibrators to switch things up a little. He may or may not invest in some vibrating panties for you to try when you go out for dinner or hit up a bar👀

U - Unfair (Do they like to tease?)

It’s like a game for him. He gets off on hearing your frustrated groans and whimpers from overstimulating you for so long. More than anything he loves teasing you throughout the day whether it’s grabbing your hips while he reaches to grab a cup from the cupboard and then walking away, or rubbing your thigh under the table during dinner. You’re his favourite form of entertainment.

Now if YOU tease him just know that he’ll lose his shit and have you seeing stars before you can even think of teasing him any further. Life isn’t fair darlin’🤷🏻‍♀️

V - Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

Oh my days this man is L O U D! He doesn’t give a fuck who hears him because he’ll be damned if anything or anyone stops him from enjoying the moment with you. He’s in love with the entirety of your being and he’s gonna make sure you know it, especially when he’s taking you like you’re his last meal. He’ll grunt and groan as your tight, warm walls hug his dick as he reaches deeper inside with every thrust. He growls loudly as you whimper and moan his name while you pull him closer to you with your legs wrapped around his waist.

W - Wild Card (Random headcannon)

Let me bring you in on a little secret. If you happen to have any tattoos or piercings in some scandalous areas, just know that you’re going to be devoured on a whole other level. Nipple piercings? This man will be panting and groaning like a bitch in heat and will make sure you cum just from him playing with them. A tattoo on your hip or sporting a tramp stamp? The back shots and bites on your hips are gonna go crazy. A tattoo leading into your panties? Well, you get the picture 🥵

X - Xray (How do they look underneath their clothes?)

He’s definitely a grower but even flaccid he’s packing😩 I’ll let you decide on the inches but just know that this man is girthy. Do with that information as you will.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Mr. Howlett ACHES for you all day, everyday. Now he obviously doesn’t fuck you every second of the day (unless that’s what you want🫣) but he loves your mind and your body so much. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: He doesn’t fuck just anyone. So know that he’s comfortable with you and LOVES you, so he’s going to make up for lost time and ruin anyone else for you (not that you’re ever gonna get with anyone else cuz he’s not letting you go😌). That said, if you’re not in the mood to have sex (regardless of how long), he’s perfectly okay with that. He just wants you to be comfortable and will make sure you only have sex with him when you truly want it. Never feel the need to force anything around him because he only gets off on your pleasure. Green flag energy onlyyyyyyy!

Z - Zzz (how fast they sleep afterwards)

Logan won’t get sleepy right away because he always has a lot of energy during and after sex. He’ll make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of before he settles in and dozes off with you. He’ll typically nuzzle into your chest or your neck and tangle his legs between yours before he drifts off into a comfortable sleep as he listens to your even breaths.

ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ-ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ

bucky barnes x fem! shield agent!reader

first time writing for bucky <333

safe house, during a storm. after a long mission, you’re stuck sharing a room with bucky. you’ve always assumed he keeps his distance because of his past. but when the storm knocks out the power and you curl up on the couch, cold and shivering, he finally opens up — and his hands, calloused and careful, don’t stop at comfort.

masterlist | 3k words | soft!dom Bucky, praise kink, reader receives oral (f), unprotected PIV(she on da pill), morning sex, deep emotional intimacy, touch starvation themes,, reader is referred to as “sweetheart” and “baby”, slow and loving sex, post-orgasm cuddling, mentions of past loneliness, body worship, Bucky is obsessed and down bad, vulnerable!Bucky, safehouse setting, canon-typical trauma referenced, no use of y/n

The rain hasn’t let up in hours.

It batters against the tin roof like it’s trying to get in — thunder rumbling over the hills like a warning. You’re curled on the couch in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a worn S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie, one knee pulled tight to your chest, a book in your lap you’ve read the same page of five times. The fire’s dwindled to glowing coals.

And Bucky’s sitting across the room like a statue.

He hasn’t said much since you both got in hours ago —wet, bruised, exhausted from the mission. Just stripped off his tac gear and sat down on the edge of the bed, mechanical hand flexing like it couldn’t settle. He’s been like that ever since you joined his team —polite, helpful, quietly protective. But always… distant.

Like if he got too close, he’d ruin something.

Another crash of thunder shakes the cabin. You flinch without meaning to, hand clutching the blanket tighter.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Come here,” he says, voice low but solid.

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“You’re cold,” he murmurs. “Don’t argue, I can tell. C’mere.”

You hesitate. He looks so serious, dark hair still damp from the rain, black T-shirt hugging the hard lines of his chest. His expression is guarded, but his eyes are warm — warmer than you’ve ever seen them.

You cross the room slowly. He shifts, leaning back against the headboard, lifting the blanket beside him in invitation. Something tight coils in your chest. You’ve slept in the same room before — hotel rooms, bunkers, quinjet corners — but never like this.

You sit beside him. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders, pulls you in.

And suddenly you’re tucked under Bucky Barnes’ arm, your head resting against the soft fabric of his shirt, the sound of his steady breathing in your ear.

Your body relaxes before your mind can catch up. He’s warm. Unbelievably warm. And strong. You feel it in every inch of him —the way his arm curls protectively around your back, the subtle press of muscle as you lean into him.

“You okay?” he asks after a while.

You nod, barely. “Yeah. Just… long week.”

His chuckle is barely audible. “Understatement of the century.”

For a moment, it’s just the storm and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then he speaks again — so quietly it barely registers.

“I hate seeing you scared.”

You look up. His jaw is tight, his gaze focused on the firelight.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”

You swallow. There’s something aching in his tone —something raw.

“You don’t talk this much,” you say softly.

“I know.” He turns his head, meets your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think it.”

Your breath catches. His eyes are ocean-deep, stormy like the night outside, but warm — so warm.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

You nod.

“I think about touching you all the time.”

Your heart stops.

He keeps going, voice steady but trembling at the edges.

“Not just sex. Not even that, really. I think about… brushing your hair out of your face. Holding your hand. Pulling you onto my lap just because I can. I think about waking up next to you.”

He swallows hard.

“But I don’t. Because I don’t want to scare you. And because I don’t know if you’d want that. Want me.”

The rain seems to hush for a moment, like the world is listening.

You reach up slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed like he’s afraid to believe it’s real.

“I’ve been waiting for you to touch me,” you whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

His eyes snap open —like you just lit a fuse.

“Don’t move,” he says hoarsely.

You stay still.

His hand —warm, broad, careful —comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, then your lip. His other hand, the metal one, rests on your thigh with featherlight pressure, like he’s scared you’ll flinch.

You don’t.

You lean in.

And he kisses you.

It’s gentle at first —lips soft and reverent against yours, like he’s still scared he’ll wake up. But then you press closer, fingers tangling in his shirt, and he deepens it —groaning into your mouth, tongue brushing yours, hunger bleeding into every movement.

You shift into his lap, straddling him instinctively, and Bucky grabs your hips like he’s grounding himself —like if he lets go, he’ll wake up alone again.

His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, and the look he gives you is hungry —like you’re the first warm thing he’s touched in years.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls. “You know that, right?”

You rock against him gently, and his jaw goes tight.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, hands in his hair. “Anywhere. However you want.”

He huffs a breath like he’s trying to keep from losing it.

“Fuck, sweetheart…”

His metal hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider over him. His other hand slides under your hoodie and up your back, warm and solid, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it aside.

When he sees you —bare, flushed, breathing hard —he curses under his breath and cups your chest with both hands, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they stiffen. You gasp, grinding against the hard line of him beneath his sweatpants.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

You do —breathless, already aching —lying back on the bed as he kneels between your legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your flannel pants.

“Every inch of you.”

He drags them down, slow and deliberate, along with your panties —eyes never leaving yours as he exposes you. When you’re naked and spread out under him, he runs his hands up your thighs, parting them wider with firm, reverent pressure.

Then his mouth is on you again.

Warm, slow, worshipful.

He kisses your inner thigh, then the crease of your hip, teasing you until you’re trembling, trying to press yourself against his mouth. But he pins your hips with his metal arm and groans, low and broken, like the taste of you has him spiraling.

He laps at you slowly, teasing your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking softly. You moan—high and sharp —and tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue circles, flicks, licks deeper until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes, voice muffled against your cunt. “So perfect, so good…”

You try to respond, but your hips buck when he slips one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Oh—fuck, Bucky—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Let me hear you.”

He adds a second finger, fucking you slowly with a perfect rhythm as he sucks your clit again. The pressure builds like a wave — deep and hot and inevitable.

“I—I’m gonna—”

“Do it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You fall apart on his mouth, writhing, gasping, your hands pulling hard at his hair. He doesn’t stop — licking you through it, holding you firm until your body finally slumps back against the mattress.

He looks up at you, lips slick, eyes glazed with want.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You reach for him, dazed. “Need you inside me.”

That’s all it takes.

He strips fast — sweatpants gone, briefs gone — and your eyes go wide at the size of him, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip.

“Condom,” he mutters, reaching for his bag—

“No,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill. I want to feel you.”

His eyes darken. “You sure?”

You nod, pulling him in. “Please.”

He lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, and groans like he’s barely holding it together.

Then he pushes in —slow, stretching you inch by inch, until he bottoms out and you’re both gasping.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants. “You’re so tight. So fuckin’ perfect.”

He stills, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, your jaw. “You okay, baby?”

You nod. “Move.”

And when he does —slow and deep at first, then faster, rougher —it’s like the world narrows to just the two of you. His hands grip your hips, his mouth never leaves your skin, and every thrust drives you higher.

He murmurs praise like a prayer—

“So good for me.”

“You feel like heaven.”

“I could stay inside you forever.”

When he feels you tighten around him again, he fucks you through your second orgasm — hard and deep — before groaning into your neck and coming inside you with a shudder that rocks his whole body.

He doesn’t pull out. Not yet.

Just stays there, buried deep, breathing against your collarbone.

“I’ve never—” he murmurs. “Never had this. Not like this.”

You stroke his back, warm and damp with sweat.

“You have it now.”

He kisses you then —soft and slow, like a promise.

And this time, it’s not about hunger.

It’s about home.

The fire’s burned down to embers.

Outside, the rain has stopped. All that’s left is the gentle patter of water dripping from the eaves and the faint glow of early morning light peeking through the curtains.

You’re warm —so warm —tucked beneath the threadbare sheets, wrapped in Bucky’s arms.

His body is solid heat against your back, chest rising and falling steady with sleep. One hand is splayed across your belly, the other curled under your neck, holding you close like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re real.

You shift slightly, and his breath catches. The hand on your stomach tightens, thumb brushing your skin like a reflex.

“Did I wake you?” you whisper, voice soft.

“Mmm,” he hums sleepily, lips brushing your shoulder. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move. S’too good.”

You smile, turning in his arms to face him. He’s a mess of tousled hair and morning stubble, blue eyes heavy-lidded and soft.

“Hi,” you murmur.

“Hi.” He leans in, noses at your cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

“You never have to ask.”

The kiss is slow —tender and lazy, mouths fitting together like they’ve always known how. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting all your life to be held like this.

When you shift again, your bare thighs brush his —and you feel it.

He’s hard. Already. Pressed warm and thick against your stomach.

You pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are pink. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t be sorry.” You reach down, wrap your hand gently around him. His hips twitch.

“I want you again,” you whisper. “Just like this.”

He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?”

You nod. “Slow n soft.”

His jaw clenches, just a little. Then he exhales and kisses you again —sweeter this time, deeper, like a slow ache.

Like gratitude.

The sheets fall away as he shifts over you, pushing your legs apart with his hips. He slides his metal hand beneath your thigh, lifting it gently as he rolls his body over yours.

He’s big —broad and warm and so careful —and you feel yourself open for him all over again.

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I?” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.

“No,” you whisper. “You made me feel so good and safe.”

He groans softly, like that this alone is enough to undo him. Then he reaches between you, guides himself to your entrance, and sinks in slow.

The stretch makes you sigh —familiar now, but no less intense. He presses deeper until your bodies are flush, his cock buried inside you, and stays there for a moment, unmoving.

His forehead rests against yours.

“I could stay like this forever,” he breathes. “You feel so good. So warm. So perfect.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist.

“Then stay.”

He moves slowly, rolling his hips in deep, rhythmic strokes —not chasing release, just feeling you. Making love like he has nowhere else to be, like your body is the only place he’s ever felt peace.

The way he looks at you —like you hung the stars —has your whole chest aching.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his shoulder. “Touch me more.”

And he does. Big hands exploring your body all over again —your waist, your breasts, your thighs. He never stops moving inside you, never pulls all the way out. Every thrust is slow and deep and intimate, like he wants to leave a piece of himself inside you.

When you start to tremble beneath him, he cups your face with both hands.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You come with a soft cry, clinging to him as your body shudders. He follows moments later, gasping your name, cock pulsing inside you as he buries himself one last time and spills deep.

You stay tangled together afterward — skin flushed, breath slowing, heartbeats syncing.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Good thing we’re stuck here another day.”

He chuckles, pulling you tight against him. “Don’t tempt me.”

But his voice is soft. Sweet. Like he wants to be tempted. Like he already is.

divider by @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra

Nothing beats forbidden love🤭

draco malfoy x reader where the reader is in hufflepuf and they are in a secret relationship that suddenly gets discovered by someone

The cold stone walls of Hogwarts always felt warmer when you were with Draco, especially in this forgotten alcove nestled deep in the castle’s labyrinth of corridors. It was your secret hideaway, shielded by shadows, cloaked in silence. No one ever ventured this far, and it was perfect for moments like this—where time stood still, and the outside world ceased to exist.

Draco leaned against the wall, his Slytherin tie loosened, his stormy grey eyes locked on yours. The tension between you was palpable, not the dangerous kind but something far sweeter, something laced with longing. You stepped closer, drawn to him as you always were, your Hufflepuff robe brushing against his.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to tell anyone?” you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell of your hidden world. Your heart raced as you waited for his response, hoping for a different answer this time.

Draco’s expression darkened, the softness in his eyes hardening like ice. He shook his head sharply. “No. It’s impossible,” he said, his voice clipped, his tone final. “Do you have any idea what people would say? What they’d think? What my father would do?”

The mention of his father sent a shiver down your spine. You knew Lucius Malfoy’s reputation, and you had no illusions about how he would react to Draco being involved with a Hufflepuff. But it wasn’t just his family. You could hear the unspoken names in his voice—the Slytherins, the pure-blood elites, everyone who lived by the old ways, who would never accept something as simple as love if it crossed House boundaries.

“But what if we—” you began, but Draco cut you off.

“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, stepping closer and gripping your arms gently but with enough force to make sure you understood. “My father would disown me. The Slytherins would turn their backs on me. Even the Hufflepuffs would start talking about you behind your back, saying Merlin knows what. You don’t know what they’re like, the things they’d say. I won’t let you be a part of that.”

His words hung heavy between you, sinking into your chest like lead. There was a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to push it down. You understood his fears, but it didn’t make the ache in your heart any less. You wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care what anyone thought, but you knew him well enough to see that no amount of persuasion would change his mind. Not when he was this adamant.

You sighed, casting your eyes down to the stone floor, but Draco was having none of it. His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again. And for a moment, you could see it—the vulnerability in him, the conflict. He didn’t want to keep this secret forever, but he felt he had no choice.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek. His voice, though still guarded, held a note of tenderness that he rarely let slip. “But it’s better this way. For both of us.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned into him, letting the tension melt away as his arms wrapped around you. The kiss that followed was gentle at first, a slow reassurance that in this hidden corner of the world, at least, you were free. His lips were warm, contrasting with the cold, rough stone at your back, and you melted into him, all your worries dissolving as his hands threaded into your hair.

Time lost its meaning when you were like this. The castle, the students, the looming threat of being caught—it all slipped away. There was only the taste of Draco’s lips, the intoxicating heat of his body pressed against yours, and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. His touch was more urgent now, his hands exploring, grasping, as though he could never be close enough, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you in case this was your last stolen moment together.

But then, the world came crashing back.

“Malfoy!”

The voice was sharp, cold, and unmistakable. You froze, the kiss breaking abruptly as Draco jerked back, eyes wide in panic. You followed his gaze and felt your stomach drop. Standing in the entrance of the alcove, his dark robes billowing like a shadow of doom, was none other than Professor Snape.

His expression was a mixture of shock and outrage, though his usually impassive face betrayed only the slightest twitch of surprise. His black eyes flicked between you and Draco, narrowing dangerously. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you both.

Draco stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and Snape as if to shield you, though you weren’t sure if it was more out of instinct or desperation. “Professor,” Draco began, his voice tight, trying to regain some semblance of control, “it’s not what it looks like.”

But it was exactly what it looked like, and Snape wasn’t fooled for a second. His gaze turned steely as his lips curled into a sneer. “Really, Malfoy?” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do enlighten me, then. What exactly am I looking at?”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to have shrunk down to this one moment, with no escape in sight. What would Snape do? Tell the other professors? Inform your Head of House? Or worse—would he go straight to Lucius Malfoy?

The thought made you sick with dread.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, his cool façade cracking as he struggled for an explanation. But there was none. There was no easy way out of this.

Snape’s eyes bore into yours now, and you felt the weight of his disappointment, the judgment in his silence. You’d seen him angry before, with other students, but this—this was different. He wasn’t just angry. He was livid.

“I suggest,” Snape finally said, his voice low and deadly, “that you both return to your common rooms. Now. Before I decide to inform the Headmaster of your… inappropriate activities.”

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you nodded, too stunned to speak. Draco grabbed your hand for a fleeting second, squeezing it as if to say he was sorry—sorry for everything—before letting go. His mask was back in place, and without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove, his back rigid, his expression unreadable.

You followed in silence, your heart heavy with the weight of your secret love, now more fragile than ever.

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