#wankst

You nodded coyly against his skin, fighting the chill. You knew he was right but fuck, right now you'd risk it.

"Maybe another...uhhh f-fuck..time... " he chuckled with difficulty, wide sapphire hips tilting upwards with every thrust as you hovered by the shuddering tip.

Loki's huge fist was merciless, his brow furrowing in desperate pleasure as you parted your lips. "Let's cool you dow- down, shall we?" he grunted through shortening breaths, low moans rumbling in his core as he edged himself across the final precipice.

Your tongue meekly lapped the tip of his cobalt shaft, feeling the saliva harden instantly against the frozen skin. You pulled it away with a wince. Loki released an animalistic groan at the sight, shuddering forwards with a clenched cry of your name.

The cool seed spattered your cheeks, flooding your tongue with force. You stilled, letting it drip from the corners of your mouth down your chin to your chest. There was always so much. Like soft sorbet on summer's hottest day. And he was always so obliging, such a benevolent god to his fragile mortal and her petty needs.

Your fingers traced the streams of his cum, rubbing swathes of the chilled liquid into your breasts with a moan of satisfaction. The relief would last for hours. Loki gaped, his stare smouldering through half lidded eyes.

"I will never tire of cooling you down, pet." he panted slowly, skin blossoming back to its paler form as he released his grip from the casket.

"Good thing you always make me so hot then..." you purred, rising and crawling into your god's wide lap. Loki groaned again.

🤷x

reduced tags

__________________

It’s well past midnight when Ginny finally finishes her shower and leaves the bathroom. For a few seconds, she just stands on the door, hearing the soft breaths of her sleeping friends, but her eyes are on the two empty beds. Anne and Janet didn’t return to Hogwarts this year. They are both Muggleborns; she hopes, as she does every time she sees their beds, that they just fled with their families.

The alternative is too painful to think about.

And if there is something Ginny’s been understanding lately is pain.

Not that she should be complaining today. By Alecto Carrow’s standards, her detention was easy, but then Alecto is much more smooth than her brothers. Alecto likes her venomous words and, unfortunately, she had finally heard more about Ginny’s relationship with Harry.

Ginny supposes she was lucky if there is such a thing in her life now. But she had three free months in Hogwarts without the Carrows knowing more of her connection with Harry than the fact that her family was close with him; why Snape didn’t mention it to them - or why he didn’t question her himself - she is too tired to guess.

She should’ve known there was something weird when she entered that room on the fifth floor and Alecto was waiting for her with a sweet smile. Ginny had faced other detentions with Alecto - she’d endured a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse, had felt the pain of a quill cutting her skin, had blacked out once after being thrown in the room - but she had never feared Alecto as then, with that smile that did not fit the room with chains and spots of blood.

‘You’ll clean up today. Muggle style, since you love them so much’, Alecto had said, pointing to a bucket and a mop.

After so many detentions, Ginny just nodded. She knew that her silence annoyed the Carrows more than when she’d scream to them, so she just concentrated on her task, trying to stop her thoughts of who had been bloodied in that room. Not a pure-blood, sure, they were so protective of them. Maybe a First Year, someone who was as innocent as she'd been before the darkness had tried to wrap her…

‘I heard you used to date Harry Potter’, Alecto said then, and when Ginny didn’t answer, she snorted. ‘Maybe you forgot to mention early when I asked you about him’.

Ginny tried to control her breathing. She’d know a moment like that would come up sometime.

‘It was nothing’, she said without looking up. ‘We were just messing around. He dated other girls’.

The truth is far from it, but Ginny expects her apathy is enough to convince Alecto.

‘I see’, said Alecto and for a second Ginny thought she had believed. ‘So he just used you then he dumped you’.

That was low and they both knew it; there was no good answer for Ginny, so she just kept her head down, trying to clean the floor as fast as she could.

‘Boys are after one thing only, you should have known better’, Alecto continued, and Ginny could hear the mocking tone in her voice, could now understand her sweet smile. This was her real punishment. ‘You’ll be lucky if any Pureblood accepts you after you are… profaned’.

Ginny bit her lips to keep from screaming with so much strength she felt the iron taste of blood on her mouth. Alecto was talking as if Ginny was dirty and no matter the fact that she and Harry never had time to really be together, she knew that nothing she’d ever do with Harry would be stained.

But Alecto didn’t deserve to know anything about her relationship with Harry. That was one thing that nothing - not Tom, not that Dark Regime, not the Carrows - would take away from her. The memory of the way his  green eyes spark when he laughs. That dimple in his face when he’s smiling shyly. The way his hair is even messier after he lands from a flight. The determined expression on his face the first time they kissed. The way his eyes had darkened that night when she’d opened her shirt, had taken out her bra -

Perhaps it was the fact that it happened also in an empty classroom, a lifetime ago, but somehow this specific memory stayed with Ginny, protecting her almost as a Patronus against Alecto’s increasingly obscene comments. It was almost easy to turn off Alecto’s voice and after that, Alecto’s fun seemed to be dispersed. She discharged Ginny with a disdainful look, but Ginny didn’t notice for once; when she met Neville in the Common Room and he looked at her with concern (that’s the only kind of look they share these days), she’d been almost truthful when she told him she was okay.

‘I just need a bath’, said Ginny, and Neville nodded, understanding.

Ginny stayed under the hot water for a long time, as if the heat could clean away the filthiness that the Carrow’s presence always brought to her - it was worse than the blood that made her scrub her hands almost to raw skin, it was their evil dark magic. It reminded her of Tom’s diary and that’s the worst part for Ginny.

So she concentrated on her memories of Harry, letting the pure raw emotions she’d felt with him draw the heaviness of the day away.

It had worked for her shower, but as Ginny lays down on her bed, closing the curtains around her except for an opening where the moonlight enters, the stress returns as always.

She is tired and she feels tired. She can’t complain, though, because people look up to her to not give up. Neville and Luna are counting on her as much as she’s counting on them. Neither can fall.

But somehow Alecto Carrow’s voice still echoes in her mind and Ginny closes her fists, feeling her fingernails in her flesh, using the pain to draw away Alecto’s laugh that Harry used and dumped her.

‘No’, she whispers, hearing her voice. Her voice is real. Her relationship with Harry was - is - real. ‘He cares for me’.

She repeats it to herself as many times as she can, until Alecto’s voice is far away in her mind, no more than an annoying fly. Quietly, Ginny takes the Gryffindor scarf she always keeps by her bedside and hugs it close to her body, feeling  its scent.

Even after five months, the scarf still has Harry’s scent.

She sniffs it, letting that musky smell fill her nostril, until she shamelessly wraps the scarf around one of her pillows, hugging it, pretending it’s Harry she’s with. It’s only imagination, of course - she doesn’t have a memory of sleeping like this with Harry, but she wonders if he would cuddle her, if she would caress his hair until he falls asleep first, if he would wake her with soft kisses - she likes to think she would giggle them, marvelling at the fact they were together...

That’s what hurts her the most. All the questions that she doesn’t have an answer to only because there wasn’t enough time.

When these thoughts come, Ginny admonishes herself. Be grateful for what you had together, she says firmly, and waits for what will come in the future. She can do both.

She bits her lips carefully to not reopen her wound, and she hesitates just one second before grabbing her wand from below her pillow.

‘Muffliato!’, she whispers, pointing from one occupied bed then to the other one, her mind already remembering Harry casting the same spell after pushing her to that deserted classroom seven months ago. Her heart beats faster, just as it had then, thrilled by the fact that Harry was the one being bold then.

He’d been so innocent at first, so careful with her and with her boundaries that in the first weeks it was Ginny that had been the one to pull him into empty broom cupboards, who had coached him to wait for her in the Common Room so they could have a moment together alone on that couch in front of the fireplace.

But that night Harry was the one who had searched for her in the library and had called her for a night stroll. Ginny had accepted eagerly and it had been so worthy.

She touches her lips, feeling the ghost of Harry’s mouth over hers - the moment the door had closed, Harry had spent two seconds casting a protective spell on the door and then he’d kissed her as if he’d stayed away from her for years rather than since breakfast. His mouth had been hungry, demanding, and for once it was Ginny that was matching his excitement instead of the other way around.

‘I’ve missed you so much’, he’d whispered, his mouth inches from hers only enough so those words could slip away, and even then it had sounded more as groan than anything.

Their time together had been scarcely on these last few days, with her exams starting and Harry not wanting to disturb her in this final stage. They had barely a time together - other than a good morning kiss and a brush of lips before she went to bed, exhausted, and Harry had not once complained; he was too noble for that.

The fact that he was asking - almost demanding - a few minutes for them - of her - brought Ginny an elation she’d missed amongst all stress from her exams.

Ginny remembers how she had pressed herself even closer to Harry, and how he had lifted her until she was sitting in one of the tables, with him standing in front of her, their heads for once in the same level. It had been exhilarating, but she had wanted more back then and she wants more now.

Just like that day, her hand trembles slightly when she opens the button of  her shirt. With her eyes closed, she can visualize how Harry’s eyes had widened when she took off her shirt, then had darkened when she had removed her bra; he had seemed so torn between his evident desire and his nobility. He had already felt her up during their fumblings on broom cupboards, both above and below her blouse, but this was the first time he was really seeing her naked skin and Ginny would have hexed him mercilessly if he’d dared ruin the moment. Harry didn’t.

She takes off her shirt and the light breeze makes her nipples harden, just how it happened then - or maybe then it was the pure adoration in Harry’s eyes, how he seemed entranced beyond words seeing her naked chest. With an almighty effort, he’d looked in her eyes, asking silently, desperately, if he could touch her, and she had nodded in silence.

Her hand cups her breast, just like Harry did; her hand is less warm than Harry’s had been, but it doesn’t matter. She can reproduce how he’d touched her, carefully as if he thought he could break her - as if he couldn't see the shivers his touch was causing -, before his thumb caressed her nipple; just as before, she lets out a soft moan and the sound excites her now as much as it seemed to excite Harry. Now both of her hands are cupping her breasts, playing with the nipples, letting small waves of excitement flow through her.

She can’t reproduce what Harry did then - how he’d lowered his head until he was kissing her neck, then her collarbone, then the top of her breasts as he’d already done before, enjoying the cleavage of her summer top. But Harry had lowered his head even more, not stopping his kisses, until he’d taken her nipple in his mouth and pleasure had left her out of breath for a few moments, as if there wasn’t anything else in the world but the feeling of his tongue teasing her nipple, his mouth sucking it lightly then harder. She had moaned, not caring of how she had sounded, and Harry seemed to correctly take that as approval; his other hand had gone back to cup her breast, squeezing with the same amount of gentleness and roughness and -

And then they had stopped because there were sounds outside the door and they had thirty seconds - during which Harry thrown his Invisibility Cloak above them - before Filch had opened the door and looked around with mistrust.

But just as Ginny cannot reproduce Harry’s mouth on her nipples, she also doesn’t need to stop now. She wishes there were memories - she certainly tried on his birthday -, but if there aren’t, then she can let her imagination take over of what it would have happened if no one had interrupted.

She lowers her hand, below her waist that Harry had enjoyed holding while they kissed, until her hand slips under her panties. She is not as wet as she can be, but she imagines how Harry would be patient, how he’d be so gentlemanly touching her carefully until he was sure he wasn’t crossing any limits she wasn’t comfortable with.

She touches her more sensible spot, feeling another wave of pleasure, and she wishes it was Harry - with his calloused hands, long Seeker fingers - touching her now, making those gentle circles that make her want more. He wouldn’t know exactly what spot she liked most, but Ginny could show him - and Harry would be an eager student, a fast learner.

If they weren’t interrupted, she thinks she would let him touch her even more; perhaps she would touch him as well, would let him ease the tension and hardness she’d felt during their most passionate make-out sessions. Harry had wanted her, that she knew. She imagines she was still on that table, with Harry standing between her open legs; if she would move her body just a bit forward, she could rub herself on him - Harry would be the one moaning then - and Ginny pretends it’s this she is doing instead of using her fingers.

She slips her finger forward, inside, and now she’s wet, she’s ready for him. She doesn’t think they would go all the way then - Harry would want something far more special than a quickie in an empty classroom -, but she can pretend they are meeting there again, that this is just the umpteenth time that they are doing it, that they can lose themselves in each other. It can be rough, it can be desperate.

She can imagine Harry inside her, how he’d groan and how she’d be moaning with the feeling of him, alive and heart beating and thrusting into her, filling her. She can’t reproduce a feeling she’s only imagining how it would feel, but it doesn’t really matter. She slips out her finger, letting her attention focus on her clit, on that spot where she knows how to touch, how to make her come; for everything else, she and Harry will have time later, and anyway she thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing her giving herself some pleasure. He’d enjoyed it, because that’s who Harry is.

Her fingers move faster in that circle, her breath now coming in short intakes, unstable, and she presses her eyes even more, imagining Harry kissing desperately her lips while he too moves faster, how he’d warn her that he was so close and how she’d kiss him, looking at the desire in his face that matched hers, and say it was okay. She too was close.

For a second Ginny is so fixed on the image of Harry, his brows furrowed while he tries to last a bit longer waiting for her - he’d always wait for her -, that her coming almost surprises her. That final fatal wave of pleasure washes over her and she moans loudly his name - Harry, Harry, Harry - until she feels adrift in the space, as if the only thing connecting her to the world is her finger still touching her clit, pulsing - and Harry, who’d thrust once more and then he’d come, crying her name like a prayer, pleasure and bliss written all over his face.

He’d pressed his lips fervently to hers, unable to properly kiss her; they would hug, hearing each other’s heavy breathes, feeling their racing hearts slowly calming down, and she’d hear Harry whispering to her: Open your eyes, Ginny.

She obeys him without thinking, but all she can see is the canopy of her bed. Harry is not there with her and suddenly everything comes back to her.

She is alone and Harry is just in her imagination. They are even dating anymore. Harry is out there, lost or hurt - never dead, because that is a thought she never lets herself even conjure -, not knowing that Ginny is in Hogwarts dreaming about him, wishing he returns safe, missing him as if he took with him a part of her.