#… as usual. (they got me through high school too)

[fnoemine]

Biology After Hours (Male Reader x Yubin)

Synopsis: You are an 18-year-old boy, just Yubin’s ordinary classmate at Shingal High School. When she gets slammed with overdue homework—due to her idol schedule eating up the semester, she turns to you for help.

Time Background: 1 month before Yubin’s graduation.

Tags: Blowjob, Rough Sex, Fingering, Breast Play, Ruined Orgasm, Teasing, Power Dynamics, Classmate

Words: 6k+

You’re a senior at Shingal High School, just a few months shy of graduation, and the clock’s ticking louder every day. The hallways are buzzing with that restless energy—kids cramming for finals, planning college apps, or just coasting ‘til the end. You’re somewhere in the middle, keeping your head down, but there’s one thing that’s been gnawing at you all year: Yubin.

She’s in your class, tripleS’s Yubin—yeah, that Yubin, the idol who somehow balances school and stardom without breaking a sweat. She’s quiet in class, not flashy like you’d expect, always doodling in her notebook or staring out the window, her long-hair glistened her face just right.

At school, she’s just Yubin—smart... well, a little shy, the girl who always has her earbuds in during breaks. You’ve talked a few times—group projects, passing notes about homework—but nothing big, nothing to hint at the way your chest tightens when she’s around.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the day, and the classroom erupts into the usual chaos—kids bolting for the door, bags swinging, chatter filling the air. You’re packing up slow, shoving your notebook into your backpack, when Yubin turns around in her seat, leaning over the desk with a look that’s half-pleading, half-annoyed.

“Hey,” she says, tapping her pencil against her chin, “I’m drowning in some homework. Missed too many classes early semester—idol stuff—and now I’ve got this huge project due, sort of science things. Help me out?” Her eyes lock on yours, and you’re already nodding before your brain catches up, because it’s Yubin, triplesS's Yubin.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you say, adjusting your glasses, trying to play it cool. “When?” She doesn’t hesitate. “Now—. Like, right now. No time left to mess around.” Then she drops the bomb: “Come to my place. My house."

Your stomach flips—she’s inviting you to her real home, not the polished idol world you’ve seen on streams or vlogs. It’s personal, private, and the thought of it makes your palms sweat as you mumble, “Okay, cool.”

Half an hour later, you’re walking beside her, backpack slung over one shoulder, her earbuds dangling loose as she leads you through a quiet neighborhood—tree-lined streets, modest houses, nothing like the glitzy dorm life you’d pictured.

Her house is simple, a two-story with a small porch, and she unlocks the door, kicking her shoes off with a tired groan. “Mom’s out, so it’s just us,” she says, tossing her bag down and heading to the living room.

The coffee table’s a mess—biology textbooks, diagrams of male and female anatomy, a sketch of a penis half-drawn in her notebook. You say, pushing your glasses up, “What’s you up to?”

“Genitals—reproductive systems,” she says, like she knows it’s weird but doesn’t care. Your brain stutters—genitals?—but you manage, “Okay then..”

She flops onto the couch, patting the cushion next to her. “Alright, help me out, come.” You sit, pulse racing, close enough to catch her faint citrus scent, the awkwardness of the topic hanging between you as you dive into hers very real, very private world.

You’re sitting on Yubin’s couch, the biology mess sprawled out on the table—textbooks open to chapters on reproductive systems, diagrams of ovaries and testes staring back at you, her half-drawn penis sketch taunting your nerves. She’s leaning in close, elbow propped on the couch arm, watching you with a spark in her eyes while you try to explain.

“So, uh,” you start, voice cracking slightly, pushing your glasses up as you point at the textbook, “the male system—it’s, y’know, got the testes here, and they produce, uh, sperm, which moves through the—” You stumble, face heating up, the word sperm feeling dumb rolling off your tongue in her living room. “—epididymis, then up to the vas deferens. It’s… basic stuff.” You’re dying inside, awkward as hell, avoiding her gaze.

Yubin’s not fazed—she’s excited, leaning closer, her knee brushing yours. “Wait, so that’s where it all starts? That’s kinda cool,” she says, grabbing the pencil and adding a quick line to her sketch, shading the testes with a grin. “Keep going—what’s next?” Her enthusiasm throws you off, you expected her to cringe or laugh, but she’s into it, eyes bright, like this is some fun puzzle.

“Uh, okay,” you manage, swallowing hard, flipping the page to the female side. “So, the ovaries—they release eggs, right? And the fallopian tubes—” You point, hand shaky, “—they’re like the highway to the uterus. If, uh, stuff meets up, you get… fertilization.” Your ears are burning, and you’re sure you sound like a stuttering idiot.

She nods fast, scribbling notes, then looks up, smirking. “Why are you blushing? It’s just biology—don’t freak out.” She’s teasing, but not mean—her excitement’s real, she's geeking out over genital diagrams with you, her leg now fully pressed against yours. “Tell me more—how’s it all connect?” she asks, pencil poised, and you’re stuck, awkwardness clashing with her energy, trying not to melt under the pressure of her stare and the weird, it's tripleS's Yubin after all.

You’re fumbling through the explanation, Yubin’s thigh pressed against yours, her pencil flying across the page as she peppers you with questions—“So the sperm just swims up there? How fast?”—her voice bright, genuinely hooked on this genital stuff.

You’re trying to focus, pointing at the diagram, “Yeah, it’s, uh, millions of them, but only one—if any—makes it,” but her excitement’s doing something to you. Her closeness, the way she’s leaning in, eyes wide, lips parted—it’s hitting you low, a twitch in your pants you can’t ignore. You shift, hoping she doesn’t notice, but your dick’s getting hard, and it’s not subtle.

She catches it—her gaze flicks down, quick but sharp, landing on the bulge in your jeans. You freeze, face flaming, ready to stammer some excuse, but Yubin doesn’t freak out. She tilts her head, smirking a little, curious as hell. “Wait—is that…?” she says, voice dropping, eyes locked on it like it’s a science exhibit. “Are you hard right now?” There’s no judgment—just pure, her intrigue, the same way she’s been about the diagrams.

You choke out, “Uh—shit, sorry, it’s just—” but she cuts you off, scooting closer, “No, no, it’s cool. I’ve only seen it in porn, y’know? Never… real.”

Her curiosity’s electric—she’s staring, half-amazed, half-fascinated, like your hard-on’s the next part of the project. “Does it always do that? Like, when you’re talking about this stuff?” she asks, nodding at the textbook, her leg brushing you again, intentional or not.

You’re dying, cock throbbing now, and mutter, “Sometimes—uh, you’re close, and it’s… yeah.”

She grins, not shy, just Yubin—your classmate, kpop idol, “That’s wild,” her voice low, her nerdy excitement turning into something else, something dangerous, and you’re both teetering on the edge of this weird, horny biology lesson.

Yubin’s still leaning close, her eyes flicking between your face and the obvious bulge in your jeans, that smirk lingering like she’s just discovered something fascinating. “Okay, but what about girls?” she asks, tilting her head, pencil tapping the textbook absently. “How’s it work for us—like, the horny part?” Her tone’s casual, but there’s a glint in her eye.

You’re flustered, cock still hard, but you try to play it off, clearing your throat. “Uh, simple—girls’ nipples get hard, and, uh, the clit too, when they’re turned on. Same deal, just… less obvious than, y’know,” you nod downward, awkward as hell.

Her mouth drops open a little, then she laughs—soft, amused, not mocking. “Wait, seriously? Nipples and clit? I’ve never even noticed that!” She sits back, glancing down at herself like she’s checking for evidence, then looks back at you, grinning. “That’s so weird—I mean, cool, but weird. How’d I miss that?” She’s half-talking to herself, she caught up in her own curiosity, and it’s almost funny—her innocence clashing with the porn she’s seen, now piecing it together with you right there.

You shrug, still burning up, “Yeah, it’s subtle—happens when you’re, uh, into it. Biology, right?”

She nods, biting her lip, eyes darting back to your lap, then up to you, playful but sharp. “Huh. Guess I need to pay more attention—to myself and this stuff,” she says, tapping the diagram, her leg brushing yours again. It’s light, teasing, but her amusement’s got you harder, her clueless excitement making the air thick—your nerdy classmate turning this biology project into something way too real, and she’s not backing off.

Yubin’s still chuckling about her nipple-and-clit revelation, scribbling something random in her notebook, when she shifts, tugging at her uniform blazer. “Ugh, it’s getting hot in here,” she mutters, shrugging it off and tossing it onto the couch arm. The AC’s busted—you can feel the stuffy warmth creeping in—and without the blazer, her white school shirt clings a little, unbuttoned at the top, showing off her collarbone, the curve of her chest just hinting through the fabric. She’s Yubin—tripleS's S8, your classmate, but right now, she’s all sexiness—casual, unaware, fanning herself with her hand, making it impossible not to stare.

You shift in your seat, your cock still hard from her curiosity, throbbing worse now as you try to adjust—crossing your legs, moving your hips, anything to hide it. But Yubin’s eyes flick down again, sharp and quick, catching the bulge you’re failing to mask.

She doesn’t say anything at first—just smirks, leaning forward on her elbows, her shirt stretching tighter, giving you a better view of her shape. “You’re really struggling down there, huh?” she says, voice low, teasing, not letting it slide this time. “Is it me or the biology talk?” She’s grinning, playful but bold, like she’s testing how far this can go.

You’re caught, face hot, stammering, “Uh—it’s, y’know, both,” pushing your glasses up, trying to laugh it off but dying inside. She’s not fazed—leans closer, her bare arms brushing the table, her scent hitting you again, and keeps staring, amused, curious.

“Crazy,” she murmurs, almost to herself, eyes locked on your lap, then back up to you, that spark in her gaze brighter now.

=================

The room’s a sauna, the broken AC doing nothing to cut the heat, and Yubin’s relentless—her eyes glued to the bulge in your jeans, a smirk playing on her lips as you fumble through the biology explanation.

You’re a wreck—sweat dripping down your neck, ears red, heart pounding so loud you’re sure she can hear it. “Uh—the, uh, reproductive cycle—” you stutter, but she’s not listening, leaning in closer, her breath hot against your skin.

Your words die, focus gone, as she tilts her head, so close now her hair brushes your cheek, and you think she’s about to whisper something—maybe a tease, maybe a question—but instead, her tongue flicks out, grazing your earlobe, quick and deliberate.

You jolt back, “Whoa—!” voice cracking, scooting away an inch, shocked, your glasses nearly slipping off. She giggles—soft, mischievous—covering her mouth like it’s a game, but she doesn’t stop—crawling toward you, slow and playful, until you’re leaning back, hands braced on the floor, trapped under her advance.

She hovers over you, her knee nudging your leg, then presses her hand lightly against your bulge, not hard, just enough to feel it. “It’s so tense down there,” she murmurs, smirking wider, her tone teasing, curious, like she’s testing how far you’ll let this go.

Your breath hitches, pulse racing, hot all over—half from the room, half from her—and you’re gripping the carpet, trying to hold it together. “Yubin—what’re you—” you start, but she just laughs again, leaning in ‘til her face is inches from yours, her voice dropping low.

“Relax, nerd, you’re too wound up. It’s just us.” She’s pinning you down with that bold, playful energy, and you’re teetering—caught between freaking out and giving in, alone in her house with no way to cool down the fire she’s stoking.

Her hand still rubbing your bulge, slow and firm, her smirk growing as you twitch under her touch. The room’s a furnace—sweat sticking your shirt to your back, your glasses fogging at the edges—and she’s relentless, she is staring down at you like you’re her next experiment.

Her fingers sliding to your jeans, popping the button with a flick. She yanks the zipper down fast, the sound loud in the thick air, and tugs your jeans open, peeling them back just enough. “I wanna see it—a real dick,” she says, voice low, eyes wide with that wild, nerdy excitement.

You’re breathless, “Yubin—,” but you don’t stop her—can’t, not with your cock straining, hard and aching, begging to be free. She hooks her fingers into your boxers, pulling them down in one rough tug, and there it is—your dick springs out, thick and stiff, pulsing in the open air.

She stares, mouth parting slightly, like she’s cataloging it—she's inches from your bare cock. “Well damn,” she breathes, half-laughing, half-awed, “it’s… bigger than I thought.” Her hand hovers, hesitant for a second, then brushes it—light, curious, sending a jolt through you that makes your hips jerk.

Your head tipping back, hands gripping the floor harder as she watches it twitch under her touch. She’s mesmerized, giggling soft, “It’s so… alive,” like it’s some biology marvel, but her fingers linger, tracing the shaft, testing it, and you’re losing it—sweat dripping, heart racing, caught in her grip.

Yubin’s got your cock in her hand now, her fingers wrapped around it, she is staring down at you with that mix of curiosity and mischief as your jeans hang open, boxers shoved down. The room’s a sweatbox, air thick and heavy, and you’re panting, every nerve on fire as she brushes the tip with her thumb—slow, deliberate, smearing the bead of pre-cum already leaking out. “Oh, shit,” she murmurs, grinning wide, rubbing the sensitive head in tight little circles, watching your hips buck involuntary. “Look at that—it’s so cute,” she says, amused, like your dick’s some adorable toy she’s just discovered.

You groan loud, “Yubin—” head slamming back against the floor, hands clawing at the carpet as she plays with you—stroking the shaft slow, then fast, her grip loose one second, tight the next, teasing the hell out of you.

She giggles, low and dirty, “Cute, but kinda hot too—how’s it so hard?” Her fingers slide down, cupping your balls for a second, rolling them gently, then back up, focusing on the tip again—rubbing it harder, flicking it with her thumb, making you twitch and curse under her touch. She’s relentless—turning your dick into her personal playground, loving every reaction she pulls out of you.

“It’s like… wiggling or something,” she laughs, squeezing the head, then stroking down the full length, her hand slick with your pre-cum now, moving faster, rougher. Your breath’s ragged, sweat pouring, “Yubin, slow down—” but she doesn’t, leaning in closer, her face inches from it, her hot breath hitting you as she mutters, “No way—this is too fun.” She’s jerking you off now, full-on—hard, fast pumps, amused and turned on, her eyes glinting as you writhe, completely at her mercy in this muggy, out-of-control mess.

Her hand’s still pumping your cock—fast, slick, her fingers tight around you, playing with the tip ‘til you’re a groaning mess, sweat soaking your shirt, sprawled helpless on her living room floor. She’s grinning, reveling in the power, when she suddenly slows, eyes flicking up to yours—dark, curious, dangerous. “Wonder what it tastes like,” she murmurs, almost to herself, and before you can process, she leans down, her tongue darting out, licking the tip slow—hot, wet, tasting the pre-cum glistening there. “Arh—” you gasp, hips jerking up, but she’s already in, wrapping her lips around the head, sucking light, teasing, like she’s sampling you.

You’re gone—head back, hands useless on the carpet, control slipping as she takes over. “Yubin—you don’t have to—” you start, but it’s weak, pointless, she’s got you now, doing whatever the hell she wants.

She pulls off for a second, giggling, “Kinda salty—cute,” then dives back, taking more this time—her mouth hot, tight, sliding down your shaft, tongue flicking along the underside. You groan loud, “Yubin—!” surrendering completely, letting her run it—sucking harder, bobbing slow then fast, her hand still jerking the base, spit dripping down, making it messy.

She’s in charge, and you can’t stop her—don’t want to, not really. Her eyes flick up, meeting yours, amused and smug as she pulls back, lips popping off, a string of spit hanging before she wipes it with her thumb.

Yubin pulls her mouth off your cock with a wet pop, her lips shiny with spit and your pre-cum, a smug little grin spreading across her face as she sits back up. Her hand’s soaked—dripping with her saliva and the slick mess leaking from you—and she doesn’t hesitate, wrapping it around your dick again, tight and slippery.

“This is fun,” she says, voice low, teasing, she's watching you squirm as she starts jerking you off—slow at first, dragging her fist down your shaft inch by inch, letting you feel every slick twist, then speeding up, fast and loose, just enough to make you buck before slowing again. It’s torture—pure, deliberate torture.

“Yubin—” you groan, head lolling back, hands useless against the floor as she plays you like a damn toy. She giggles, focusing on the tip now—rubbing it hard with her thumb, circling the head, smearing the wet mess around ‘til it’s glistening, sensitive as hell.

“So cute how it twitches,” she teases, flicking it lightly, making you jolt, your breath ragged, sweat pouring down your neck. She switches rhythms—slow strokes, then fast pumps, then back to agonizingly slow, her wet grip slipping up and down, torturing you with the unpredictability, keeping you on edge, desperate.

You’re a wreck—hips jerking into her hand, trying to chase it, but she’s in full control, grinning down at you, her spit-slick palm driving you insane. “You’re dying, huh?” she murmurs, leaning close again, her breath hot on your cheek as she rubs the tip harder, relentless, “Bet you can’t take much more.”

Her hand sliding over your cock, slow then fast, torturing you with that playful grip—when she shifts, eyes glinting with new mischief. She grabs your shirt, still buttoned, and yanks it up hard, the fabric straining as it rides over your chest, exposing your nipples.

“Oh, look at that,” she murmurs, smirking. You’re panting, wrecked, but before you can catch your breath, she crashes her mouth onto yours—hard, sloppy, a full-on French kiss, her tongue diving in, hot and needy, tasting you deep.

Her one hand stays on your dick—stroking, rubbing the tip with her thumb, slick and relentless, keeping you twitching—while the other slides up, fingers finding your nipple. She pinches it lightly, then harder, rolling it between her thumb and finger, teasing it ‘til it’s stiff, sending a jolt straight through you. She kisses you harder, tongue wrestling yours, swallowing your sounds, her spit mixing with yours as she presses her chest closer, dominating you completely.

She’s everywhere—hand pumping your cock, fingers twisting your nipple, her lips sucking your tongue, wet and messy, the heat of her breath making your head spin. “So sensitive,” she whispers against your mouth, giggling dark, then dives back in, biting your lip, jerking you faster now, her dual attack ruthless—she's owning you, shirt hiked up, body trembling, lost in her control as she plays you like a damn instrument, pushing you closer to breaking with every slick, torturous move.

Yubin’s got you pinned—her tongue tangled with yours, sloppy and fierce, her spit dripping down your chin as she kisses you hard, owning every inch of you. One hand’s jerking your cock—wet, fast, her grip slick with spit and pre-cum, pumping you relentless—while the other twists your nipple, sharp and rough, making you arch into her touch.

You’re close—too close—your balls tightening, heat spiking, “Yubin, I’m gonna—” you gasp into her mouth, hips bucking, chasing it, the edge right there.

She feels it—your cock throbbing, twitching in her hand—and smirks against your lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “Oh, you’re ready?”

Her fingers speed up, stroking hard, focusing on the tip, rubbing it raw, and you’re groaning, “Yes, yes—” but then, right as you hit the peak—

She lets go—hand off your dick, mid-thrust, leaving it pulsing in the air. You cum anyway—ruined, weak spurts dribbling out, splattering your stomach, no pressure, no relief, just a pathetic leak as your orgasm collapses. “Arhh—!” you choke, body jerking, desperate, but it’s too late, the wave crashing with no payoff.

She giggles—dark, playful—watching you writhe, shirt yanked up, nipple still tingling from her fingers, your cock twitching uselessly, dripping. “Aw, look at that,” she teases, wiping her hand on your thigh, leaning back to admire the mess—smug as hell. “Cute, but kinda sad,” she says, flicking your nipple one last time, making you flinch. You’re panting, sweating, ruined—pleasure stolen, left hanging—and she’s in control, loving every second of your frustrated, wrecked state, her lips curling as she watches you squirm.

You’re slumped against the floor, shirt still hiked up, chest heaving, your cock twitching weakly as the last dribbles of your ruined orgasm streak across your stomach.

Yubin’s sitting back, smirking, wiping her spit-slick hand on your jeans like it’s nothing, looking way too pleased with herself. You’re a mess—sweat-soaked, frustrated, the high stolen from you—and you manage to rasp out, voice shaky, “How’re you so good at this? Like, that good?” Your eyes flick to her, half-accusing, half-awed, still reeling from her control.

She laughs—light, unbothered—leaning back on her hands, her blazer crumpled beside her, shirt still clinging to her frame. “Oh, that?” she says, shrugging, like it’s no big deal. “I watch a lot of porn. With the other members, y’know—group bonding.” Her grin turns sly, eyes glinting as she watches your reaction. “Chaeyeon’s into the rough stuff, Jiwoo likes the weird kinky shit—learned a few tricks from them.” She tilts her head, smirking wider, “Guess I’m a quick study.”

You blink, brain lagging, trying to process—tripleS’s Yubin, your shy classmate, casually dropping that she’s been watching porn with her groupmates, picking up moves like some twisted team-building exercise.

“You—what?” you stammer, ears red, the image of her and the tripleS girls huddled around a screen flashing in your head, making your dick twitch again despite the ruin. She giggles, crawling closer, tapping your chest playfully. “Don’t act so shocked, nerd—we all watched some porn, right?” Her tone’s teasing, she's back in your face, owning the moment, leaving you stunned and stupidly turned on all over again.

You’re still catching your breath, sprawled on her living room floor, the sting of your ruined orgasm fading as Yubin leans back, grinning, her confession about porn with the tripleS girls still ringing in your ears.

She shifts closer, eyes dropping to your cock—still half-hard, slick with her spit and your mess—and tilts her head, smirking. “Y’know, your dick’s actually pretty impressive,” she says, voice low, teasing but genuine. “Big, too—like, damn, no wonder it felt so good messing with it.” Her fingers brush it lightly, casual, like she’s admiring it, and you twitch, heat surging back, your dick waking up fast under her gaze and words.

She catches your reaction—grins wider—and starts unbuttoning her school shirt, slow, one by one, peeling it open to reveal her bra, her skin smooth and flushed from the heat. Then she reaches for her skirt, sliding it down her hips, kicking it off, leaving her in just her underwear.

Your eyes widen, pulse spiking, and you sit up a little, stammering, “Yubin—uh, you okay? You’re an idol, y’know—don’t you have to, like… be careful?” She pauses, shirt hanging off her shoulders, and looks at you with that sharp, knowing stare.

“I’m human too, nerd,” she says, shrugging, voice soft but firm. “I get horny, I get curious—same as anyone, same as you. No cameras here, just us.”

Her bra’s tight, her panties clinging, and she crawls back toward you, confident, human, stripping away the idol shell. “Besides,” she adds, smirking again, leaning close ‘til her lips brush your ear, “your big dick’s got me worked up now—can’t just leave it there, right?” her touch reigniting you, shirt half-off, skirt gone, pushing you back into that horny haze as she takes control again, no hesitation, just flesh and need.

Yubin’s kneeling over you, her shirt dangling open, bra barely holding on, then stripping down to nothing. She hooks her thumbs into her panties, yanking them down fast, tossing them aside, and there it is—her pink pussy, bare and glistening, right in front of you.

She spreads her legs a little, fingers slipping down, parting the lips shyly but with purpose. “Lube this first…” she says, voice low, a touch hesitant but pushing through, her cheeks flushing as she holds herself open, showing you everything.

You’re done holding back—heart pounding, cock throbbing again—and you grab her hips, pulling her down closer. You diving in, your mouth on her pussy fast, tongue lapping at her slit, tasting her—salty, tangy, a hint of sweetness that hits you hard.

She gasps, “Oh—ahh!” hips jerking against your face as you eat her out, licking deep, sucking her clit, her wetness smearing your lips, your chin. She’s trembling—half-shy, half-wild—fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you, “Yess—like that,” her voice breaking, breathy and needy.

Her pussy’s hot, slick under your tongue—salty from her sweat, sweet from her arousal—and you’re devouring her, no finesse, just hunger, flattening your tongue to cover every inch, drinking her in. She’s moaning now, "Good—so good,” rocking against you, her shyness melting as she grinds harder, letting go, her thighs clamping around your head, her pink folds pulsing, wet and perfect.

You pull back from eating Yubin out, her pussy still slick on your lips, her taste lingering—salty, sweet, addictive. She’s panting with her thighs trembling, eyes half-lidded, caught in the haze you’ve put her in.

You slide up, crashing your mouth into hers—kissing her hard, sloppy, letting her taste herself on your tongue. She moans into it, soft and needy, as your hands move fast—one reaching behind, unhooking her bra with a quick snap, tugging it off to let her breasts spill free, the other diving back between her legs, fingers brushing her wet folds.

"Hmhhh—" She gasps against your lips, but you don’t stop—kissing her deeper, tongue wrestling hers, while your fingers slip inside her pussy, two at once, curling in tight, pumping slow but firm. She’s soaking—hot, tight, clenching around you—and your other hand grabs her breast, squeezing the soft weight, thumb flicking her nipple hard, making it stiffen under your touch.

She whimpers, “Shit—” arching into you, her body rocking between your hands, caught in the rhythm—stripped bare, moaning into your mouth as you finger her and play with her tit.

You keep it up—kissing her breathless, lips bruised, your fingers thrusting deeper, hitting that spot that makes her shake, her wetness dripping down your knuckles. Your other hand kneads her breast—pinching, tugging the nipple, rolling it ‘til she’s squirming, her moans louder, muffled by your tongue.

“So good—” she pants, breaking the kiss for air, but you dive back in, owning her mouth, her pussy, her chest—pushing her further, feeling her tighten, her body begging for more in this sweaty, reckless mess.

=================

You pull your hand free, her wetness coating your fingers, and shift—grabbing your cock, hard and throbbing, lining it up with her pink, slick entrance. She’s sprawled beneath you, legs spread, panting, eyes locked on yours, ready.

You pause, tip brushing her folds, and ask again—voice rough, careful—“Yubin, you sure? Have you done this before?” You’ve asked a few times already, needing to hear it, needing her clear.

She nods, swallowing hard, her gaze steady despite the flush on her cheeks. “Yeah—yes,” she says, breath shaky but firm. “When I signed with the agency… it happened. Not my first time.” Her words hit you, admitting she’s been here before, some agency rite you can’t unpack now—and it’s enough.

You thrust—hard, deep, sliding into her tight, wet pussy in one smooth stroke, filling her up. She gasps, “Fuck—!” back arching, hands gripping your shoulders, nails biting in as you bottom out, her walls clenching around you, hot and perfect.

You don’t hold back—pulling out halfway, then slamming back in, setting a rhythm, fast and rough, her moans spilling out, “Yes—shit, like that!” Your hand’s still on her breast, squeezing, playing with her nipple, the other gripping her hip to keep her steady as you fuck her—hard, relentless, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the muggy room.

You’re deep inside Yubin, your cock buried in her tight, wet pussy, slamming into her over and over, the rhythm brutal and unrelenting. She’s moaning loud—wrecked beneath you, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, her nails clawing your back as you grab her waist, fingers digging into her soft skin.

You pace up—harder, faster—slamming into her with force, pulling her hips to meet you, the wet slap-slap-slap of your bodies echoing in the hot, stuffy room. “Fuck—yes, don’t stop!” she cries, voice breaking, her pussy clenching you tight, sucking you in deeper.

Her legs wrap around you—strong, desperate—locking you in, thighs trembling as she hooks her ankles behind your back, pulling you harder, not letting you go. “Shit—Yubin,” you grunt, feeling her grip, her heat, her need—she’s not giving you an inch to stop, and you don’t want to.

You pound her relentlessly, hands sliding up her waist, gripping her tighter, slamming so deep she’s shaking, her moans turning to gasps, “Fuck—harder—!” she’s taking it all—legs wrapped, body arching, her pussy soaking you, pulsing with every brutal thrust.

You’re lost in it—sweat dripping, your hips driving, her legs holding you captive as you fuck her senseless, the pressure building, your cock throbbing inside her. She’s trembling, clinging, her thighs squeezing you tight, her breath hitching with every slam—raw, wild, completely yours in this moment, and you can feel her breaking under you, pushing you to keep going, no mercy, no pause.

You’re slamming into Yubin, her pussy gripping you tight, wet and hot, her legs locked around your waist—pulling you in, trembling beneath you as you pound her harder, faster, your hands digging into her hips.

She’s moaning loud, desperate, “Fuck—yes—!” and then her body tenses, shaking hard, her thighs clamping down as she cums—hard. Her pussy pulses around your cock, squeezing you in waves, her breath ragged, a sharp “Oh—shit!” spilling out as she rides it, eyes squeezed shut, lost in it.

“Cum outside—outside!” she gasps, voice frantic, still twitching from her orgasm, but you’re too far gone—her clenching, her heat, the way she’s wrapped around you—it’s too much.

“Fuck—Yubin, I—” you try, pulling back, but it’s too late. You cum—hard, deep inside her, a thick, hot burst flooding her pussy, pulsing out as you groan, “Shit—!” Your hips jerk, thrusting through it, spilling every drop, her walls milking you even as she realizes, her eyes snapping open, wide and stunned.

She’s panting, staring up at you, her legs still locked around you, your cum leaking out around your cock as you stay buried in her. “You—did you just—inside?” she says, voice shaky, a mix of shock and something else—maybe panic, maybe not.

You’re sweating, breathless, “I couldn’t—sorry,” stammering, but she doesn’t push you off, just lies there, her pussy full of you.

“Fuck—suck it up, suck it up!” she snaps, voice sharp, panicked, shoving your shoulders down, your cum dripping from her pussy.

“I don’t wanna take those bitter pills again—hurry!” Her hands push at you, insistent, her thighs spreading wider, giving you no choice, no time to argue—your mistake, your mess, and she’s not about to deal with it the hard way.

You drop fast, face between her legs, her pussy still pulsing from her orgasm, now leaking your thick, hot cum. “Shit—Yubin, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, “Just do it!” and you dive in—mouth on her, sucking hard, tongue plunging into her slick, creamy folds. It’s gross, weird—salty, bitter, a mix of her sweetness and your own load, coating your lips, your tongue—but you don’t stop, lapping it up, swallowing the mess you made.

She squirms, “Fuck—yes, get it all,” her hands gripping your hair, pulling you in, guiding you to clean her out. You’re going at it—sucking, licking, the taste strange and overwhelming, her pussy hot and wet, your cum slipping out as you work, she's moaning soft now, less panicked, more relieved.

“Good—keep going,” she pants, hips rocking into your face, her urgency fading into something else—pleasure, maybe, as you eat her clean, taking it all back. It’s filthy, desperate, but you’re doing it—heart pounding, mouth full, making sure she doesn’t have to face the bitter pills.

You’re still between Yubin’s legs, mouth working fast—sucking, licking, pulling every last drop of your cum from her pussy, the taste bitter and strange but fading as you go. She’s gripping your hair tight, panting above you, her thighs quivering, her urgency softening into heavy breaths.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she finally mutters, voice hoarse, tugging you up by the shoulders. You pull back, lips slick, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, both of you wrecked—sweat-soaked, clothes half-off, the living room a muggy, messy haze.

She slumps back against the couch, chest heaving, her skirt crumpled beside her, panties long gone. “Should brought condom” she says, half-laughing, half-relieved, running a hand through her messy hair, she's looking human—flushed, tired, but sated.

You’re just as gone—jeans open, shirt shoved up, sitting back on your heels, catching your breath. “Sorry… got outta hand,” you mumble, glasses fogged, still tasting her and you on your tongue, the whole thing a blur of lust and panic.

She grabs her blazer, tossing it over her lap, then nods at the textbooks still scattered on the table. “Guess we’re done with biology for today.” You both laugh—short, shaky—awkward but real, the tension breaking as you pull your jeans up, she buttons her shirt sloppy, and the moment settles.

It’s over—wild, messy, unforgettable—classmates turned something else, left in the sweaty aftermath, no regrets, just the quiet hum of the busted AC and a project you’ll never look at the same way again.

=================

You catch your breath, pulling your jeans up as Yubin lounges on the couch, blazer over her lap, smirking lazily. You grab your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’m out,” you say, keeping it casual, adjusting your glasses.

She nods, ���Later” already dozing off, thinking it’s done.

You smirk, heading for the door, knowing the hidden camera in your bag caught it all—every second of her stripping, moaning, you fucking her—recorded perfectly from start to finish.

Outside, the cool air hits you, and you walk home, bag heavy with the secret footage. It went exactly as planned—tripleS’s Yubin on tape, yours to use later, a little smirk tugging at your lips as you imagine what’s next, the power now in your hands.

[triptychgardener]

thank you for early june by the way and and also for being one of the like. three people total other than me who believe in transfem eridan

Look I do fully believe that the worst people among us can, with personal effort, attain goodness and greatness (becoming a transgender woman).

In all honesty I think taking transfem Eridan seriously is, I don't know, sort of important? In the face of March Eridan.

Lots of good ink has been spilled about the transfeminine femboy dichotomy and I don't think I have the ability to replicate the nuances of such things. But like, historically, there has been a category of person, assigned male at birth but feminine presenting to some degree or another, who exists not really as their own person, but instead as an idealized joke/sex object in the minds of men and other people who sexually exploit them. This figure, in the cisheteropatriarchal is a completely apolitical one. You can have sex with them and it doesn't count as gay. They don't have political demands, like "asking to be called women." They are a titillating deviation with no ability to harm the status quo. In today's terms, they are commonly given the dubious title of "femboy" or "trap", but if we look elsewhere, (I will be apologetically butchering the writings of transfeminist Thalia Bhatt) we can see this pattern of third-gendering in places across the world, with women like the feminiello in Naples, hijra in Inda, as well as others. A type of person assigned male at birth, presenting female, who has a particular gendered role in a binary-gendered society, that of being a usually disposable sexual object, occasionally given some light ceremonial or religious airbrushing to disguise the fact that such people are not a part of "normal", life. They are without an internal perspective, denied opportunities to live a life outside of a typically male sexual perspective.

But trans women? If someone is a trans woman, they usually have political demands, a desire for bodily autonomy, and the desire to actually be treated and referred to as women. And when a "femboy" turns out to have been a trans woman all along, well. Just look at how much everyone was talking about the streamer F1nnster when she was just doing a funny crossdressing bit for a person who paid her to do it, how many posts about "cis+ genderfuck crazy gender" versus when she actually came out as trans. This phenomenon works backwards too, with plenty of transfem sex workers having to tag their sex work as femboy to gain traction. There's a clear distinction here if you care to look.

I think Eridan dying in the story where she did was a good thing for the story (same with the rest of the Murderstuck deaths.) In a world with 5000 "fantasy racist learns to become lest racist" plots, having the fascist no one takes seriously Actually Follow Through and do the horrible things his ideology clearly incentivizes him to do is refreshing (also Hussie correctly predicting that the Harry Potter themed character would, in fact, be a fascist). But if one is to continue on, and have Eridan choose to deradicalize herself, then I think making her become a woman as she gets older is one of the only ways forward.

So. That's a lot of fucking words of transfeminism, and why the fuck am I applying to to Eridan Ampora, known dead fascist 13-year old fish from a webcomic? I'll admit it's a tad frivolous, but March Eridan, the fandom concept, flourished in that fun period of the 2010s where everyone was asking if traps were gay (got to hear that said by one of my high school friends, and I was out as a woman at the time.) Not to say it ever really went away, but, like, the whole joke (not putting this on Paige Turner, the original creator of March Eridan, this is just how the fandom ran with it) was just "hey look at this boy in a skimpy miniskirt and tube top and pigtails! Isn't this funny/a good excuse to draw a child barely in his teens in a sexy way?" Not like the fandom really needed an excuse, but I think, to a point, transfem Eridan is kind of the only way to go from there. Turn him into an actual woman. Put aside all the jokes, and make her transfemininity something you have to take seriously, something she has thoughts and feelings about!

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° turns out her heart hand fits right in the palm of his hand

( yukimiya kenyu x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — idk man thinking about high school sweetheart yukimiya // written really late at night so please ignore how stupid it probably is

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x fem! reader, probably awful story pacing, probably ooc yukimiya, nickname 'love' and 'my love' used, reader calls yukimiya 'ken', high school sweethearts, mention of engagement, mention of pregnancy, fluff

♡ synopsis — you and yukimiya had everyone's dream relationship, but how did it begin? were you just lucky? well...

If anyone were to ask your close friends what their dream relationship would be, they’d say, “One like Y/N’s and Yukimiya’s.”

That’s just how sickeningly sweet the two of you are together.

And they wouldn’t be wrong. The two of you had that kind of love that made everyone around you believe in soulmates. Everyone who meets you both can tell there's something special about the bond you share—it's the kind of love that makes even the most cynical people believe in fate.

You're the couple that everyone looks up to. 

The couple that can joke and laugh together one moment, and sit in comfortable silence the next. You finished each other’s thoughts, shared the same quirks, and laughed at things no one else found funny.

But of course, you didn’t get to be that way easily. You were that couple everyone envied—the couple.

But the thing no one really saw? Your relationship didn’t start out that way. No, you didn’t wake up one day in the perfect relationship with the most beautiful boy in the world. 

It took time—lots of time—of learning each other’s quirks, navigating the bumps in the road, and becoming the couple that people looked at and thought, I want that.

It was your first year in high school, and you’d never been one to stand out. A little shy, a little awkward—but comfortable in your own skin, just doing your best to get through classes. Then there was Yukimiya Kenyu, sitting beside you as your desk partner, looking effortlessly cool with his perfect hair and that smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

You never imagined a boy like him would even notice you, much less actually talk to you. But one day, when the two of you were on classroom cleanup duty, he turned to you with a serious expression.

"Uh, hey... Y/N?" His voice was shaky as he turned to face you. His usual confident demeanor was nowhere to be found, and it left you confused.

"Yeah?" you asked, blinking at him.

He stammered, fidgeting with the sleeve of his uniform. "I... I like you. A lot. Like, really like you." His eyes avoided yours, his words spilling out in a rush. "And I... I just wanted you to know."

You blinked, not sure if this was some sort of prank. The idea of someone like him, the star of the school, confessing to you—his desk partner—was almost too surreal to believe. "Wait, is this a joke?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "You’re Yukimiya Kenyu. The prettiest boy, Yukimiya Kenyu. And you’re confessing to me?"

He froze, staring at you with wide eyes, as if he'd just realized something himself. "You think I'm pretty?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped. "Well, yeah! Who wouldn't? You're... you're…just yeah. You’re pretty.” 

From that moment on, he was yours—and you were his. He was now the person you shared your lunch with every day, laughed with at the back of class, and eventually, loved. No one ever questioned the bond between the two of you, not even when things got a little messy. You were inseparable.

Like two puzzle pieces that clicked together perfectly.

By the time six months had passed, the relationship was comfortable, settled. You knew each other’s little quirks, the way Yukimiya would chew on the edge of his pencil when he was deep in thought, or how you’d bite your lip whenever you were nervous. Everything was... well, easy.  

But then came that one game, and things got a little... chaotic.

Yukimiya’s team was playing a high-stakes match, and you’d been so caught up in the excitement that you let your emotions get the best of you. You were screaming at the ref for missing an obvious foul and yelling at the other team for their dirty play.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you were being escorted out of the stadium.

You found yourself sitting outside, trying to calm your nerves, when Yukimiya appeared after the game ended, his usual calm demeanor replaced with concern. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice gentle but thick as he held back a laugh.

“I’m soooo sorry, Ken! I really don’t know what came over me,” you said, feeling mortified.

You weren’t sorry, though. You’d do it all over again if it meant standing up for him.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but his smile softened. “It’s alright, my love,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I thought it was cute.”

And that’s when it happened. That was the moment he called you “love” for the first time. The nickname stuck, and it became his go-to for you—something you cherished. 

Even when things got tough, hearing him say “love” always made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though. About a year into your relationship, things got rocky for the first time. You two had always been able to talk things out easily—no major fights or arguments. 

You were supposed to be enjoying Valentine’s Day, but instead, you walked into Yukimiya’s house , basically a part of the family now according to his mom, and saw him surrounded by chocolates.

And not just any chocolates—Valentine’s Day gifts from other girls. And some from guys. Your stomach churned. You couldn’t help the irritation bubbling up inside you.

“You didn’t tell them no?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm, but failing miserably. Your eyes scanned the pile of chocolates, a small mountain of affection from people who weren't you.

“Huh?” He glanced at you, nonchalant. “No, I mean... I didn’t keep track of how many there are.”

“So you’re telling me you accepted chocolates from other girls—”

“Well, there were some from guys, too,” he interrupted, looking sheepish.

“Oh! So not only did you take chocolates from other girls, but from guys too, and you never once thought to say, ‘Oh, I have a girlfriend?’”

“Uh...” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly realizing where this conversation was headed.

“You’re impossible, Kenyu!” You threw your arms up, frustration boiling over.

For a moment, there was a tense silence, and then he sighed, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t think it through. I’ll do better, okay?”

And just like that, the tension melted away. You softened, resting your head against his chest. “It’s just... I don’t know. It feels weird. I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry, my love. I’ll do better.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Not with the way he held you, as if he would never let go.

And from that day on, you two learned to communicate better, to open up more. Your love was never perfect, but it was real. You were in this together, for better or worse.

The day Yukimiya got the letter for Blue Lock, you were with him. The excitement in his eyes as he read the strange letter should’ve been enough to calm your nerves, but instead, your heart tightened. 

This was it. The moment he would leave you behind. 

You had always known this day would come, although you assumed it would be a university recruiter or even going straight to the pros…not thing “BlueLock” thing. 

As much as you’d talked about his dream- this dream- with him, nothing could prepare you for the reality of it.

“Ken… It’s a good thing, right?” you whispered, trying to push past the lump in your throat.

“I know, but…I can’t leave you behind.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying his own fears.

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over his skin. “You can’t worry about me the whole time. I’ll be here, cheering you on. And I’ll wait for you, no matter what.”

His eyes softened, his brow furrowing in thought. “Then… just marry me.”

You froze, blinking rapidly. “Huh?”

He flushed, suddenly stumbling over his words, clearly flustered. “I mean, not like right now, but... just... engaged? Or something? I don’t have a ring, though...”

You smiled, a soft, loving smile that only he could bring out of you. “I’ll wait. And then I’ll marry you, okay?”

It wasn’t a promise of an immediate future—it was a promise of love, of always. 

And as you leaned in to kiss him, a small but meaningful kiss, you both knew that your love would outlast any distance, any challenge.

Present Day—Now, at 23

Now, as you stood by his side, a loving wife to a pro soccer player, you knew the hardships were worth it. The jealousy, the misunderstandings, the long nights of missing each other when he was away for training—every moment had led to this.

He was still the same Yukimiya Kenyu you fell in love with all those years ago. And now,, you can’t help but feel like the best chapter of your love story is only just beginning.

Your shared secret- one that only you and Yukimiya had known. You were expecting your first child. And somehow, the love you two had felt in high school, the connection that had started so shyly, had only deepened.

Your love story wasn’t easy, but it was the kind of love that made everything else fade away. Because you knew, deep in your heart, that the two of you were always meant to be.

your honor, i love him

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[lxzy-bxby]

Night Changes

Husband!Leon × Fem!Reader

Summary: Nine months of navigating through a new path. WC: 6,078 CW: MDNI ♡ SMUT (breeding kink-ish+unprotected p-in-v+creampie-ish) ♡ TOPICS (chubby body+self-negativity+non-acceptance of aging) ♡ No use of Y/N ♡ Explicit language ♡ No proofreading AN: i hope you all will find a person who'll make it way easier to dive into scary depths. or you can become one to yourself. love is boundless, love is strength, love is power. that relates to self-love, too. we all are driven by love. love wins all. and every human being is worthy of it.

~ ♡ ~

Dining table is bursting with dishes—something that haven’t happened in a long time. Even though Leon finally retired and you two now could finally have meals together, you usually settled with simple omelette or lasagna. But tonight you went all out, using this as an opportunity to show off your impeccable culinary skills. You even insisted that Leon needs to bring the most expensive wine from the basement, because a reason like this is a must—your daughter and her husband visiting for dinner.

You fuss around her as if she’s five years old again, refilling her and your son-in-law’s plates and glasses. You glance at the table, checking if you forgot to get them anything—caviar, roast beef, Caesar salad, mushrooms… You decide that there's not enough of mashed potatoes on Grace’s plate and lean over to put some more.

Leon’s arm immediately snakes around your waist, tugging you down persistently. “Take a seat already, will you? Scampering around like a decapitated chicken, and your own plate’s still full.”

That grounds you a big little. You suddenly feel very embarassed because you’re running around like a madwoman, indeed. So you take a seat, immediately grabbing your cutlery while your husband’s hand makes itself welcome on your thigh underneath the table.

Comfortable silence draws out whilst everyone enjoy their food; only occasional clatter of forks disturbs it.

Then Leon clears his throat. “So, how you’ve been settling in? House’s good? Need any fixing?”

Grace’s lips immediately stretch out in a giddy smile. “It’s great! I can’t believe we got a place of our own already. All thanks to you two.”

“Come on now, honey. We’re your parents. It was our duty to make sure you got a place to live in after you grow up.” You smile chastely, barely realizing what you’re talking about— your daughter’s very own dwelling. That she shares with her husband.

“So I take it place’s alrighty, huh? With the way you smilin’.” Leon grumbles, twirling a glass of beer—like hell he would drink wine—in his hand.

“Yeah, of course!” Gracie nods eagerly, “Everything’s perfect. Anyway, I got Owen with me, so if anything happens, y’all don’t have to worry.” She turns to smile at her husband tenderly. He smiles back at her as he strokes her knuckles lovingly.

Your heart melts at the view—yet Leon’s jaw tenses. You bite on your lip.

Owen’s a good guy—great, even. Him and your daughter met back in college just a few years ago and he, being two school years older, proposed as soon as she graduated. Money was never a problem for your family with Leon’s salary, yet your kid decided to have a small wedding—memorable one, nonetheless. Two months ago the two celebrated their first wedding anniversary.

So yeah, you’re cool with Owen. He got a tech major, earns the big bucks, got a car and a house—but Leon was adamant on the newlyweds living in a residential that you two got for Grace in advance back when she was barely out of high school, and on your daughter still driving her own Camry she got on her sweet sixteen, not just Owen’s G-Wagen. Just because Leon is Leon, who still couldn’t believe that your little bird flies out of her nest. Another man is now responsible for her—not him. And that drove him crazy.

Hence no wonder he looks like a kicked doberman puppy, realizing that your girl does not need to run to him for help anymore. So now you always have to play the victim (or more a hero who saves his ego) and be the one who needs his help all the time, no matter what with—opening the water bottle or moving your vanity to another corner of the room.

You intertwine your fingers with Leon's under the table in gesture of silent affection. He relaxes a tad, one corner of his mouth twitching up wryly.

Your daughter and her husband exchange a glance. You see Gracie chewing on her lips as Owen whispers “it’s okay, baby”, stroking her cheek reverently.

“Speaking of that… I think it’s better we move to my house nevertheless, Mrs. Kennedy.” Owen suddenly speaks up, his gaze locking with yours.

You arch your eyebrow, feeling Leon tense again next to you, as well. “Why’s that? Didn’t you just convince me you enjoy your new home?”

Leon turns his face away demonstratively. As if he isn’t like this with you all the time, you snicker inwardly.

Grace abruptly stands up, so does Owen. Your brows fly even higher up as you realize that something’s about to be revealed. While your eyes zero out on the couple, your hand blindly reaches out for Leon’s on pure distressed instinct, and he catches it immediately, squeezing reassuringly.

“Mom, Dad…” Gracie starts hesitantly, her eyes flickering between you and Leon. “I… We’re having a baby. You’re gonna be grandparents.”

…

Air gets knocked out of your lungs.

“What?” You and Leon utter in unison, eyes wide as saucers.

“…Here,” Owen pushes a small gift box, tied with a bow, towards you two. “Gracie prepared those for everyone, wanted to make it special, but got too nervous tonight to follow the plan.”

You tear the wrapping with shaky hands and open the box. Inside, nestled on top of pink and blue paper shavings, lays a oh-too-familiar to you stick with two pink lines. While you take it, Leon grabs a stacked piece of fabric situated next to it. As he unfolds it, it turns out to be a tiny infant bodysuit—white with black ‘THE BEST PARENTS get promoted to GRANDPARENTS’ printed in cursive over it. You stare at it, dumbfounded, and feel tears already trailing down your cheeks.

“No way…” You all but whimper, rubbing your misty eyes.

Seeing the way Grace grows more and more pale with every second, you jump onto your feet and rush towards your daughter, squeezing her in your arms.

“How long… since when… How are you feeling, baby?” You mutter somewhere to her shoulder, fully crying now.

“I’m okay… Nauseous sometimes, and can’t fully realize the whole thing, but… Better than I imagined.” Grace smiles softly, rubbing your back.

“Yeah, toxicosis can be rough… But it’ll pass, baby. Ginger or herbal tea works good…” You give Grace a whole damn speech, completely forgetting about anything and anyone else.

Leon just slumps in his seat, his face unreadable. Not hostile… but impenetrable. While you busy smoldering your daughter, he eyes Owen, clears his throat, then gets up, walks up to him and pats his back.

“You do realize if you hurt her given this predicament you put my daughter in, from now on I won’t just cut off your head—I’ll cut off your balls as well, right?” He says, making Grace’s husband laugh nervously.

“Leon!” You chide him sternly, but get zero response.

“Swear to me she’ll never regret bearing kid conceived from you.” Leon demands, looking the young man dead in the eyes.

“I swear, Mr. Kennedy.” Owen replies right away, his eyes meeting Leon’s. It’s like their gazes are fighting—and none is willing to submit.

You interfere, practically dragging Leon from him. “Stop it. It’s about your daughter. Don’t you dare starting your testosteronish feud.”

Gracie laughs heartily. “You are grey, Dad!”

Leon’s jaw clenches, yet he doesn’t object and just nods before he walks over to Grace, who looks at him timidly.

“So that’s why you wasn’t drinking… Decided to make me a gaffer before I even go grey, huh?” He mutters as he embraces your daughter protectively.

“And you’re way too young to be pregnant.” Leon grumbles, squeezing her tight.

“I’m literally in my mid-twenties!” She exclaims. “Didn’t Mom have me even earlier?”

“Yeah well, I knew that I risked becoming cockless when I knocked her up. Does your husband know?” He throws another glare at Owen.

You switch to drastic measures. “Kennedy.”

“Which one?” Leon inquires nonchalantly.

”I’m not a Kennedy anymore!” Gracie chuckles, clearly more relaxed now.

“Like hell you aren’t.” Leon rumbles, displeased, only hugging her tighter. “Was born as one, will always be one.”

You nod, surprised, because when you found out you was pregnant with her, you already was pushing the whole ass third month—completely ignoring the constant throwing up, believing it was just a stomach bug, as if Leon didn’t shoot his loads deep inside of you almost every night before.

“You know how far along you are, baby?” You smile at your daughter, trying to get everyone back to safe kinda conversation territory.

“Ah, not far at all. Just nearing three weeks.” Grace mirrors your smile, trying to squirm out of her father’s grasp—and failing.

“So… barely one month in, huh?” Leon mutters. “A bumpy road ahead, then. Considering the fact that we thought you was throwing goddamn parties back in your mother’s womb… Got me wonderin’ if that passes down through generations.”

“Don’t scare her, Leon!” You hiss as you swat at him lightly. “It’s going to be okay, baby. Just take care of yourself and let Owen take charge.”

Gracie, obviously not scared since she barely understood what she gotten herself into, just laughs. “Sure thing, Ma—oh, I’m sorry, I meant grandma.”

You snicker, “Not funny. Your father’s gonna go into cardiac arrest or send your husband into traumatic surgery if you’ll keep going.” You then pat her back, lightly pushing both Leon and Owen towards the table. “C’mon, back to dinner, everyone! We surely do have a thing to feast about now.”

You put your Kindle on your nightstand and turn the lights on your side off. Gloom envelops the bedroom as you rest your head on your pillow, exhaling. You surely do need to get a nice sleep after the news that got thrown at you tonight.

~ ♡ ~

1st Month

Leon’s side of the bed is eerily quiet. You roll a bit closer, wondering if he’s even breathing. He does—and stares at the ceiling in the dark, that one Passenger song vibe.

“Same old empty feeling in your heart?” You hum intoning, unable to resist.

Leon drifts his eyes to you, gazing at you like you’re a fucking halfwit.

You decide to bury yourself further. “Well… Y’know, need the light when it’s burning low, need the sun when it starts to sn— Okay, bad timing, right. Sorry, sorry.”

With the way he looks at you, you’re positive he’s divorcing you as soon as the sun is up.

So there’s no bounds to your surprise when his arms tug you to his chest, his nose burying in your hair. You freeze, not knowing any better what to do, just letting him sniff and squeeze and do anything else to you.

“Can’t fucking believe it.” Leon mumbles, voice muffled against the top of your head. “I’m going to gift this asshole condoms for the rest of his goddamn life.”

You chuckle, rubbing his bare back. “She was going to get pregnant eventually. Owen’s not the worst option. I think he’s gonna be a good dad. And he treats Gracie great, never heard a complaint from her.”

Leon scoffs. “Good dad my ass. She’s gonna call him Daddy now, not me! I mean when referring to him while speaking to her spawn, y’know. That’s fucking insane.”

“Babe, you need to calm down. Won’t do your heart any good.” You trace his vertebrae with your fingertips.

“Take that back,” Leon frowns, raising his head. “What do you think I am, seventy?”

You giggle, poking his skin gently. “You’re pushing fifty, hon.”

”FYI… Well, first things first, I know what FYI means. And also, I’m still pretty much in my prime.” Leon declares as his hands go wandering shamelessly, settling on your butt-cheeks.

“So what now? Thinkin’ I’m offside now?” He grumbles, sliding a bit lower on the bed.

“Just stating the facts.” You shrug as he pulls you on top of him.

”I didn’t dispute, babe.” You laugh. “I’m not getting any younger as well.”

”You are younger than me.” He grumbles, kneading your ass. “But, I’ll always be able to get it up with you looking that smoking hot.”

That makes you laugh even harder. “Well, why’d you think about that? If I remember correctly, we got zero problems with you gettin’ it up.”

“That’s right. And you’re currently doing a great job at getting it up. Layin’ here ass up, putting those titties on me.” Leon smirks as his palm slaps your rear lightly.

You squeak, making his grin go only wider. He squeezes your flesh for a bit more before his gaze suddenly grows serious, his hand stills as his eyes search yours. “Wanna knock you up again.”

You choke on your saliva. “That so?”

“Mhm.” He hums as he pushes you off him softly, his lips travelling down your neck. “Curious if I still can.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So planning on giving it a try?”

Leon nods, his fingers already slipping underneath your underwear. “Right away, gorgeous.”

You squeeze out a sound of acknowledgment, your chest rumbling with barely contained laughter.

The dude who was dead set on proving you that aging does not affect him, forgot you got an IUD.

You wipe your palms on your apron before taking it off finally.

~ ♡ ~

2nd Month

”Babe, dinner!” You call out as you hang you apron on a rack.

“Yeah thanks, hon.” Leon mutters from the living room, and you stick your head out to see what he’s been up to. Usually he rushes straight into kitchen.

What you didn’t except to see is your husband on the couch, flipping the pages of pink photo album, “GRACE ISABELLA KENNEDY (Gracie) Born 04/22/20** 05:12 AM” written in your hand at the cover.

“Haven’t opened this thing since her birthday this year.” You smile, taking a seat next to him.

Leon keeps silence. You gently squeeze his free hand.

“She’s been so teeny. Puffy cheeks, bunny teeth before she convinced us to get her braces, always peeing her diapers at 3 A.M. And she always wrote letter ‘R’ backwards, remember?” He croaks out, fingers tracing his favourite photo—you, two decades younger, holding a pink bundle in your arms by the entrance of maternity hospital.

“She did.” You smile softly.

Leon sighs deeply, staring into the picture for a few more minutes. “I never thought she’d grow up so fast. Feelin’ like a selfish bastard, but I wish she’d stay with us forever.”

You move even closer to him, embracing his larger frame. “Hey. She’s still our daughter. Just an adult now.”

He leans closer to you, molding your bodies together. “Nah. Never gonna be able to perceive her that way.”

You sigh, resting you head on Leon’s shoulder. His fingers comb through your hair absently, lost in thought. You know you need to give him time to accept this whole thing, and you just hope it’ll be better as it’ll go.

But he needs to consume at least some freaking food even more.

“You have to eat.” You nudge Leon gently, getting up and pulling him with you.

With zero objections and a grouchy ‘yes ma’am’, he follows your lead and plops down once again by the table.

You both go to bed early that night. In the morning when putting his phone off charger, you catch a glimpse of his lockscreen.

The very same picture of you and newborn Gracie he was staring at last night.

“And those pictures she sent tonight, right? She’s showing already, I can’t wrap my head aroun— Fuck… feel so good, baby.” Leon grunts as he fucks you into the mattress.

~ ♡ ~

3rd Month

You’d eagerly carry on the conversation if his cock wasn’t slamming your cervix every time you try to inhale. All you’re able to do is to let out filthy moans, clutching on to his back as he wrecks your cunt in missionary.

Leon pants, his dick pistoning in and out of you in a steady pace, not rushed yet penetration is still deep enough to turn your brain into mush. But Leon doesn’t even seem to fucking notice—except for moments when your walls flutter around his shaft—and just plunges into your pussy absentmindedly.

…Just your casual white noise type of sex. Isn’t that common among all the other couples?

“Just thinking about it… That’s my grandkid my kid is carrying.” He rasps, holding your upper side a bit above the bed.

He pulls away from your mouth; string of saliva connecting you breaks as soon as he starts to speak. “…How far along she gotta be to know the gender?”

He’s in you so deep, you honestly can’t even realize how he’s able to speak coherently. You just moan as he bottoms out once again, dick nestled so far in you—you only see his greying pubic hair when looking down at where you two are connected and his balls pressing against the slit of your ass. You let out another moan, even more dirty, as he slams back into you after almost pulling out completely, and grasp his head to pull him into the sloppiest kiss human could ever perform. That’s why you both love missionary—licking into each other’s mouths while his cock gives your cunt a straightforward beating. Leon prefers you riding him a little bit more, though, but with those creaking bones and aching joints you thought it’d be more like a circus touring in your bed.

Leon snarls hoarsely into your mouth, as if just realizing that you two are actually in the middle of pretty much something, and his tongue attacks yours. You two kiss like wild animals, licking and sucking, and, from the way his hips start moving faster and messier, you suppose that eases his mind a little.

At this point, you just whine.

“They planned gender party for next month, can we please stop discussing things like this during moments like these?” You mewl, trying to pull him back in to lick and kiss and suck and bite his lips.

Leon succumbs, his lips moving against yours for couple of seconds more—and then he’s off again. “Those youngters… What the fuck even is gender pa—”

”Leon,” Something in between of moan and groan slips off your lips as you move your hips to meet his, capturing one of his palms and bringing it down to your wailing clit. He blinks, looking at you guiltily, before getting back to business and torturing your swollen nub, rolling it between his calloused fingers while his cock moves so fast, probably trying to dig a fucking hole inside of you.

You cry out, your whole body jolting from the intensity, tits jumping up and down. One of your nipples is suddenly in his mouth, thumb rubbing your clit in systematic circles and dick hitting that same spot with every thrust.

Quite enough for you to cum. You’re not getting any younger, Leon doesn’t too—yet this time he lasts even longer than you, too deep in thoughts to bust a nut as soon as your walls milk him for cum.

He finally registers your cunt pulsating around him and growls lowly, fucking you through your orgasm. You keep mewling while he chases his own release, squeezing your sides.

With a shuddering moan, he enters you balls-deep as his cock twitches inside of you and floods your guts with hot thick cum. He pumps in and out a few more times, some of fluid spilling out of you, but you’re too blissed-out to pay attention to anything going on inside or outside.

Leon collapses on top of you, still not pulling out, his cock sheltering inside of your snug and warm cunt. That feels as good as a bit overstimulating—but again, too blissed-out.

He rolls you two to the side, him facing you. “You alright?” Leon whispers, brushing some wet strands of hair off your forehead.

You nod, tugging him closer to you. He complies, connected to you in every way possible.

Leon lets out a deep sigh. “I swear I’m going goddamn nuts. Thinking about this whole shitshow while fuckin’ the tightest cunt.”

You hum. “I get it, no worries. But I honestly thought I’d kill you if you didn’t shut up and make me cum.”

Leon chuckles, velvety and warm.

Not before his expression changes completely.

“I… I didn’t pull out while busting, y’know right?”

You look down at where you two are connected eloquently. Take a fucking guess, you think.

Leon grows even paler. “Listen, I… I gotta get you a plan B. I know I told you I wanted to knock you up again, but that was like in heat, you know… We’re gonna have our hands full with Gracie’s kiddo already. I mean, do you want another one? Would you be able to carry it? We can discuss, but— Not right now maybe, huh babe? …Wait, you didn’t get menopause yet, right?”

You enjoy the look on his face while you burst out laughing—the power this man has over you, making you nicker stupid after making you cum even more stupid.

And you definitely ain’t planning on telling him about your godforsaken intrauterine.

You almost have steam is coming out of your ears.

~ ♡ ~

4th Month

“Couldn’t you ask me for it at home?” You hiss, tying Leon’s tie. “Why in the hell would you even wear a goddamn suit to a baby shower? We look like crazy.”

He just grins smugly, and you—by pure accident—tug on his tie a little bit too much.

Gracie’s gender party is hosted in the backyard of her and Owen’s house. Nothing fancy, just balloons, confetti, little jar where guests can put their predictions in.

You know it’s a girl. So you do put a pink little sticker inside, while Leon just grunts and says that this whole thing is stupid. You saw him throwing a pink sticker inside twenty minutes ago, though.

You glance around awkwardly, feeling like you two were odd ones out. You wore a simple floral sundress while Leon went all out—even combing his hair.

Country music plays quietly in the background from the speaker; you snitch a fruity canapé you yourself made an hour ago from small table with polka-dotted tablecloth in the corner.

“Gather up, everyone!” Gracie’s happy voice rings out.

She truly is glowing, her bump visible in a yellow sundress and golden locks spilling over her delicate shoulders. The way her husband looks at her makes you happy—so happy you don’t even notice that your own husband looks at you the very same way while you clap your hands excitedly.

You suppose someone’s gaze lingers on you way too long for Leon’s liking, because next second his arm snatches your waist tightly, pulling your body closer to his side.

Pink.

You two watch as your daughter takes her stance next to her husband, both clutching needles—yeah, that simple—and as soon as the small crowd chants ‘three’, they pop the pink and blue balloons.

The myriad of confetti splashes onto the green lawn.

A girl.

A granddaughter.

Tears escape your eyes before your brain even registers what your orbs saw. You hear everyone cheering, see Owen kissing Grace, notice that thanks God someone snaps a picture.

And what you feel is Leon’s hands enveloping your waist while his lips settle on yours, kissing you tenderly and slowly.

You want to protest, to tell him that you two should make it about Gracie, that him kissing you right now probably looks out of place and attention-seeking, but instead you just return the kiss, arms circling his neck.

That truly is magnificent—the way the product of your love creates another human out of the very same love.

Soapy water skims down your body as you rub your sternum with a loofah. Showers are your own kind of therapy. Steamy or chilly, quick or continuous… Like a physical reincarnation.

~ ♡ ~

5th Month

“Is gifting them pink onesie gonna be sexist? I’m not tryna joke about it, really, know that’s serious, I get it that colors are stigmatized, but… I dunno, pink is cute. For boys, too. Stereotypes suck. But they’re havin’ a girl. Will that make them think I’m an old goofer who believes that pink is strictly girly?”

Ah, yes.

Must not forget velcro-husband.

Whenever people came over and saw you two walking out of bathroom together, they told you to get a room. When you reassured them that you just washed your hands while he did potty, they looked at you like you told them you kick puppies.

And of course everybody considered it a necessity to mention that your marriage will flop if you’ll keep doing grossy things in presence of each other.

Well yikes, because it did not flop, in fact. You always have someone to talk to whenever you use bathroom. And those jerks have not. So fuck them.

You snicker, shampooing your hair. “I like pink. Gracie does too. Think that will do. But we shall go for neutrals, too. Like… beige, white, gray. We can go take a look, like… Target, dunno. Walmart. Or baby store.”

Concept of shame stops existing when you’re nearing your pearl anniversary.

So if he takes a piss while you’re showering, that does not mean you’ll stop wanting to ride his cock until it goes flaccid later that night.

Leon snorts. “Yeah well, haven’t done baby shopping in a minute.”

You snort as well, gaze flickering briefly to him. He winks at you, as if he isn’t currently aiming to the toilet bowl.

You roll your eyes, turning your face back to shower wall, lips twitching in a smile. Goofball.

Leon tucks himself back in, flushing the toilet and as you reach for the soap bar, he’s already next to you, arms pulling you close to his chest.

“My God, won’t you at least take your clothes off?” You gasp, feeling thin and soaked through fabric of his shirt rubbing against your bare back.

“Nah. Want you to see that I’d make any sacrifices in the name of love.” He grins, squeezing your tits.

Your eyes wander to the floor, suddenly self-conscious. For millionth time—you’re not getting any younger. Obviously he has seen you in your not the best shape when you recovered from childbirth, but that was decades ago. Now it’s different.

You’re aging.

He does, too—but he’s a man. He’d be considered a DILF. You’d be considered an victim of cyberbullying.

You see first grey hairs on your head, you gain weight—and you never was skinny by standards in the first place, you feel your skin stretched and taut and changed and you think you look like a piece of shit.

Until he’s next to you—and you suddenly feel like you’re Victoria’s Secret angel or something.

Somehow he reads it all in your gaze.

”I’d put you on cover of Playboy right now.” Leon smirks, his hands sliding down to your hips.

“You’d be the only one to buy this issue, then.” You joke, throwing your head back to rest it on his shoulder.

“Of course. Because there’d be only one issue, silly. I wouldn’t want those models to lose their jobs and throw eggshels to our windows.” He deadpans, stroking the dough of your thighs softly. “Or deal with paparazzi.”

You chuckle, then smiling softly. “You’re unbearable. But… that does make me feel better.”

Leon hums, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck and then casually striking you with the most romantic and deep shit you’ve ever heard. “When I married you, I married the fact that I want to go through it all with you, be young and in love, grow old and grumpy together. Sure as hell I did not marry your flesh. It tells our story, you know.” He traces a scar on your leg. “That was when I forgot my wallet and we had to run before they’d get us our check.” He then moves to your stomach. “This one is not here currently, but there was a mark of you carrying Gracie.”

He then cups your face, tracing a wrinkle right under your eye. “And this one… a milestone. With a claim of spending lifetime together.”

Leon swipes off the tear that forms exactly there a second later, then kissing the soft skin.

You open your mouth, close it again, and when you open it next time, you close it around his lips.

Because, after all, all the fairy-tales do end with a kiss from Prince Charming. Even if he dadjokes and keeps asking where are the socks he currently is wearing.

“Look, we have to get this one!” You exclaim as you hold up one of the tiny bodysuits for Leon to see. It’s adorable—baby pink with a big bow and ‘princess since day one’ written in the middle.

~ ♡ ~

6th Month

He chuckles, nodding. “When you was pregnant with Gracie, we barely bought something… that nice. Good thing your side of the family gifted us tons of all this stuff.”

You smile meekly. “I do remember. That’s why I try to… compensate it, I guess. By gifting her own daughter tons of all this stuff.”

Leon’s face softens, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. “Then let’s shop to your heart’s content.”

You move through aisles, Leon obediently collecting everything to your basket—booties, sliders, vests.

”We can’t forget diapers!” You exclaim, “Those are so expensive nowadays. Especially since Owen’s family insisted on buying all those strollers and bassinets. Oh Gosh, can’t forget car seat, too!” You keep rambling.

Leon pecks your cheek with a chuckle. “It’s like you’re shopping for your own.”

”It is my own. My… grandkid.” You declare, grabbing a pack of Pampers.

You two keep navigating through the store, his arm around your waist. By the time you spend 15 more minutes, your basket is full with baby stuff.

“May I help you?” You hear friendly voice from behind; turn around only to see a sales assistant, nice young lady.

“Uh, no, thanks, we’re good.” You smile sweetly.

“Got it. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if anything. And congratulations on your journey!” She returns the smile, subtly eyeing your stomach.

Your cheeks flush. “I-it’s for our daughter. I-I mean, she’s having a baby! So it’s for her baby. Yeah.”

Smile of the woman falters, but she pulls it on once again, nodding understandingly. “Ah, I see. My apologies, ma’am. Like I said, don’t hesitate to reach out for assistance.”

She walks away, and you turn to Leon.

”Do I… look that young?” You mutter.

Leon snickers, patting your back. “You have no idea, baby.”

Immediate confidence-boost. As if he didn’t try to prove the same thing to you every other night.

“So, have you thought of names?” You smile softly, feeling Grace’s bump reverently.

~ ♡ ~

7th Month

The living room of their house is cozy, even more so in expectancy of arrival. You sit next to Gracie on the couch while Leon and Owen sit on armchairs across you two.

“Ah, that…” Gracie suddenly smiles conspiratorially. Then her gaze softens; she looks directly in your eyes. “Well… You’re getting a namesake, Mom.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice.

You think that you probably look stupid blinking that much.

“Huh?”

Owen pipes in since Gracie barely contains her happy giggles, “We’re naming her after you and my mother, Mrs. Kennedy. Your name first, since you’re Gracie’s mom. My mother’s name gonna be the middle one. Just thought… We feel like this is the right thing to do, considering how much you put into our family. Besides, we do like your name quite a lot. Hope you do not mind?” He smiles warmly.

So you do another thing you do perfectly—cry.

“Aw, come on now, Mom! I always told you your name is so pretty.” Grace wraps her arms around you, her belly bumping into your side.

You catch Leon’s gaze, his mouth stretched in a grin. “I suppose you’re plannin’ on making a boy and naming him after me?”

Grace snickers. “Nah, Dad. That’s Mom-exclusive option.”

“Right. After all, she did all the hard job.” Leon smiles, getting up lazily and making his way to you.

”Why do you all make everything about me…” You mutter, finding solace in his arms.

”Everything has always been about you, babe. It’s only you just noticing.” He breathes to your ear, pressing your head close to his chest.

More like close to cloud nine.

You barely slept recently. The closer Grace’s due date is, the more nervous you get.

~ ♡ ~

8th Month

So to prevent yourself from going completely nuts, you go ahead and deep clean. The whole damn house.

Even the attic.

Especially the attic.

Attic resembles a history book. A very sad one at that, you think as you discover a bag full of Gracie’s old things.

Realization of your kid growing up hit you way too late. Even Leon seemed to get used to the thought.

Her favourite stuffed teddy bear, the one you stitched over and over again. Her AC/DC teeshirt, because your girl had an emo-phase like a decent lady should. Her old iPod, Harry Styles on lockscreen. And a pile of her drawings.

Long story short, you cried. Again. Of course you did. Not just cried. Weeped. Wailed.

Sticking to the role of mother for recent years of your life, you suddenly feel… lost. Undue.

It finally gets to you that you are getting older indeed, for Christ’s sake. And you have no idea what to do about it.

So it’s just you, your existential crisis and Gracie’s drawings in the attic.

Then you discover her baby blanket, and you swear to God you’ll never visit attic again.

And that’s exactly how you fall asleep—hugging your grown-ass daughter’s baby blanket.

When you wake up, you’re not in attic. You’re in your bed. With Leon next to you. He’s deep asleep already, but still grips you tight and keeps you close to him.

Your heart clutches in your chest. So he carried you.

Out of dark and into the light.

Literally and figuratively.

So when you smear a kiss against his cheek and he pulls you closer reflexively, you realize something important.

He’s here. He really is here. Always was. Always is. Always will be.

Literally and figuratively.

8lbs, 21ln, 1:27 PM.

~ ♡ ~

9th Month

Your granddaughter was born.

Of course you firstly check on your own daughter, making sure she’s in one piece, helping her drink and eat and do anything she needs.

Then the nurse brings in your granddaughter, and you just have zero idea what to do. Just like a first-time mother all over again.

You hold her tiny body, support her tiny head, look at her tiny eyes, gently touch her tiny nose… and feel like you have gone through another pregnancy.

Technically, you have.

“Looks just like her mama, right?” Leon rasps right above your ear.

You jolt at the word, but then you snap your head towards Gracie and realize that you’re not the only mother here now.

“Can you help me hold her?” Leon says quietly, and you immediately give him a big smile.

You guide him, making sure his hands hold the newborn tight and secure. Seeing him with a baby feels surreal; he’s all giddy and hesitant. Just like a first-time father all over again.

You move closer to Leon, perching your chin on his shoulder.

“Does it feel any different for you? Well, I mean from Gracie. Because I honestly feel the same. Nervous, all that shit… You’d guess I’d be seasoned by now.” Leon chuckles, tracing infant’s puffy cheek.

“That’s the thing that will never change.” He corrects you as he gently passes the babygirl back to her mother.

You do not take your eyes off him when you reply. “It does not. Not when I’m with you. That’s the thing that never changes.”

Leon’s eyes dart towards you, so tender and affectionate you feel butterflies.

Then you finally lock eyes and lips.

Both having to navigate a new chapter of your life. Just like a first-time grandparents.

It’s simple as that—if he’s by your side, then you’re ready to.

With him being your constant amongst all the changes.

~ ♡ ~

We're only gettin' older, baby

And I've been thinkin' about it lately

Does it ever drive you crazy

Just how fast the night changes?

But there's nothin' to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change me and you.

[sosickastro]

Indulgence (Bts x Chubby reader)

-------------------

Chapter 2

Poly Bts x Chubby Reader, Soulmate au and Idol au

Summary: Poor broke and isolated mc gets the chance to go to a concert with an old high school friend, with hoping to find their soulmate and see the biggest boy band in the world. A new shocking reality hits her while at the concert.

Chapter Warnings: degrading thoughts, poor writing and grammar, gender confused reader, anxiety, mc being a loner, mentions of weight insecurities, swearing, fat phobia, etc (let me know if I miss anything)

A/N: second chapter omg I actually wrote it in a decent time span, I want to say thank you for the support for the first chapter! I will try my best to keep up with posting chapters, etc, etc, As we all know, Grammarly is my lord and savior, but even they can't fix my awful spelling mistakes, so let me know if anything is wrong or just ignore it for the sake of the story.

word count: 2,034

(Thank you Corinnecousins on Pinterest for this picture)

Perviously on Indulgence:

"Then for the first time in my life, I felt a tug, anxiety filled my stomach as I froze in my tracks, and my heartbeat went through the roof as I looked down at the red thread I usually forget about, it loosened. Holy shit I am near my soulmate. Holy shit. Lauren notices that I stop walking and now staring at my pinky finger asks me “Are you okay?” I initially looked around the bus station, there were a lot of people walking around, too many to see where the string goes. “Is it your soulmate?” Lauren asks me again. I couldn't speak, my mouth dry as I gave her a shaky nod. But unfortunately just as it loosens it quickly tightens again, meaning my soulmate either left or is on a bus going further away from me. “I wonder if he felt it” I questioned out loud, looking at Lauren with shaken eyes. She sighs, almost equally disappointed “Come on Clare is waiting for us, we don’t want to keep her waiting.” Lauren tells me, grabbing my hand and basically dragging me to the exit. I can’t stop staring at my red thread, there's hope. There is always hope. Now I at least can find comfort that he is in the States, and not in Korea or Russia or anything far away. "

We make it to Clare’s car, she smiles at me as this is our first time meeting. I put on a smile as I tried to push through all the emotions I was feeling at the moment. But it is more complicated than I’d like to admit. The man I moved halfway across the country for is now somewhere in the city that’s only 3 hours away from my 4-year hellscape of a college.

 I let out a deep sigh as I looked over to Lauren and Clare, who were having a quiet conversation themselves. Clare nodded at something Lauren said, a look of concern and slight confusion filled her eyes, and spread across her face. “I’m fine yall— let’s get going before I hear another kid scream their head off,” I tell them with a slight chuckle, hoping that I’m schooling my face well enough to at least look like I’m fine as well as my typical dry humar distractes them from the imdending breakdown I am bout to face in tminus 10 seconds. 

Lauren eyes me up and down while also looking deep into my very soul to see if I’m lying to her. Clare shrugs, “I agree.” Lauren seems to give up her soul searching and nods her head. In silence that was not completely awkward, we got into Clare’s small car. I shove my bag and myself into the back seat, hoping that the fabric of the cheap seats swallows me whole.

 After 30 minutes of awful pop music from the local radio station, – Clare saying something about “keeping up with the latest music” – Clare’s occasional road rage and cars honking, we reach a small street lined with small shops and other downtown “hippie” and “local” boutiques. As God was on our side we found a decent parking spot with little to no casualties, though I was pretending not to feel the curb that Clare drove on top of.

 As the other two girls make their way to one of the many shops we will visit, I try to find it in my very core to move and get out of this stupid, beat-up car, but my every soul has died and been replaced with a mopey version of myself. I keep asking myself, “Would I ever have that chance again? To be that close to him?” The feeling of hopelessness seems to seep into my bones and takes over into my soul as I feel myself falling deeper and deeper into the pit of despair. A gust of wind hits my arm, making me shoot up in shock I yell at Clare as she laughs at me hanging off the open car door. “Come on, man, Lauren is dying to check out this new shop.” I rolled my eyes and finally found the courage to step out of the car; the car isn’t stupid, just my feelings.

 I breathe in the cold air as I match my footing with Clare, following her mindlessly as we catch up with Lauren, who is currently star-struck over this shirt. “Guys, what! Look at it!” Lauren practically screams at us, I laugh at her as I feel myself letting go of its tight grip on the soul-crushing reality. Maybe spending some money and indulging in giving the greedy company my mind, body, and soul is what I need at the moment.

 The rest of the afternoon is spent with Lauren dragging Clare and me around the street, jumping and hopping from one store to another. I found a few tops that were cute and appropriate for the concert but as for pants my fear was proving to be true as none of the shops had my size, or like any normal sizing I mean come on even the chubby girls like to overconsume, and spend all their money on a pair of jeans. 

“Isn't this so cute!” Lauren yells into my ear as I lazily glance over the rack of tops. I throw on a smile as I examine the clothes “Oh yeah, it fits you.” She smiles back at me before her eyes start analyzing the shirt once again. “I’m going to ask Clare what she thinks,” before I can respond Lauren already walked away from me. I sighed but smiled nonetheless, as I went back to looking at the mildly ugly and small tops in front of me, 

“You shouldn’t be here,” a small but pitchy voice says to me. I turn my attention to the owner of the offending voice, only to see a short girl who looks like she would be blown away by a strong gust of wind. I swear to all that is holy, if this goes in the direction I think it is, I’m gonna hole myself up in my room for the next decade. “Excuse me?” I ask the lady, confusion dances across my face as I tilt my head down at her to get a better look, black jeans, black top, and oh- look! A name tag, great, she works here. 

“I’m saying,” her pitchy voice raises a notch as she scoffs at me. “You don’t belong here, none of these sizes will fit you.” She gives me a once-over before crossing her arms and staring up at my face. Yup this went exactly how I was expecting it to. Look, I’m not a Karen or anything of the sort, so the following things I say don’t represent me at all. My eyebrow raised in amusement at her sheer audacity, but two can play this stupid game. 

“Oh, really now? I’m sure your manager or other coworkers would love to hear that you're being rude to a customer just based on their weight.” I give her a fake pout. Her eyes widen at my words, “I’m sure this establishment prides itself on being fat-phobic to their customers, so maybe you will finally get some recognition. Oh! And this interaction will make you get that pay raise you have been hoping for!” I fake excitement in my voice, but I am channeling all the sarcasm I have collected over the 19 years of my life. 

 She starts to stutter as her eyes are wide as dinner plates, her hands come out in front of her, trying to fix her comment she made about me as she fails over and over to come up with something to smooth over her mistake.  Another employee walks up to us, “Is everything okay over here?” The employee is an older woman and much more secure with herself. I smile at her, “Actually, no, this employee over here was telling me to leave this establishment because of my weight, and I feel very disrespected,” the said offending short girl’s body regrets itself as she turns to the older woman, trying to explain and justify herself. Again, I am not a Karen of any sort, but I am not going to let myself be disrespected by this Barbie regret just because she is insecure and projecting it onto strangers. 

The older woman smiles at me, ignoring her. “I’m very sorry she said that towards you, honey, by no means do her words represent the company and what we stand for. Rest assured, this behavior will be dealt with.” I gave the older employee a polite smile, thanking her as she took the younger girl to the back of the store. Once they left, I let out a deep sigh. Look, just because I handled that well doesn’t mean I wasn’t blowing up on the inside.

I scan my eyes around the store, spotting my two friends over the accessories. Taking another deep breath to steady myself, I make my way over there, I just need to turn off my brain and have fun. I can’t let comments like that get to me. For the next hour, we went to two different stores. I managed to find some pants that make up a complete outfit for the concert. I felt more giddy, as maybe the world isn’t so bad when you have a new outfit to wear and show off. Us three stopped at this small cafe for a late lunch and a breather.

 Lauren took the liberty to fill me in on the latest gossip and drama going on in her arts school, as Clare and I just ate peacefully. “Oh hey, what happened back at the bus station?” Clare asks me once Lauren’s gossip train slowed down, I cursed internally, as I was hoping not to think about that again. I shake my head, “It was my soulmate, the string was so tight like he was right there next to me. I was freaked out by it” I explained to her my body shrinking on itself as I reminisced on the feeling of being so close to him. Clare gave me a look of sympathy as she shared some comforting words with me.

 “Holy shit-“ Lauren’s voice breaks through my self loathing as the said girl is starting at her phone like it personally offend her, me and Clare exchanged confused looks “What’s wrong?” I ask Lauren carefully, but as soon as I speak, she shoves her phone into my face. I had to squint my eyes to adjust to the screen as I read the headline on a news article

 ‘BTS THE BIGGEST BOY BAND HAS A 8TH SOULMATE?’ 

“holy shit?!” I shout out as well as I take Lauren’s phone to read through the article quickly to make sure it wasn’t some clickbait but as I read more of it, statements from Bighit and Namjoon himself explain the situation. I passed over the phone to Clare as I stared in disbelief. Their soul group isn't complete? Does this mean that ‘SoulTies” is wrong, or did they just not know? But these guys are on a world tour right now. How are they just now discovering they have an 8th soulmate? 

“Wait, guys, did you read this part?” Clare questions us as she scans her eyes over the phone, “According to the leader of BTS, Kim Namjoon, also known as RM, Him and one other member felt a tug and their red string tightened when at the bus station in the city, where they are performing this Saturday.” Clare finishes reading the segment of the new article. 

I think my brain stopped working at that moment. A million thoughts raced into my head all at once, and the main one is “Could I be their soulmate?” but theres no way, there's no way I am the person. Besides, it's nearly impossible as well since we probably were at the bus station at two different times. There was no way two members of BTS where at the bus station and didn't cause a huge commotion. “Do you guys think we were at the station at the same time as them?” Lauren asks us, there is a childlike amusement in her voice, but Clare, thank god, shuts down that thought immediately. “There's no way, we would have seen a bunch of armies going apeshit as well as a million security guards and paparazzi.” I hum in agreement as I finish up eating.

“Well, maybe we should head to your guy's places since it's getting late.” I changed the topic to hopefully not down Laurens' hopes to much. The other two girls agreed as we packed up and paid for our food. We walk down the once busy streets, now its just a few stray people going home like us. When we came into view of Clare's beat-up car, I sighed in relief. Today was fun, a lot of it if I dont think about how much money I just spent, but there is still this nagging feeling in my chest that something is wrong, and that my soulmate is closer to me than I think, and with the article? I dont know what to think at all, I just want to enjoy the concert and leave this stupid city. 

.

I watch as our soulmate gets into the back of her friend's car, and my chest aches as I see the small pout on their face. Soon, you will be with us. 

----------------------

previous

[daincrediblegg]

The chance that if you play league of legends you’ll get fuckin smoked by merry and pippin (and possibly also frodo) is small… but never zero

[loveanddeepdick]

ᯓ★ babydaddy!toji would never admit that he got jealous when you were around guys your age. he’d never get insecure, no, but he felt a deep pang of jealously in his chest. like he prayed that he had been born later so he could be more similar to you. your relationship with him was complicated. you were dating on and off but finally just settled as friends with benefits (who took care of a ridiculously cute baby together).

your parents often asked you why you dated a guy who was less than a decade away from being your father. your friends did the same too, not seeing the appeal in being with a “broke old man”. you never understood why toji just scoffed and looked away. it was out of character since he’d usually just cuss people out.

babydaddy!toji who let his jealousy show a little too much when you ran into an old high school friend of yours while you were out shopping. toji had to piss and you were waiting outside when he came up to you. shit, you didn’t even recognize him at first and the conversation was merely small talk but when toji came out, he had his arm around your waist, his hands coming down a little too low.

“this is your uh.. boyfriend, yeah?”, you friend asked, his eyes immediately going to the hand on your waist. most people just assumed you were single again.

“you could say that..”, you sheepishly replied, trying to swat toji’s hand away.

“tsk why’re you acting like i didn’t just dick you down and you didn’t carry my baby, ma? course you’re mine”, toji scoffed, looking away.

your eyes dart from your friend’s to his and it finally clicked. he was jealous. with a small smile, you excused yourself and tugged on the hem of toji’s shirt, signaling him to walk out to his car. the walk there was filled with short protests from him and silence from you. of course, he didn’t mean it, he loved this kind of attention from you. as you got to his car you rummaged through his pants pocket to grab his keys—not being shy to graze his dick—and unlocked the car.

babydaddy!toji who’d never admit he was jealous, even when you two were making out in the middle of a mall parking lot with your hand on his crotch.

“admit it, you still—ah, you still love me and you were jealous”

“course i fuckin love you—fuck yeah,keep your hand there—we’re long over, ma. didn’t you say we were just friends with benefits?”

“you’re avoiding the question, toji”

he had his hands all over you at this point, tugging at your shirt but you pulled away and furrowed your eyebrows.

“admit that you were jealous, old perv”

“fuck—fine. i was jealous. i hate seeing you with men younger than me. makes me feel old. happy now, doll?”, he leaned in again, grabbing your face as you kissed back with a smirk.

“yeah, i’m elated”, you grinned, trailing your hand up to play with his dark happy trail and dipping it in his sweatpants.

“don’t be a fuckin brat, ma. m’gonna give you a second snotty little shit if you keep this up”, toji growled, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone

“yeah?“, you smirked, tangling your fingers in his hair as you guided him down, “keep that promise and maybe we’ll get married”

babydaddy!toji who was definitely going to take you in the backseat for hours. fuck driving home.

babydaddy!toji who nearly died at the spot from the news of you being pregnant not with just one baby, but twins. you ended the year with a ring and a freshly painted nursery.

[anothermonikan]

Man high school was fucked up. You ever think about that. Thank fucking god I'm not in high school anymore

[pseudowho]

"--and this is the staffroom," Gojo sing-songed, swinging open the door on your First Day Tour, with you a few steps behind him, "--ah! And that's Nanamin. Say hi, Nanamin!"

A tall, suited blond man looked up from his spot on the sofa as you peered in; at first, he simply nodded to you, disinterested. Then, Gojo spoke again while leading you out.

"--he's not very fun, don't worry-- no sense of humour."

Your final glimpse as the door closed, was of the blond man's irritated scowl.

It was true; Kento clearly didn't make people laugh, for he was either too mean or too subtle to be funny. This was the case, at least, until you. And you had no idea what your laughter did to him.

You had formed an alliance of respect, an easy bond that would have been camaraderie if not for Kento's standoffishness. You felt him hover nearby on joint missions, close enough to lunge to your rescue, but far enough that he could resist your magnetism.

Talking, and surveying the abandoned school, you spoke aloud as you walked down the stairs.

"So perhaps I'll take the East Wing, and you take the We--ergh!"

You reeled back, having walked headfirst into a buckled ceiling. Kento stepped to your aid, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and lifting your chin to look at your forehead. He huffed, barely a puff of breath through his nose, wiping dust from your forehead before grumbling.

"You'll be alright. Not much in there, anyway."

You burst into laughter, and Kento electrified, absolutely rigid. You patted his chest, still giggling as you walked away, cooing back over your shoulder in a way that utterly melted him.

"So mean."

You soon learned that Nanami Kento was possibly the funniest man at Jujutsu High. Dry and unforgiving in a way that made your brittle colleagues crumble, you found yourself, instead, choking back laughter every time he crippled one with another savage put-down.

When Yuuji arrived late to a mission, Kento stepped over to him and, poe-faced, pulled up his shirtsleeve to show Yuuji his wrist.

"This," Kento hummed, flat, "is a watch. You can buy one at any good supermarket."

When a waiter slopped coffee over Kento's shoulder, Kento dabbed at it to the waiter's frantic, apologetic bowing. Kento raised a placating hand and insisted to the confused waiter.

"It's alright. I never liked this suit anyway."

When you stood at the staffroom window with him, watching a monsoon in companionable silence, Kento murmured over the rim of his mug.

"Lovely day."

He had timed it just-so, and barely concealed his lopsided smirk when you choked on your tea. Shoko walked in, drenched, looking at you and Kento in dismay. You coughed, opening your mouth to speak, but Kento got there first, firing shots.

"Is it raining?"

Shoko scoffed, sputtering, while you buckled against the windowsill.

Kento grabbed a hand towel and an umbrella, heading to the door. As Shoko reached for the towel, Kento pressed the umbrella into her hands instead, his expression flat, but his voice edged with a feral pleasure that made you come undone.

"You'll need this."

Kento's meanness was tempered only by his self-deprecation, and when you took as good as you gave, you felt his icey facade melt away completely, revealing such warmth.

It was no wonder you were drawn to each other, when the only reason neither of you laughed together, was because you were in a constant stand-off for who could remain poe-faced the longest. Kento always won.

Still, you felt the need to break him; you had cracked smiles, or the occasional chuckle out of him, but nothing more. You knew nothing more than the truest irony would do it.

The day came; you arrived, to your usual staffroom rendezvous, covered in blood. Kento paled, abandoning his book to rise immediately and reach you in three long strides.

"--you're hurt-- we'll go to Sho--"

"Kento. Stop. It's not my blood-- it's Gojo's."

Kento did a double-take, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, so you explained.

"Gojo invited himself to teach me about Curses that are 'above my paygrade', so he took me to one. I told him this Curse was clearly more powerful than it looked, and Gojo told me to step back so he could handle it. Said he'd even do it without his Infinity on. So I stepped back."

Kento's nose flared, barely perceptible.

"...and?"

You took a deep breath. "So, Gojo has a broken nose--"

Kento broke down with a wheeze, before bursting into a rich, deep rolling laughter that split the clouds with sun. His hands clasped the windowsill, his eyes crinkled, and his shoulders shook with wicked, throaty mirth.

You felt yourself becoming drunk off him, utterly intoxicated by his laughter. Kento couldn't stop himself, trembling with schadenfreude to the point of indecency.

Finally, sighing and straightening as if exhausted, Kento wiped his eyes with the side of his finger, and smiled at you with sweet adoration. Laughter still threatened to break through as he begged you.

"Would you-- would you like to go out for dinner? With me?"

You paused, your expression pained.

"Ah...no. No, thank you."

Kento froze, his face beginning to fall. You looked down at yourself, and announced, still deadpan.

"It's just-- I'm covered in blood, you see--"

That sent Kento over the edge again.

You remained content throughout the years of your marriage, for Nanami Kento to be viewed by others as boring and humourless. You found yourself jealously greedy of his rare laughter, anyway.

After marriage, you viewed it as the highest badge of honour to make him laugh like that while he was buried inside you.

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[prlssprfctn]

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part one of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it

↬ sfw; only fluff this chapter; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor!reader

( masterlist )

The chill of the night air bit at your exposed cheeks as you climbed the final steps to the astronomy tower, your breath visible in faint puffs. Winter had arrived particularly early this year, chilling your bones even now, on the last weekend of october. The school lay quiet below, the golden glow of the countless windows no longer having given in to the darkness of a cold autnumm night.

You pulled your robe tighter around you, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung open by the push of your hand. You knew you shouldn't be out after curfew- your brother was usually the one breaking rules and making trouble- but the pull of him was irrestible. He, who’s voice cut through the haunting silence like a knife.

“I was starting to think you wouldn't show.”

You froze mid-step, your heart leaping to your throat at the familiar voice. Even though you had been expecting it. Theodore Nott was was leaning casually against the stone railing, his pale face bathed in the cold light of the moon that sharpened every dip and curve in the prettiest way. A light smirk was curling at the corner of his lips, his usual cigarette dangling from his pink lips. His green slytherin tie was loosened, his robes slightly crumpled, as if he’d wandered here on a whim rather than planned this meeting. But you knew better. Theo rarely did anything without careful thought.

“I had to make sure the coast was clear,” you replied, trying to copy his nonchalance. His dark eyes followed you closely as you crossed the space between you, coming to a halt a few feet away from the railing to keep some distance between you and the abyss. It was funny how you could ride a stick of wood regularly, tens of meters in the air, but looking down a great height with steady floor under you feet had nausea creep up your chest.

You tried not to shift under his prying eyes. Being eyed up by Theodore Nott was a rather particular feeling. Every time you met his eyes, you felt like he was staring right through you, blowing through every cover, every mask, every wall you had ever shielded your true self with and assessing it with disarming precision. As you returned his stare, his smile widened a little and he puffed on his cigarette. “You’ve gotten better at sneaking around, though. Tell me, do the Potter genes include an innate sense of rule-breaking?”

“And here I was, thinking I was your ‘good girl’,” you replied, quoting his teasing nickname. A rare laugh escaped his throat, more of a huff, really, that he hid in his hand holding the cigarette. You eyed it reproachfully.

“You’re going to die at a very young age, Theo.”

Slightly puzzled, he looked down at you, blowing smoke into the air and holding out an arm to beckon you closer. Answering the silent invitation, you let him nudge you towards him gently, the cigarette-free hand pulling you closer by the waist. “Is that a threat, cara? Because I could think of no better way to die than by your gentle hands.”

The charming bastard got a hold of said hands that were shivering slightly from the cold as you had forgotten to put gloves on, and pressed a gentle kiss onto your palm, carefully watching your reaction. You could only pray he took the flush on your cheeks as a symptom of the cold rather than your flustered reaction to his Italian.

“That's not what I meant,” you frowned, indicating the cigarette between his slender fingers. “What I meant was that you’re going to smoke yourself into an early grave.”

God, the way his eyelashes caught the few too-early snowflakes melting hopelessly on the ground. You gave a high-pitched tone of surprise when suddenly, he surged forward, pulling you even closer and trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear. “Tell me you’d hate that,” he whispered and you gave him an incredulous look he couldn't see.

“Of course I’d hate that!��

Before you could say anything else, Theo discarded the cigarette over the railing. Though you had no time to follow the tiny glowing ember on its way down, because just a fraction of a second later, his lips crashed into yours and you let out a startled squeak. Feeling him smile against your lips, you kissed him back in a weak attempt to take the initiative. He allowed you to play, but the movement of his hands, the caging of his arms and the way he beckoned your mouth open so easily proved his underlying dominance. Theo just wasn't beatable at kissing.

This was what you had been looking forward to all day, sitting through transfiguration, charms and defense against the dark arts, all subjects you had without him, stealing longing glances over dinner and quickly looking back as to avoid drawing the attention of your friends or brother to the silent exchange.

As the kiss got more heated, Theo’s fingers curled into your sides, spinning you around so you were with your back to the railing. Miraculously, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All there was in this microcosm of the two of you was him, you and the feeling of his lips on yours. One hand of his cupped your jaw, angling it slightly back to gain best access to your throat. As his lips trailed down the expanse of it, nipping, kissing and sucking, you found yourself snapping out of your theo-kiss-induced haze and pulled away aprubtly.

Panting, you covered Theo’s lips with one hand and he raised his eyebrow at you. He did that well, his eyes alone could make your stomach flutter. But you didn't give in. “Theo, what if someone sees marks on my-” You're were a little embarrassed about the subject matter, breaking off mid-sentence, and glared at his shit-eating grin, invisible behind your hand. “Well, I mean-” You were blushing. Oh god, you were blushing like crazy.

“Did you not enjoy that, cara?” Theo whispered seductively, carefully prying your hand from his mouth and kissing it gently. His eyes glinting with mirth, he looked at you challengingly.

“Of course I did!” you said, exasperated and embarrassed at the same time. You hated it when Theo took advantage of your unfamiliarity with intimacy and relationships. “But nobody can see!”

You expected him to tease you some more, so you were surprised when he merely breathed a long sigh and pulled you into his chest. Immediately, you buried your nose in his robes that smelled of him so deliciously. Smoke, old wood, a hint of mint, bookshelves. You felt him breathe your scent in as well, nose buried in your hair, and laughed lightly, but he didn't join in. His voice was a whisper, hard to make out.

“How long do you think we can keep this up before someone finds out?”

You didn't want to answer the question.

Something picking at the back of your hand snapped you out of your drowsy state. Still tired from last night, you had dozed off a little in history of magic, but as soon as you caught the culprit of the picking at your hands, a hardly suppressed smile pulled at your lips. It was a little paper bird, and the fancy handwriting clearly indicated it as a note from Theo.

You waited until Professor Binns turned his back to the class to write on the blackboard, before carefully slipping the note into your lap, shielding it from Hermoine who sat next to you, taking notes. When you carefully folded the note open, you were greeted by Theo’s elegant handwriting.

If you keep chewing on your quill like that, I might lose my ability to concentrate.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you glanced sideways at him, where he sat a few rows behind your brother who had his head buried in his folded arms, fast asleep. Theo was leaning back in his chair, his quill poised lazily over his parchment as though he had been diligently taking notes, instead of composing witty distractions. His lips curved into a light smirk when your eyes met, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Well?

You hastily scribbled back, your handwriting looking sloppy and slanted next to his. Maybe I'm trying to distract you. Someone’s got to keep you on your toes, Nott. With a flick of your wand, the note floated subtly back to his desk, and you could barely contain a smile as his brows lifted in amused surprise before he began to write again.

Turning to the blackboard to copy the notes, you felt Hermoine's eyes on you and looked up from your parchment. She was eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you smiling about?” she whispered, sparing a nervous glance at the professor. “Nothing,” you answered, hastily grabbing the next messenger pigeon out of the air before it could enter your friend's vision. You could practically feel Theo chuckling at your unlucky predicament.

But Hermoine turned back to Binns once more to listen to his sermon and you stuffed the bird into your back subtly to read it after class and away from prying eyes.

“You’d be a half-decent Chaser if you didn't spend half the match showboating,” Theo drawled, his tone so casual it was clearly meant to provoke.

He leaned against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed as he regarded you with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. You, meanwhile, were sprawled across the emerald-green bedspread of his four-poster, arms tucked behind your head like you owned the place. At his words, you shot up immediately, propping yourself up on one elbow. “That's rich coming from the guy who winks at the crowd every time he scores- what’s that, part of your technique?”

The slytherin dormitory was quiet, except for crackling of the enchanted fire in the corner and the endless string of your playful teasing. Theo and you had the room for yourselves today as his mates were in Hogsmeade and Theo had stayed behind with the excuse of homework. As if he hadn't already finished all his work like the flawless O-grader he was.

“And anyway, I don’t see you scoring against Gryffindor’s defense without half your team clearing the way for you.” you teased, attempting to get a rise out of your ever calm and collected boyfriend.

But Theo’s smile only deepened, and he leaned forward just slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Jealous of my stats, are we, Potter? It’s not my fault you lot rely on your Seeker for every win.”

“You-” you started, your eyes narrowing, but his soft chuckle cut you off. You tossed one of his pillows at him instead, grinning when he caught it effortlessly. “Just keep laughing, Nott. You’ll regret it next match when I leave you in the dust.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand close around your ankle and shrieked as you were pulled towards him with alarming force. Before you could comprehend the shift in his behavior, he jolted forward as well, hovering over your body, sprawled out defenselessly underneath him. A light smile played around his lips as he took in your shocked expression with satisfaction and he brought a gentle hand up to your chin to tilt it upward, giving him access to your neck.

Theo dipped his head down to trail ghostly kisses down to your shoulder, muttering against your skin: “Are you sure about that, tesoro? Because I think you’ll have to work on your reaction time a bit before you can beat me.”

“Sneaky bastard,” you said, but couldn't suppress a high-pitched moan when Theo suddenly buried his teeth in your shoulder. Embarrassed by the sound that had slipped from your lips, you threw your hand over your mouth and blushed when he chuckled darkly into your neck.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he teased, looking up at you through his long dark lashes. Your pointed glare and flushed cheeks were answer enough.

When Theo broke out into a hearty laugh, you attempted to scowl at him, but it was hard when you were half in wonder by the sound of his laughter you got to hear so rarely. All the years you hadn't known Theo except for that one slytherin boy, you thought he couldn't laugh. When he did it for the first time with you, talking in the library over a muggle book you both had read and neither of you could talk to anyone else about, that was the first time you felt a flutter of butterflies rummaging in your stomach in his presence.

Awestruck by the sound of his laughter, you realized you had spaced out for a moment. Theo’s cackle had faded into a soft smile you could only reciprocate. His handsome features were painted with a gentle brush by the light of the fire. “You should laugh more often,” you said, not for the first time. “It’s beautiful.”

Theo hummed amused and leaned on his elbows to hover only a few inches above you. At this angle, his dark curls fell into his eyes, obstructing the view somewhat, so you reached up to run a hand through them. Savoring your touch, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they held an implicit hunger that made you gulp. “I like your laugh too, tesoro. Love it, in fact,” he murmured, lips barely an inch from yours and you were itching to close the space in between. “And what I also love is y-”

Something banged at the door and both of you shot up, startled. As you stared at it unmovingly, the chatter of boy’s voices now unmistakably being heard through the closed door, Theo, the ever-quick thinker, jumped off the bed and beckoned you to follow. You shot up, heart thrumming with horror, scrambling onto your belly and rolling under Theo’s bed as far back as possible. With one quick glance to check if you were okay, that you answered with a silent thumbs-up, Theo got to his feet and walked over to the door, opening it.

“Theo, you bloke! Why did you lock the fucking door?” you heard a voice that sounded very much like Mattheo Riddle's shout. Several heavy steps resounded against the wooden floor and from under the bed, you could make out four pairs of shoes, undoubtedly belonging to Riddle, Malfoy, Berkshire and Zabini.

“I was studying,” Theo said, annoyance shimmering through his voice. “I prefer to do that undisturbed.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you and Theo had actually been studying before and therefore supplanted convincing evidence consisting of books and parchment. But suddenly, another realization dawned on you and your stomach curled with dread. Your parchment was up there too, with your handwriting and your name on it!

Theo’s eyes had also fallen on your parchment and he casually strolled over to his bed to collect it, concealing it with his and setting it aside. He felt annoyance rise within him and tried to keep it at bay. Of course his mates would barge in unexpectedly early in the exact moment he was about to confess his love to you. Clearing his face of any resemblance of emotion, he turned back around, leaning against his bedpost and trying his best not to worry about you, squeezed under his bed.

“You’re early,” he remarked, raising one brow. A memory almost made his lips twitch, of you trying to imitate the way he was able to raise one brow.

The boys threw glances at each other, some wary, but Blaise laughed. Only now did Theo notice his bleeding lip, and the others didn't look better of. Damn. He was really distracted when he hadn't even noticed it until now, when he always counted on his flawless perceptional ability.

“Who did you brawl with?” he sighed, though amused, looking directly at Mattheo who raised his hands in defense.

Draco nodded his way, dapping at a cut above his eyebrow with his shirt. “Mattheo picked a fight with Potter and some of his mates and we had to flee the scene before the old McGonagall caught us. Potter and Weasley got detention though.” He laughed in malicious joy and Theo's lips twitched slightly at the thought of you rolling your eyes under the bed.

“Potter’s sister wasn't with them though,” Enzo pondered, swapping out his slightly bloody hoodie for a clean one. When his head ascended from his collar, hair slightly disheveled, he was met with four pairs of raised brows. Well, three pairs plus one.

“What do you care about Potter’s sister?” Mattheo grinned wolfishly and Enzo rolled his eyes, chucking his bloody hoodie at him that got Mattheo right in the laughing face. Over that, he thankfully missed the subtle clench of Theo’s jaw at hearing him say ‘Potter’s sister’ in such an invidous tone.

Enzo, evidently, didn't like it either, which didn't help Theo’s irritation that he hid behind a mask of indifference. “She’s actually quite nice,” Enzo retorted, rolling his eyes at Mattheo’s and Blaise’s teasing whistles.

“Where’d you talk to her?” Theo asked, making his words sound so utterly indifferent nobody picked up on his sudden focus on the subject.

Under the bed, your heart did a little leap when you realized why he was asking. Though Theo was no outright jealous person, you sometimes caught him stealing glances at your male friends, voice tightening subtly when he talked about them. Anytime you teased him for it, he denied it, of course, saying jealousy was irrational and for fools because he knew you would never even glance at them. Hearing his inquire, you made a mental note to taunt him with it when this was all over.

“The library,” Enzo said, sitting down on his bed and taking one of his novels off the shelve. “I’m lousy in Arithmetic, as you know, and she isn't.”

“I’m surprised she even talked to you,” Blaise said as he magically fixed his lip in the mirror, making sure it looked flawless and untainted. “From what I gather, she’s the biggest goody-two-shoes in school, and a Griffindor ontop of that, why would she associate with a Slytherin?”

Enzo only shrugged, and Mattheo let out a loud groan as he longed himself at his bed that creaked under his impact. “Merlin, why are we still talking about Potters? There is so much more interesting stuff to talk about. Like what Theo has been doing today. Or who.”

He threw a teasing smile Theo’s way who raised his brow nonchalantly. “I told you, I was studying.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mattheo yawned, but kept his gaze fixed in his friends indecipherable expression. “You’re already five steps ahead in class, every assignment this year you got back with an O, what would you need to study for? Not to mention, you’ve been sneaking out more lately, and I bet it’s not ‘cause you’re dating Filch.”

Theo returned his stare unblinkingly, keenly aware of the fact that you were listening to every word. “So what if I am?” A slight smile graced his lips as he leaned his head against the bedpost. “Can't I fuck who I want?”

“Sure,” grinned Mattheo, unrelenting. “But you haven't done a lot of sleeping around for the last few months, from what I can gather. Seems to me like your man-whore-heart finally rests in the hands of only one unlucky girl.”

“Your audacity calling me fickle when you’ve slept your way through every willing girl in our grade is obnoxious,” Theo sneered, making the other boys laugh and directing the conversation towards the ravenclaw girl who’s heart Mattheo had broken just yesterday. With the other boys distracted, Theo dared kneeling down, pretending to tie his shoelaces while at the same time peering into the dark under his bed.

His eyes met yours in an instant as you raised your brows teasingly, and as he rose to his feet, Theo could hardly suppress a little smile that dared creep upon his face.

[chuluoyi]

jealousy, jealousy...

- nanami kento x reader

your husband seems to be immune to jealousy, and you've pretty much convinced yourself that he just doesn't have it in him... or does he?

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, jealous!nanami (he is in denial), implied suggestive content, mentions of pregnancy, gojo cameo (i just can't pass up the chance of him annoying the heck out of nanami ahaha)

note: based on this ask, this is a little continuation to the secret wife! and this is in the same universe as love entries so gojo is married to the love entries reader! :)

general masterlist

By all means, Nanami Kento is not a jealous man.

He knows his worth. And he knows you. Out of all people, you wouldn't try anything with anyone.

Even more so with Ino. He knows him too, and there is just no way.

So... he really shouldn't get riled up, especially when it was his shitty senior who tried to set him on fire—

"It's still beyond me, how you managed to bag her," Gojo remarked with a bark of snort. Both of them shared the same table in this high-end bar, an afterparty for the school's graduation, but Nanami was seriously considering to move after Yaga left earlier until this clown came. "And keep her a secret too. I mean, that's so foul! If I were your wife, I'd divorce you on the spot."

Nanami threw him a pointed look. "The feeling is mutual. I feel bad for her for putting up with you too. And please don't be gross and say things like you being my wife. It's appalling."

Gojo's wife being his close friend and former classmate was what foul, Nanami thought. Sure, he would acknowledge Gojo's relentless efforts, but still, anyone willing to be this shameless paintbrush's wife must lead a really daring life.

The strongest sorcerer rolled his eyes. "Nah, I'll have you know that my married life is full of bliss. I have a proof, look at my—"

"If you want to show me hickeys, I'll seriously report you for harassing me."

And to that, Gojo merely whined and pursed his lips, and Nanami finally had some peace. He really entertained the thought of going back, because Gojo wasn't exactly a fun company, and this was getting late, until…

"Hey, Ino—the one who always follows you around," Gojo suddenly said. "Whoa, you're letting him close to your wife too, huh?"

Nanami whipped his head to where you were, and true to what Gojo said, you were indeed there, talking animatedly to his junior.

You were all smiles, and Ino was every bit as excited as you were. There was nothing remotely wrong with how you were conversing. You two looked like a pair of really, really good friends.

Ever since word of your marriage got out and became common knowledge, you've been receiving the kind of attention that Nanami wasn't sure he preferred. While he hadn't intended to keep it a secret, he certainly felt that a more private life was preferable.

But the thing was… weren't you too close with him? If it were up to him, Ino could've had at least two steps back. What were you discussing anyway?

"You're a lax husband, Nanamin, heh," Gojo whistled, totally grinning because he won this fight. "I know you probably think it's harmless, but a puppy is still a dog, you know~"

A puppy... is what?

That night, that phrase was what going through in his mind over and over as he chugged down his drinks.

No way, no way... It must have been because he had too much to drink. He couldn't possibly!

The next time he felt that unpleasant feeling, it was on one night, at the comfort of your home.

Both of you had just finished watching a movie, still lounging on the sofa. You were blissfully humming, texting away on your phone at—Nanami looked at the clock—11 p.m.

Now, now, he wasn't one who would be checking your phone or such, but he couldn't deny the curiosity within him, because you weren't usually texting anyone this late at night.

"Hehe~" suddenly, you giggled and Nanami glanced at you in wonder. You seemed to be having fun.

Who... are you texting?

Despite telling himself he wouldn't meddle in your affairs, he gruffly cleared his throat. "Dear, it's late."

"Oh?" you whipped your head to him. "Oh, yeah..."

You were genuinely confused, your husband was folding his face as if he was sour of something. "Kento? What's wrong?"

But suddenly, his face lit up into a smile, kind of forced though. "Ah, nothing..." And suddenly he lifted you up from the sofa, making you almost yelp as you dropped your phone and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Time for bed."

However, what you didn't realize was that your phone's screen lit up just as the sender replied to your message, and Nanami caught a glimpse of it.

Ino.

A puppy is still a dog, you know~

The heck?

"Kento?" you asked again, and he immediately turned to you, unable to read the message. Still, his mind was reeling in many ways, and when he looked into your innocent, round eyes, suddenly he clicked his tongue, eyes slitting in dissatisfaction.

"Time for bed, dear."

Long story short, that night, your husband was somehow a little more aggressive than usual... even as he fondled you ever so softly at the end.

The third time, Nanami had enough.

He had just finished a mission when he got that call from Ino, informing him that you were at a clinic after nearly passing out.

Out of anyone else... how could you not call him first?!

He may be vexed, but worry was what clouded his mind the most. You were almost five months pregnant now, and to have this happening to you—

He walked in to find you lying on the small bed, your eyes lighting up when you saw him. "Kento..."

"What happened to you? Why didn't you call me?" his voice was rough, and your smile fell. You felt him gripping your hand tightly. "How can you—"

Ino, sensing his apprehension, suddenly intervened, "Uh, Nanami-san, it's not—"

Nanami turned to him sharply, causing him to gulp.

"We were... in a bakery when Y/N-san suddenly felt faint," the younger man explained. "Please don't be too hard on her."

"And why are you with my wife in broad daylight?"

"Kento, it's not what it looks like!" you squeezed his hand urgently. "We were just... trying to find a cake, you know..."

"...what?"

And that day, everything Nanami thought he knew was turned on its axis. Perhaps, if he wasn't thinking too much—if Gojo's words hadn't taken his mind, he wouldn't jump into conclusions this easily.

Your first wedding anniversary was just in a couple of weeks, and you had enlisted in Ino's help to find this one bakery that he swore sold only the best goods. Your texts to each other were solely about that—nothing more, nothing less.

"Aww, Kento~" you cooed as Nanami helped you into your shared bed once you got back home. "You got jealous, it's cute, and I'm happy~"

He huffed. "I was not jealous."

"Ehh, didn't look like that to me though~"

"Listen," he said, taking hold of your shoulders once he had seated you on the bed, looking straight into your eyes. "From now on, whatever you do... you have to contact me first, alright?"

"Oh—?"

"When you need something, when you don't feel well, when you feel like you might be in some kind of danger..." his tone was serious, emphasizing each word. "You have to reach out to me first. You don't go to Ino, Gojo, or anyone else—me. You go to me. I'm your husband, and I intend to fulfill that role well for you."

And he placed a hand on your tummy, gently caressing it. "And of course the father role for the baby too."

You clamped up, totally speechless. This unexpected development made your heart soar with a heap of giddiness.

"Yes!" Your smile was so wide and radiant that Nanami was sure he had started to blush too. Then you flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug. "And you know... you're already the best husband and soon-to-be father ever! So you don't have anything to worry about, okay?"

Ah, how nice. Nanami chuckled as he placed his hand on the small of your back.

"Mhm, and from now on, I'll take charge of our anniversary. You only have to take it easy, alright?"

And when you giggled, he thought having you in his embrace like this was enough to satisfy him—after all, he was a simple man.

Epilogue

"I know even Nanami gets jealous! Heh, heh, heh~"

Gojo laughed crisply, and Shoko snorted as they listened to Ino recount the story, with the latter scratching his head uncomfortably.

"I really didn't mean anything, and now I feel kinda bad," the younger man said, his head dropping. "Nanami-san seemed upset too..."

"Not many things can get under his skin," Shoko remarked. "I really thought he'd be more rational, but having an expecting wife must've taken quite a toll on him too."

"Nah, don't find more excuses, Shoko! Now is time to pay up~!"

As Shoko grumbled and Ino was lost in his own thoughts, a loud cough suddenly echoed behind them.

"Gojo-san... Ieiri-san..." Nanami leveled his unamused gaze on them, his glasses glinting in the light, causing the two gulp. "What are you two doing?"

[mallowsweetmiri]

Potter!Reader x Remus

Summary: after weeks of having a painful crush on your brothers best friend, you make a plan to seduce him.

Warnings: smutty and slutty

Word count: 6k

—————————————————————————

You groaned into your pillow, wiping the sweat from your forehead into the cotton fabric. This was the second time this week you'd woken up sweating from a dream about Remus Lupin, and it troubled you deeply that the scenarios you imagined would never happen. For one, your brother would instantly shut you down if you even suggested going out with any boy, let alone his best mate. The more unfortunate part was that you were almost certain Remus saw you as nothing more than James' little sister, a title you were tired of carrying. You huffed again as you rose to start getting ready. How much longer could this crush go on? It had started on the train in September. You remember thinking to yourself that Remus had become quite good looking over the summer and left it at that. But soon, he started to catch your eyes in the hallways, then in the common room, until finally he had managed his way into your head. You were constantly thinking about him. Thinking about the glimpses of his chest you'd caught one time when his shirt was unbuttoned, thinking about the way his adam's apple moved in his throat, thinking about his hands...

You shook your head and stepped into the shower. If only you could know what he felt like, then maybe this incessant urge to be with him would go away. You felt the water fall down your back as you washed yourself up. You were a pretty girl, you knew this. If you were someone else, had a different last name, maybe you'd have a chance. Although, you'd never really tried before. You kept these thoughts to yourself, having nobody to talk to them about. Normally you would tell James everything, and he would usually play parent when it came to your school girl crushes. But you couldn't exactly go up to James and say, "Hey, do you think you could set me up with Remus? Y'know, your best mate? I really want to see what he looks like with his clothes off." No, you couldn't do that. But perhaps you wouldn't have to...

You stepped out of the shower feeling confident in your plan. You had spent all this time pining in silence over Remus, it was time for action. While you got ready, you made subtle changes. You hiked your skirt up just a little and slipped into the button down that was just a touch too small. When you did your makeup, you were sure to make your lips look extra lush and rosy. You put on your favorite perfume, the one you saved for special occasions. This seemed as good a day as any.

"There she is," James smiled and stood as you came down the stairs to the common room.

"Good morning, Jamie," you chimed, "were you waiting on me?" James laughed as he grabbed his bag off the floor, the two of you heading through to the portrait hole.

"I'm always waiting for you," James nudged you with his shoulder. "You look nice today." You raised your brow at him, his statement more of a question as if to ask "Is there a reason you're making an effort?"

"Thanks," was all you replied as you made your way to breakfast.

PHASE 1: Hook

When you got there, the other marauders were already sat down. Sirius was talking animatedly with Peter as Remus sat quietly reviewing notes.

"We've finally arrived," James said to no one in particular, taking a seat and immediately filling his plate. Remus look up from his book and mumbled something before delving back into his work. You sat next to James and made a bowl of porridge, listening to Sirius boast about the Quidditch match tomorrow.

"Ravenclaw is going to destroy Slytherin," he bellowed, thumping his fist on the table. "And then I am going to destroy a bottle of Firewhiskey in their common room." He smirked, earning and high five from James.

"That's the spirit, Pads," James cheered, taking a drink from his cup. You rolled your eyes and stirred your oats.

"I don't know how the two of you haven't died from overconsumption yet," you quipped, spooning sugar into your bowl.

"Genuinely," Remus added, looking up from his book, "you two are menaces." You hummed in agreement, bringing the spoon to your mouth to lick the extra sugar off. You caught Remus watching from your peripherals and made a show of it, bringing your glossed lips together at the tip of the spoon. When you glanced up thoughtfully through your lashes, he was still watching. It made you chuckle as his eyes quickly averted back to his book. Baited.

"Are you coming tomorrow, Y/N?" Peter asked, shoving toast into his mouth. You swallowed your porridge and swore that Remus' ears seemed to shift at the question.

"Y/N never comes to quidditch parties," James pouted, turning to look at you. You rolled your eyes.

"Correction, I never come to your quidditch parties," you teased, poking a finger into his shoulder. "I'll probably go tomorrow to see Pandora. If Ravenclaw wins," you reminded them. Sirius grumbled something but you couldn't tell what he was saying through his mouthful of sausage. James' face lit up with excitement.

"Ooh! Sibling bonding time," he gushed cheesily, squeezing your cheeks. Oh, for fucks sake. Could he stop? You were doing everything in your power not to be seen as his bloody little sister and he was ruining all your efforts.

"Okay, that's enough. I'm going to class," you grumbled, trying to hide your annoyance in front of Remus. The boys chuckled as you gathered your things and got up from your seat. If James was going to be a tosser, you'd have to up your game.

"Oops," you said innocently as you dropped your book on the ground, loud enough to make a clatter. You bent over to pick it up, praying that James was currently not watching.

"Merlin, Y/N. Pull your bloody skirt down," James scolded, making a foul face. You rolled your eyes at him again and stuck your tongue out as you continued to exit the hall. Well, if Remus hadn't been looking before, he surely was now.

PHASE 2: Line

You were more than excited for the Quidditch game, especially after spending yesterday evening stuck in the dungeons fixing your laughing potion. You were also excited because you had another chance to see Remus. You had only seen him briefly yesterday, and he was always buried in his work. Hopefully you'd be able to gain his attention today at the game.

With this intention, you slipped on a white babydoll top and watched yourself in the mirror as you buttoned it up. You looked good. You left the top button purposely unlatched, knowing it could catch someone’s attention. After slipping on your favorite pair of jeans, you felt confident- sexy, even. Just the idea of Remus thinking you were sexy made you bite your lip.

You didn't wait for your roommates to finish getting ready. You did a last check of your things, grabbed your coat, and started down to the common room. As per usual, the marauders were sitting around the couches, talking loudly and taking up space. This time, Remus was clearly in on whatever bet was being placed over the quidditch game. His crooked smile made you curse under your breath and fix your hair. You decided to play it safe and sit by Marlene in an attempt to hide your fluster.

“Hi Marls,” you chimed, plopping down next to her.

“Princess Potter! You look absolutely dashing today,” she gloated, giving you a quick hug into her shoulder. You blushed from her compliment and peered upwards from the hug. Remus was smiling at something Peter had said, but was looking at you. You sent him a small wave from under Marlene’s arm to which he nodded up in response before turning his attention back to the boys. Why was that so hot?

Within twenty minutes, the group of Gryffindors was ready to leave, so the lot of you began the journey down to the pitch. It was nice out today, one of those afternoons where the sun seemed to warm the grounds and the breeze. This meant that the entire school would be at the game. You weren’t usually a fan of crowded spaces, but you silently thanked the gods for putting you behind Remus as you filed into the stands. It was so packed, you could smell the cologne lingering off his clothes as you sat down on the bench. You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile of satisfaction. It felt like the universe was helping your scheme.

“Y/N!” James called over the crowd, leaning forward to see you. You raised your brows and leaned forward to see him, giving him a forced smile.

“Yes, brother dearest?” You called back in a sickly sweet voice. At least now you had an excuse to lean over Remus, who was currently leaning back as far as he could to get out of the way. Perfect position to climb onto his lap, your brain thought intrusively.

“Your boyfriend’s up on the pitch,” he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly, pointing to Theodore Pompous, a 7th year Ravenclaw. You leaned over Remus and Peter to smack your brother.

“Bugger off,” you grumbled. “I admit to having a crush one time in third year, and you still haven’t shut up about it!” You felt your cheeks blush as James and Sirius continued to tease you in the most immature manner. All you could do was roll your eyes and take it, those prats.

“Still have a crush on that posh boy?” Remus leaned in with a teasing smile. You internally groaned at him for joining in on the joke, but you wouldn’t pass up the chance to tease him back.

“Why, are you jealous?” You challenged with a devious head tilt. Remus scoffed and trained his eyes back on Theodore.

“Nah,” Remus replied coolly. “Besides, James would never let you go out with that git.”

“Oh, yea?” You asked, leaning in slightly. “And who would my brother let me go out with?” He turned to face you, his eyes meeting your provocative stare. His eyes flashed with something before Marlene tugged on your arm.

“Can you tell the boys to scoot down? Lily just got here.”

You stifled the urge to roll your eyes as you and Remus called out for the boys to move further down the bench. There wasn’t much room to spare, and you ended up wedged between Marlene and Remus. You were painfully aware of his leg against your own, though Marlene's thigh didn't seem to cross your mind. Remus leaned away from you, his hand behind Peter on the bench to support his weight. It was only a minute of this compromising position before they announced the start of the game. Then, everyone leapt to their feet, eager to watch.

It was a riveting match, and Slytherin almost took the win. Luckily, Theodore managed to catch the snitch at the perfect score ratio, ending the game and sealing the win for Ravenclaw. As the excitement and cheers began to die down, everyone started slowly filing out of the stands. You shuffled behind Marlene, the noise of chatter and brushing of shoulders making you feel slightly overwhelmed. The party was going to be packed tonight. You were almost to the stairs when your foot got caught on a raised step, tripping you into the walkway. You gasped as your heart lurched forward. You prepared for impact against the steps, but it never came. Suddenly, you felt that Remus’ hands had wrapped around your waist. Your cheeks flushed red as you twisted around to face him, his right hand still lingering on your body.

“Thanks,” you muttered sheepishly, your body still shaken from the almost fall. He hesitated for a moment with his hand on you, and was about to say something before James appeared next to him. Remus dropped his hand and shoved it in his pocket. You turned back around and kept following Marlene, carefully watching where you stepped.

“Y/N, fix your shirt!” James called from behind. You clenched your jaw as you kept trudging on, shuffling along with the rest of the Gryffindors. Marlene fell beside you and scoffed.

“He is such a prat about you,” Marlene complained, throwing a dirty look back at James.

“Tell me about it. I almost eat shit and all he cares about is my shirt buttons,” you grumbled, begrudgingly buttoning your top. Marlene cackled and threw her arm around you.

“Please tell me you’re coming to the party tonight,” Marlene pleaded, shaking you slightly.

“Oh, I’m coming to the party tonight,” you grinned delightfully, nudging her in response. “And James is going to freak out when he sees what I’m wearing.”

PHASE 3: and Sinker

"Okay, actually what the fuck are you wearing, Y/N. This is my last straw," James warned, pushing himself up from the arm chair. His outburst made the other three boys heads snap up. You couldn't help but smirk as you felt Remus’ eyes on your body.

"What? This is what people wear at Ravenclaw parties these days," you shrugged, waving past them towards the exit. "Not that you lot would know. You don't get invited." Sirius barked out a laugh, while James sputtered in disbelief behind you.

"She's right!" Mary called from the stairs, bouncing into the common room with the rest of the Gryffindor girls, all looking flawless. You couldn't blame James for his reaction- If anything, you should be thanking him. He's doing a great job of getting everyone to stare.

"While I respect your opinion James, I think I look great. And I can wear whatever the hell I want," you snapped, spinning around to face him with a stubborn glare. The girls cheered, shouting some excited "Hell yeahs!" as James gave up with a resigned eye roll. He knew better than to cross you on something you wanted, and you clearly wanted something. He just didn't need to know exactly what it was. The girls followed you excitedly as you started out the portrait hole. This was going to be a fun night.

As predicted, the Ravenclaw common room was packed. By the time you arrived, the moonlight was already pouring through the glass ceiling dome, casting everything in a dreamy glow. It wasn't hard for Pandora to spot you, pulling you onto the dance floor with an airy giggle. The music was pulsing through your veins as you finished your first drink, then your second. Pandora pulled you into her body, the two of you laughing as you swayed and twirled. For a moment, your eyes focused on the group of Gryffindors hanging out in the lounge area, laughing at something Sirius had said. Remus sat back in a chair, his casual demeanor seeming out of place in a room like this.

Remus.

Your swaying slowed as you trained your eyes on him sitting nonchalantly. He was watching you, his jaw tightening as his eyes dropped to where Pandoras hands rested on your hips. It was too bad that Pandora twirled you around and you lost your train of thought.

"Panda, let's go smoke. I'm getting dizzy," you called over the music, Pandora nodding in response. The two of you resigned to a quiet corner, where you pulled out a tin of cigarettes and lit one with a flick of your wand. You inhaled deeply, enjoying the relief of cool air away from the crowd. You leaned your back up against the wall as Pandora took the fag from your hands.

“Lingering eyes are on you,” Pandora sang, her spacey eyes falling behind you as she took a drag. You turned your head to see where she was looking and was met with Remus' stare.

“Perfect. Those are just the eyes I want lingering,” you replied, bringing your drink to your lips as you watched him. You half expected him to look away, but his eyes were burning through you. You watched as he scanned up your body, his eyes meeting yours before he downed the rest of his drink. He then quickly averted to James who was trying to get Remus' attention.

"I need another drink,” you mumbled as you pushed yourself off the wall, Pandora's giggles echoing behind you. You crossed the room over to where the drinks were. You couldn’t tell if the room was charmed to be slightly purple or if it was the night sky above you. Either way, the ambiance certainly added to your intoxication as you neared the edge of the room. You almost didn’t realize someone slipping up behind you.

"Are you teasing me, Y/N?" Remus asked, cornering you by the drinks table as you spun around. He moved quickly, and you peered behind him to check for any lingering marauders.

"I'm always teasing you idiots," you sassed, turning to grab a bottle off the table. Remus seemed to step even closer to you. If one of the boys saw you like this, they'd certainly take notice. He was being bold. Luckily, you were hidden by an abnormally large globe and the mist that seemed to float about the room.

"I see you everyday," Remus challenged, huffing out a laugh, "and I've never noticed you looking at me with those eyes, Y/N." You hummed as you filled two shot glasses.

“What eyes?” You asked innocently, looking up at him through your lashes as you held out a shot for him. He scoffed out another laugh and took the shot from you.

“Cheers, love,” he winked, clanking his glass with yours before downing the shot. You followed suit, happy to consume some liquid courage. He leaned in closer to you and lowered his voice, “You know, you should really be careful wearing something like that.”

“Why’s that?” You swallowed, the burn from the shot making your cheeks hot.

“You might catch someone’s attention who you don’t want,” Remus said darkly, making you bite your lip. You’d never seen him like this before.

“And what if I catch the attention of someone I do want?” You asked coyly, looking up at him again through a tantalizing gaze. Remus scoffed again for the third time, as if he couldn’t believe your audacity.

“And who is it that you want, Y/N? Hmm?” He asked, more of a challenge. At this point, you were certain that he wanted you. That, or you were about to be in serious trouble. Either way, the risk seemed worth the reward.

“You.”

Something broke in Remus as he stepped forward again, impossibly closer as his hands met your hips.

"You mean to tell me you wore this dress, just to get my attention?" He laughed, his voice low and teasing. You bit your lip and blushed, trying to hide your blatant satisfaction. Remus was smarter than he looked.

"Mmhm," you nodded, your poorly hidden smile spreading to his face.

"Fuck, Y/N," he broke and turned to scan the room, his hands still grasping your hips. You stared up at him, watching his jaw tense as he tried to locate the marauders. His hands were burning through your dress as you stood completely still. You felt relieved when he muttered, "Follow Me," and ushered you towards the exit. You weren't sure where your brother was, but you trusted Remus to get you into the hallway. Once you had exited the doors, he wasted no time as he pressed you into the wall, the force causing you to gasp. He held you in place as he pressed his forehead into yours.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered and you almost scoffed. You tugged him by the collar and collided his mouth with yours, groaning when he deepened the kiss immediately. His hands were greedy, grabbing at your body as he pushed himself against you. This was even better than your dreams. All sense left your body as he continued kissing down your neck. He pressed his knee roughly in between your legs. A moan left you lips as he bit down, nipping and sucking at your skin.

"Fuck, Remus," you panted, your hips rolling up towards his body. He grunted and pushed you back against the wall. Who knew Remus Lupin would be so intense?

"Can I take you back?" he breathed heavily, as if he was barely holding onto his control.

"Do you even have to ask?" you teased, his body flush against your own. He huffed out a laugh as he kissed your neck again.

"You know I have to ask, Y/N," Remus muttered darkly, as though the act of asking in itself was a violation. And maybe it was, but you couldn't care less about the line he was crossing.

"Does this answer your question?" You whispered, pulling his hand down to touch you. He cursed under his breath as he felt you, his hand seeming to move on its own as he ran his fingers up your soaking panties. It took him a minute to regain focus.

"Okay, let's go," he commanded, guiding you down the hallway with haste. You giggled as he held your waist, moving you quickly towards the Gryffindor tower. You couldn't believe this was actually happening. It surprised and satisfied you that your plan had worked, that you'd managed to tip Remus over so far that he was bringing you back to his dorm.

"You're moving so fast," you fussed as he dragged you up the stairs. His legs were significantly longer than yours.

"M' sorry," he muttered, his eyes focused ahead. "I don't want to waste any time." His urgency was contagious, and you felt yourself pick up the pace. He released you as you stepped through the portrait hole, his grip loosening with surprising restraint. He was careful, and as much as it didn't concern you in the moment, you were glad at least one of you was being responsible. There weren't many people in the common room, everyone either asleep or at the party. Remus' hand found your back once again as he silently steered you towards the boys dorms. You went up the staircase until you reached their door, looking back at Remus for permission before opening it. The windows let in slivers of moonlight and a cooling breeze. Remus shut the door behind you and turned you around. Somehow his faced seemed more real as he stood there, his eyes searching your face.

"Remus," you breathed, feeling the weight of his gaze. He huffed out a breath through his nose, stepping close to you.

"Just tell me Y/N," he said, his hands finding your neck, "Just tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you," you whined, standing on your tip toes and pulling him down by the neck. He gratefully returned the motion, groaning as his mouth found yours. Remus was everything you'd expected and more. He knew what he was doing, and his blatant want for you made your legs buckle under his touch. He walked you backwards, lifting you by the thighs and lowering you carefully onto his bed. His hand smoothed its way over your leg, pushing up the hem of your dress. His thumb swiped against your front, causing your back to lift slightly under his touch. He hummed into your mouth as he ground his hips down into yours. You could feel him through his pants, and you groaned at his size. Fucking hell. You ran your finger nails down the back of his shirt. Remus pulled his wand out of his pocket and closed his curtains, sitting up on his knees and unbuttoning his shirt. You watched, mesmerized by the show in front of you. The scars that ran down his chest, lower to his abdomen, and lower...

"My eyes are up here, darling," Remus teased, smirking down at you as he tugged off his shirt. You swallowed, looking up at his eyes which were no less intimidating than his body. He scoffed out a laugh as he climbed over you, running his fingertips down your body.

"If your intention was to get my attention all night, you did a good job," he breathed, pressing his finger into your clit. "Such a good job."

He stifled your moan with his mouth, his kiss wet and needy. His fingers moved carefully over your panties, provoking a response from your body that you'd never experienced before. You were trying your best to keep up with his kiss, but the overwhelming sensation of Remus had you melting into the bed.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back into the pillow as his fingers moved underneath the fabric. He hummed as he began to kiss roughly down your neck. His fingers swiped over your slickness, teasing your entrance. You grasped onto him tighter, your nails digging into his shoulder as he plunged a finger inside you. He pushed himself up to watch you as he pumped another finger into you, you hips moving rhythmically with his hands. By this point, you looked a complete mess with your dress bunched around your middle and your mouth in a permanent gasp. You groaned as you felt yourself beginning to pulse on the brink of an orgasm.

"Fuck, Y/N. Are you going to cum?" Remus mocked you, he fingers stealdiy curly up inside of you.

"Y-yea. M' gonna cum," You whimpered, screwing your eyes shut. Remus muttered a curse under his breath before ducking his head and finding his way in between your thighs. Without warning, he buried himself in you, lapping at your clit while pinning you down by the waist. You grasped at his hair, attempting to pull him off of you but it was no use. He was humming into you as you moved in circle around his face, teetering on the verge of your orgasm. He let out a particularly throaty grunt that sent you over the edge. You let out a muffled cry as you spilled your juices onto his tongue repeatedly. He finished you up, humming as he began to kiss up your body until he hovered over you again. You pulled him down into a rough kiss, your hips snapping up to feel his hard on. "You're so perfect, Y/N," Remus praised, pulling your dress down over your bum. Your tits were now fully exposed, Remus' hands and eyes exploring over your body like he was trying to memorize you. "So perfect... I want you so badly..." He groaned, kissing over you chest and rubbing your tit in his hand. You groaned with pleasure.

"Then have me." You didn't hesitate to pull off the rest of your clothes, helping Remus unbutton his pants and pull them over his ankles. He did the same with his boxers, his length springing free. You bit your lip at the sight, a little nervous for how big he was. This didn't deter you though as you sat on your knees and leaned forward, beckoning him to use you.

"You're so fucking-” Remus let out a groan as he pushed himself inside your mouth, grabbing the back of your head with his hand. You wet his shaft with your tongue, moaning as he began to move down your throat. "So fucking good." His praises made you clamp your knees together, groaning again as you took him as far as you could handle. He gripped your hair roughly and throat fucked you for a few seconds before pulling you off, as if he couldn't control himself. "Turn around."

You did as you were told and spun around onto you hands. He pushed you chest down into the bed lined himself up with your entrance. You tried to sit back onto him, but his other hand held your hips firmly in place.

"Please, Remus," you choked out, your face buried into the mattress. He groaned as he pushed into you slowly, stretching you out with every inch he pressed inside of you.

"Oh, fuck," Remus breathed, moving slowly to let you adjust to his size. This consideration didn't last long before he was pounding you into his mattress, calling you filthy names and tugging on your hair. All the restraint he seemed to have went out the window as he fucked you mercilessly from behind.

"R-Remus. Fuck- me-" you cried, whimpering with every thrust. His hand gripped your hip with a squeeze as he leaned over your body.

"You're taking me so well," He breathed, running his hand under you body. He snaked his hand over your tit and pulled you up against him, making you gasp with pleasure from the new angle. "You're doing so good, angel."

He had you melting from his touch as your body gave out underneath his hands. He bit your neck gently, sucking and kissing on the sweet spot he had found earlier. You groaned as your head lulled back on his shoulder. This was not what you were expecting. You had no complaints though as he reached down between your legs and started pressing on your clit, pushing himself deep inside of you.

“R-Remus,” you warned, struggling to hold yourself up. You could feel a knot forming in your stomach for the second time as his thick cock moved inside of you, putting more pressure on your nerves.

“Just like that, Y/N,” he murmured, his strong hands holding you in place. “Just let go, sweetheart.”

You didn’t have to be told twice as you let yourself release around him, guttural sounds coming out of your mouth. You had no time to feel embarrassed over your moans as he pushed you back on the bed and started fucking you senseless.

“So good, fuck me,” Remus mutter incoherently as he rammed himself inside of you, grabbing at your hips. You looked back at him to watch, and were not disappointed at the sight. When his eyes locked onto yours, he broke. He snapped his hips haphazardly as he released himself inside of you. You moaned again at the feeling of Remus Lupin filling you up with his cum. He thrust into you one last time before falling over you, moving your hair to one side to kiss your neck.

“So fucking good, Y/N,” he praised again, cleaning the both of you up with an impressive flick of his wand. You hummed and turned yourself around in a fucked out daze. He watched you pout as you pulled weakly on his neck. He chuckled under his breath and came down to kiss you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, lazily kissing as his hands rubbed gently down your body, a stark contrast from his rough actions just moments ago.

“I should probably go,” you frowned as he came up for air. He mirrored your response and sighed.

“You’re probably right,” he said, pushing himself off of you. “Here, let me grab you a shirt.” He pulled on his own pants before you heard him shuffle to his trunk. Just as you were about to move to get up, you heard someone bounding up the stairs.

“Shit,” you whispered, frozen in place. You saw Remus’ hands toss a shirt through the curtain before retreating, and you gratefully put it on. Luckily, your dress was still under you. You heard Remus kick your shoes under his bed.

“Moony? Why’d you leave so early?” You heard Sirius ask with a slight slur, stumbling into the room.

“Started boking,” Remus replied casually. “I feel like shit, I’m just gonna go to bed.” Sirius hummed and fell on his bed. You heard him kick off his shoes and manuveur himself under the sheets.

“You and me both, Moons,” Sirius groaned, seemingly too drunk to care about any lie Remus was spewing. Remus moved towards his bed.

“Alright, well. G’night,” Remus murmured, climbing into bed quickly.

“G’night,” Sirius muttered, rummaging through something. You looked to Remus with concern, who only put his finger to his lips as he came to lay down next to you. His haphazard smile seemed to relax you a bit as he pulled you into your chest, humming with content.

“Just go to sleep, love,” he whispered quietly and kissed your head. “I’ll get you back safe and sound.” Perhaps it was against your better judgement, but you seemed to trust Remus wholly to take care of you. That and your body was completely exhausted from him. You murmured a goodnight as you buried yourself into his neck, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. At some point, you heard your brother come in with Peter. Remus momentarily tensed causing you to shift. His grasp tightened on you before he heard Sirius grumble something along the lines of “sick” to James and the room fell silent again.

The second time you stirred, you felt Remus pulling away from you. You mumbled lightly, confused as to why he was getting out of bed. He turned to shush you quietly before stepping out. You heard him shuffle across the room.

“James,” he whispered, “James, wake up.” You sat up quietly in his bed. What the fuck was he doing?

“Mm,” James groaned, turning in his bed. “Moony?”

“Yea it’s me,” Remus said quickly. “Can I borrow your cloak? I think a Slytherin charmed my drink last night and I need to go on a quick mission.” You rolled your eyes at this. Remus was smart, and his lies would perfectly convince James. He would never turn down a prank.

“Oh, shit,” James said, slightly more awake. “Do you want me to come?”

“No,” Remus answered quickly. “Uh, no. I’ll be super quick. I just can’t sleep until I know I got back at them.” This seemed to appease James as you heard him fall back into bed.

“Sure, Moony,” James yawned. “It’s in my trunk.” You heard Remus shuffle through his trunk before coming back around to the other side of your bed. You heard him slip on some shoes before holding the curtain open, once again holding his finger to his lips. You rolled your eyes at this and quietly stepped out of the bed, thankfully blocked by the rest of the room. Remus threw the cloak over the both of you and guiding you to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. Both of you felt relief as you stepped into the stairway, making your way down to the common room. Nobody was here at this hour. Remus threw the cloak off of you.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, spinning you around to face him. “I should’ve been more careful.” You shook your head.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind using you as my pillow for a bit,” you chuckled lightly. “Besides, I could’ve used a bit more caution myself.” You blushed shyly at him. You hadn’t been the most discreet throughout the whole ordeal. Remus laughed at this and ran his thumbs across your hips, causing you to shiver. You wore only his oversized shirt and your panties.

“Nah,” Remus said with his lopsided grin. “I think I quite like your obvious pining for me.” You slapped his chest lightly as he chuckled. “I’ll just have to work extra hard to keep you to myself.” He leaned in to kiss you, and you felt your heart leap. So much for getting over your crush.

“Hmm, I’ll guess I’ll have to keep trying to get you attention then,” you whispered, pulling back from his lips. He hummed and kissed you again, as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Go get some sleep, love. I’m sure you need it,” he teased, flashing another grin at you. You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t keep your smile down.

“Goodnight, Remus.” You started towards the girls dormitories.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Remus found himself staying in the common room with James’ cloak, not wanting to return too early. He tried to convince himself this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t justify it. There really wasn’t anything that could stop him from fucking you again. His mind flashed with images of your perfect eyes looking back at him as he rammed himself inside of your perfect pussy. His head fell back onto the couch with a thud. He was a goner.

[cheer-nympho]

Thinking about Eddie driving up to the quarry one night to try and sell to the teenagers that usually hang around here,

But when he gets there only one car is parked and hidden behind the bushes framing the road.

A very familiar BMW with it’s windows steamed up.

‘Of course Harringtons getting some again. Lucky fuck.’ Eddie thinks as he lights a smoke, if only to warm him up a bit in the cold night.

Damn. From the condensation dripping down the BMW windows, they’re having no problem keeping warm.

Even from the distance it takes effort to not startle when the hand slams against the back window, creating a messy handprint on the white glass. Even from here he can see it’s a mans hand. Steve, he assumes. Jesus, whoever he has in that back seat is clearly getting railed practically through the seats.

He should look away, really. Knows that this is a bit fucked up. But…he can’t actually see anything. And really, Harrington shouldn’t have brought her out to the towns most known hangout. And its not like he was straining to hear, they were just SO loud. And…deep?

Eddie’s not exactly a connoisseur in the different noises of women, try as he may, but he’s pretty sure he’s only hearing a man right now. Sure, its still a pretty high pitched and punched out sound but noticeably a dudes- which confuses Eddie for a minute.

Harrington must just be really sensitive and loud. Maybe that’s why he had so many girls falling over him, the noises certainly weren’t turning Eddie OFF the interaction.

He can physically see the change in the cars bouncing when he assumes they’re…’finishing off’

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s still here. He could have- no, he SHOULD have left ages ago. But not long after the bouncing stops, the car door swings over and 2 legs swing out, hands coming down to fix their socks- clearly having hastily thrown his clothes back on.

The only thing is…Eddie doesn’t remember Harringtons legs being so long? The body looks out or place sitting in the open door, not like the familiar and practically famous silhouette of Steve against his vehicle. And it hits Eddie square in the face when the guy stands upright.

Cause Eddie DOES know the guy. He’s just stomach tippinglys aware that it is NOT Harrington.

That’s Johnny. Eddies (admittedly one sided) rival at the hideout. A fucking punk. Not in the way the adults of Hawkins use the term, he’s literally a punk rocker.

And his punk rocker ass is currently stepping out of Steve Harringtons freshly christened back seat. Well that…can’t be right. Harrington must just…rent out his car to couple or something. That must be it. Rich people are weird like that.

His theory is very quickly destroyed as Johnny knocks lightly on the roof of the car, cigarette already in the other hand, and pokes his head into the back. He laughs before a pair of legs flop out of the door. Legs attached to someone clearly too tall for a backseat. Legs attached to someone very male.

He should go. He needs to go. If not because of how his stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself, then because his best-buddy Johnny just tipped his head non-subtly towards Eddie’s van.

‘Shit shit shit shit-‘ He puts the keys in as fast as he can with shaking hands.

— And he so nearly got away too. So nearly never had to look at that BMW or its occupants again, live his life carefree.

All hope of that was cruelly dashed when he left hellfire to see Steve leaning against his van.

He scanned the area, in hopes someone else had stayed late because he was pretty sure Steve was about to give him the “talk and you’re dead” followed by a beating up. And that would suck.

Nowhere else to go but forward, he clutched his DND bag and hobbled over to Harrington- who hadn’t offered him anything other than a blank stare.

“Harrington.”

“Munson.”

“Pretty late to be lurking around school. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t lecture me on lurking, man. We both know you were at the quarry.”

“I don’t really-“

“Johnny told me, would recognise your beat up ride miles away he said.”

Thankfully Eddie had enough brain power in him to add that to the list of reasons to fucking hate Johnny. In the time he had to scowl at the ground, Harrington had rounded behind him. Eddie span to meet him but was met with a rough hand to the chest.

He was pushed up against his van with a sharp movement, pulling a winded breath from him followed by a large ‘bang’ as Steve’s hand slammed to the side of his head.

“So, Munson. What did you see?”

“I didn’t see-“

“Try again.” A hand crept into his hair, not pulling but clearly threatening it with the way it was clasped.

“I saw…you and Johnny. In your car.”

Steve hummed and looked away from Eddie. “That’s not very specific, Eddie, try again.”

“Wha- I don’t know what you-“ The hand in his hair yanked, pulling his head so that even with their similar heights he was forced to look up at Steve, hands gripping uselessly to the side of his van.

“Try again.”

Oh.

Oh.

That’s what he wanted.

“I saw Johnny fucking you.”

He managed to lift his gaze to look at Steve and was met with an almost dopey smirk, his eyes barely focused as they stared down at Eddie half closed. Eddie melted right into the wall of his van because Steve Harrington was looking him like he’d never been hornier in his life.

“Fuck. He was Eddie, he really was and it was so good. You saw it right? Saw the car moving? Shit, man, it’s hard to get it moving like that. He was so rough.” Eddie just stared as Steve started falling further towards him, sinking into the weird little hold they both had.

“But there’s just one problem Munson.” Steve said into the side of Eddie’s neck, making him shiver and use all his willpower to keep his head where Steve’s grip had moved it.

“What- What problem?”

“My car is just too small. We needed more space, I needed more space.”

He brought his free hand up and slammed it to the other side of Eddie’s head. “Do you think you might know anyone with something more…spacious?” And when Eddie clocked exactly what he was implying, what he was begging for- he had never been so thankful for his shitty van.

[gguk-n]

Daddy Dearest (Oscar Piastri Dad fic)

Summary- Oscar is a girl dad.

There weren't many people who had Oscar wrapped around their little finger, except Amelia Piastri. Almost 2 years old and she could make Oscar dance like a chicken on the drop of a hat.

Oscar had met Amelia's mother and the love of his life, Y/N when they were in high-school. They started dating soon after. The year Oscar was a reserve driver for Alpine; he might not have been busy racing but he was busy with his girlfriend. The whole Alpine-Mclaren fiasco brought us baby Mia. It was a usual Thursday, Y/N had been stressing out about missing her period for the second time this month when she had regular periods since she could remember. A thought passed through her; it had been floating around in her head since last month. What if she was pregnant? Oscar and her had always been safe; but not a single contraceptive was a hundred percent perfect. So, without informing Oscar, she went to the store and bought a few tests. When the first one said positive, she did another and then another. By now Oscar had become aware of his missing girlfriend who was coup-ed up in their bathroom for the past half hour. He was knocking on the door; "babe, is everything okay? You've been in there since you returned" But when no reply came; the knocking became more rapid and worried. "Y/N, are you ok? Please answer. You're stressing me out" he begged. Then the door opened slightly. A tear stained Y/N was peaking her head out. Oscar pushed the door open and hugged her. He was scanning the room as his girlfriend's body shook slightly; that's when he saw it; pregnancy tests. He pulled away to look at her; "Have you been busy taking those pregnancy test?" he asked. "How do you know what they are?" she hiccuped. "I've watched TV growing up" he smiled. She nodded and handed the 3 tests to him. They all read pregnant in bold letters. Oscar was over joyed; "Are we gonna be parents?" he shouted. "You're not angry?" she asked. "Why would I be? I get to have kids with the love of my life. Best thing that could ever happen to me" he stated. For the first time since she got the tests, she smiled. "Aren't we too young though?" she asked. "Yes, but I could take on the world with you by my side" he said kissing her. "You'll be the best dad ever" she told him. "You'll be the best mum ever" he said. The pair stayed in each other's embrace for a long time. Oscar will never admit it but he cried and then went on reddit to research what to do as a first time dad.

Amelia was born the next year when Oscar was busy racing. He wasn't able to be there for the birth of his daughter; he might have called his mother and cried about being a shitty dad from the get-go. But his father later consoled him and told him it would be fine. Oscar flew out the first chance he got to be with his girlfriend who was being taken care of by both their parents. The first time he held Amelia, he had started crying as soon as she opened her big brown eyes and looked at him. She was an exact copy of him when he was a baby, at least that's what his mother said. Y/N had to console him instead of the baby. He was sat there with his arms wrapped around Y/N who held their daughter for a really long time. Y/N had fallen in love with the name Amelia after watching the Princess Diaries growing up and Oscar wasn't about to argue with Y/N about naming their daughter after the Queen of Genovia. That's how she was named "Amelia Opal Piastri"

Oscar kept them hidden from the world after they had mutually decided not to tell anyone except their close friends and family which some how, had now included Lando Norris, much to Oscar's dismay since his daughter from the moment she could speak called Lando her twin; Oscar hated it, he was just dad or daddy when she wanted something but Lando was her best friend and twin. Lando took great joy in having to be able to steal Amelia away. Lando was helping Oscar move since he'd been staying in Monaco longer and moving with a kid wasn't easy. Mia was being very difficult today until she saw her Uncle Lando and jumped out of Oscar's arms running to Lando. "Lan, I mwiss you" she pouted raising her hands as if to signal him to carry her. Lando quickly scooped her in his arms, kissing her cheeks which elicited giggles. She wrapped her arms around Lando's neck and turned to her dad sticking her tongue out making Oscar pout. "Come here, you're my princess" he whined. "NO. I wan Lan" she said and hugged him tighter as Oscar tried to pull her away. "Oscar, behave. We have a lot of work to do. If Lando can watch over her while we unpack, that'll be great." Y/N said kissing her daughter's cheek and giving Lando a hug. Reluctantly Oscar agreed to let Lando play with her while he got the house unpacked.

While the two unpacked, Lando kept their little princess entertained. "Lan, do you vroom vroom fast?" she asked playing with the race cars she had. "Yeah" he nodded. "my daddy, vroom vroom" she paused for a moment to think, "fast more, win, wohooo" she said jumping up when the Oscar car she was playing with won and Lando's car came in second. Obviously, Mia was growing up watching racing; her dad was a F1 racer. Lando laughed when she jumped up; "Uncle Lando won many races too" he said. "My daddy win 2 races" she said looking at her fingers, counting them and holding up 2. She looked proud of herself for holding the correct number of fingers, Lando was proud too.

All that playing had tired her out; she was now laying on Lando's chest mumbling gibberish about how Leo could fly while he patted her to sleep. Oscar came back to find his daughter peacefully asleep. "I hate that she likes you more than me" Oscar stated watching the two. "Who said that?" Lando tried to control his laugh. "You can see right now" Oscar pointed out. "Mate, she loves you so much. All we talked about was how her daddy is so fast and has won 2 races." he added. Oscar smiled, "I'll put her in her room, we just got done with that" he said slowly taking her to her bed.

The house would take a few more months before they would be able to be done completely. Mia was already enjoying her play dates with Leo and Roscoe. Alex and Leo would be over a few times a week since Mia would pester Alex to come over with Leo. Leo loved Mia so much, the two would always be seen rolling around on the floor or running after each other. They never seem to tire out until they did and then they would be cuddling each other in their sleep on the couch. Roscoe was an older dog and he had seen quite a few children, he kept Mia more tame if that was possible. He would look out for her and protect her from harms way. He was very protective of her; it was very adorable to watch.

During the break, Oscar was spending the 3 weeks with his family. Y/N had been taking the bulk of parenting their 2 year old which did make Oscar feel guilty and he would try to give her as much me time when he was around as possible. "It's time for a daddy-daughter date" Oscar cooed at Mia as he carried her to get dressed. "What does my princess wanna eat today?" he asked plopping her on the changing table. "I want dino and fries and juice and white icey and tuddles" she cheered. She couldn't say Vanilla ice cream yet so it was white icey and cuddles were tuddles which Oscar hoped she wouldn't out grow. Oscar changed her into a pink tutu on her request. The two of them sat on the sofa watching Bluey with their dino nuggets, fries and a juice. Once she was done eating, half the fries were in Oscar's mouth but who was counting; he got out the ice cream and this was the one food item she would not share with anyone. The latest episode they were watching finished up and Mia was cuddling her dad. Oscar rubbed circles on her back to help her fall asleep; "I love you my angel" Oscar whispered kissing her head. "I wuv you my daddy" she whispered kissing his chest. She had seen her mum do this a few times and Oscar's heart swelled up watching her imitate her mum.

Oscar and Y/N were busy setting up another room in their house when Mia found Oscar's phone unlocked. No one knew how she got onto Instagram but she did and ended up taking a picture of her face and posting it as a story. Within minutes Oscar and Y/N's phones were blowing up. Y/N saw messages from her friends and family to check Oscar's story; Oscar had already seen what his daughter did. The next race was gonna be so fun trying to explain who that was.

The driver's group chat was going crazy, they couldn't stop laughing about how Mia posted herself. The other drivers joked that she was sick of not being able to attend races so she decided to hard launch herself. McLaren's PR team was making a story up which Oscar shut down quickly. He had been dating Y/N for a long time and had a family with her, he wasn't about spin some shitty tale about it being someone else's daughter. This was the final push that Oscar needed to strike the iron when it was hot. Oscar would propose now; the ring he had bought was burning a hole in his pants for a while now.

oscarpiastri

Liked by landonorris, mclaren and 2,367,458 others tagged y/n.y/l/n

oscarpiastri To a lifetime of forever with the loves of my life💍🧑‍🧑‍🧒

landonorris Mia is so cute in all the pictures, I'm stealing her👀👀 oscarpiastri landonorris NO YOU CAN'T HAVE HER😤😤 alexandrasaintmleux next Leo-Mia playdate when??🥹❤️ y/n.y/l/n alexandrasaintmleux Mia says tomorrow❤️❤️ logansargeant my fav Piastri is growing up so fast😭 Liked by the author mclaren such a beautiful family🧡 y/n.y/l/n mclaren I remember you trying to break it up 😐😐 mclaren y/n.y/l/n I was following orders, I didn't wanna do it🥲🥲 user1 too many things, I can't process it🤯 user2 he has a girlfriend, a daughter and got engaged all in one post🤯😭 user3🤯🤯🤯🤯 user4 Congratulations Oscar!!🧡🧡🧡 lewishamilton Congratulations you two!! ❤️❤️Mia said Roscoe is the ring bearer Liked by y/n.y/l/n charles_leclerc my beautiful granddaughter😭 user5 the Leclerc family is expanding at an alarming rate😱😱 user6 user5 does that make Leo her uncle??🤔 user7 What's her name?? user8 Mia is the cutest name for the cutest baby😍😍 user9 can't wait to watch her become a formula one driver😪 user10 only known her 2 days but if anything happens to her, I’ll kill everyone and then myself user11 the last picture🤤🤤 we might be getting baby no. 2🤭🤣