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myuntoldstory · 1 month ago

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HP prompt request(James/Lily AU where they live): “how was Harry’s first day in kindergarten?”

don't lose the way that you dance

doing a "two birds, one stone" type of thing by, finally, answering this ask. my sincerest apologies, anon, for the grossly late reply. things happened between when you sent this and now, and things have been tough.

and also, putting this in for @jilytoberfest's 31 prompts 2024. seeing my fic on their bingo card gave me a burst of inspiration big enough to finally finish this story and contribute.

and finally, i'm, posting this to celebrate your love thawed out being so close to 100 kudos. really cool. thank you to everyone who've read and gave it some love, i really do appreciate it.

Prompt 6: Making food together | Prompt 27: "what if it doesn't work" "what if it does work" (sorry, i know the 27th is 2 or 3 days away but i'm doing a pre-emptive thing; knowing myself if i hold onto it for too long it won't ever go out)

Death never fazed James, especially not during the war. But little does he know it has different faces—that loss is not just about losing life but also about living it. Within the landscape of grief are winding paths and forked roads. No, James has never feared losing his life—but losing Harry... losing what was once was to make way for what will be, for what is supposed to be, well… That fucking terrifies him.

A short story set after "your love thawed out". James and Lily accompany Harry for his first day of kindergarten and reflect on this new stage of their lives.

Based on Taylor Swift's song "Never Grow Up".

read on ao3 or under the cut

warnings: a loose interpretation of the prompts

“Out cold, Macdonald.”

“Hmm.”

Sirius approaches as Mary pulls a blanket over Harry’s prone form, tucking him in as he dozes off. He watches her remove his glasses, folding them and placing them on the coffee table. The gentleness in her touch is obvious as she brushes messy locks of hair from his eyes.

“Crashed about, what, five minutes of playing?” she murmurs playfully.

Sirius snorts, nudging her with his foot. “Join us when you’re done.”

��Yep—don’t frost everything without me.”

“Never.”

With a parting grin, he makes his way to the kitchen, where James and Lily stand by the island. Plates of naked cupcakes, bowls of frosting, and piping bags filled with different-coloured frosting cover the surface. Little containers of toppings, from candied fruit to lollies, fill what space is left. Lily pipes a gradient of red and yellow icing in a perfect swirling pattern on top of a cupcake before passing it to James, who decorates it with the toppings.

“So,” Sirius drawls, taking a cupcake and piping bag filled with solid Ravenclaw-blue frosting. “How was Harry’s first day of class?”

“Oh—”

Sirius focuses on piping, fully expecting James to answer without even looking up. He patiently waits, shooting furtive looks at Lily to try and copy what she’s doing. He squeezes, and an amorphous blob comes out. His brow twitches in annoyance before trying again, this time mindful of the pressure he puts in—what comes out instead is a fat dollop. Sighing in irritation, he glances up expectantly when James takes too long. His best mate hastily schools his expression to that of overly bright optimism.

“It’s…”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

How long have they been standing there?

Seconds ago, it was bright— too bright. And noisy. So cacophonous that every sound had solidified; it no longer bounced around in echoes but absorbed… somewhere. Children everywhere—each unique in shape and size, but all with the same loudness, the same jittering excitement, anxiety, and curiosity. Parents everywhere, too, all wrapped up in goodbyes—warning teachers, giving hugs and kisses. The emotions on display fit a varied spectrum from excited to devastated—but all proud. All of them relieved—probably because they’ve gained some independence back.

Against the wall, James sighs—against his chest, Lily breathes in shakily. Her shoulders shake. He glances at the top of her head, combing his fingers through her tresses. Safe to say they are on the “devastated” end of the spectrum. He tips his head and stares at the ceiling. The cool fluorescent light burns into his retinas, but he barely notices. He sinks into his thoughts.

They’ve been preparing for this moment for years. That it’s over in an instant is almost insulting—more so when he realises they’re still ill-equipped for it.

A door creaks open. He senses movement before seeing it. He straightens, holding Lily closer and bringing his arm higher around her head to hide her away from the view of whichever curious onlooker decides to barge in on them. Laughter and chatter spill from the gap, filling the hallway with brightness and echoes. He realises then that the door leads to a classroom. A woman pokes her head out, gazing at them with polite but wary curiosity. James smiles tightly. The silence in the hallway tenses, but he doesn’t deign to break it. The woman hesitates, realisation dawning on her expression.

“Er…” she says, breaking the ice, voice lacking any real authority. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” James answers, smile turning more sheepish. “Yes—sorry, we just dropped our son off, so...”

Wary curiosity melts into sympathy. “Oh, I see.”

“We’ll be on our way soon.”

“No, no, please. Take your time.”

With a warmer smile, the woman pulls back and closes the door.

Silence again.

James blows out a heavy sigh, his cheeks puffing, thumping his head against the wall. He squeezes Lily, rubbing her back to get her to look at him. A hairline fracture runs across his heart. Seeing Lily is like dropping weight on it, causing it to branch and score deeper. His wife is all redness and tears, though, somehow, still practically glowing—from the rims of her eyes to the tip of her nose and the arch of her cupid’s bow.

With a sad scoff, she pouts miserably. The corners of his lips can’t help tugging up. He allows the smile, but it’s tinted with sympathy and understanding. He kisses her forehead and pets her hair.

“Come along, Mrs Potter.” He lets go, except for her hand. “Playground’s at the back.”

“Playground?” Lily sniffles, wiping the tears away.

“Harry’s waiting.”

He leads the way, and she follows easily.

The playground is like any other. It has the typical equipment: a jungle gym, slide, swings, seesaw, spinners, and climbers. A giant sandbox sits at the centre. A garden of herbs, vegetables, and flowers sits closer to the classrooms. Benches dot the area, covered by a canopy of branches from the trees around it. James barely notices all of this as he leads Lily toward the swings. There’s a subtle poke, a niggling at the back of his neck. He looks towards the building, at the glass double doors, and the scores across his heart almost splinter apart.

Harry.

His little face and hands pressed against the pane, all red the same way as Lily—eyes, nose, and cupid’s bow. There is a suspicious shine to his gaze, but no tears have fallen—yet. Not like before. Before, it was like a waterfall when he realised they had to leave him.

James remembers how each drop is a stab in his gut, in his soul. No matter how much he wiped them away, they kept coming and coming until they pulled the most heart-wrenching wails out of his son’s mouth. The force of it pushed Harry’s little arms out, clutching at him and Lily, tiny hands gripping with all his strength. James didn’t want to let go—wanted to hold his son close and take him home. With his wife. Together as a family.

But he couldn’t.

The memory fades. James waves it goodbye as he waves his son hello.

Harry sniffles, eyes becoming dangerously wetter.

“God, look at his face.”

Lily’s wavering voice is a welcome distraction, but not by much. He holds his breath and glances at her, seeing her wave at Harry, too. Her eyes are glassy again, her chin and lower lip trembling as he leads her to sit on the swing. He sits beside her, never looking away, breathing easier again as her eyes take on a more solid shine and her chin and lips steady. Her breathing evens.

James feels safe looking away and turning his attention back to Harry. He’s still plastered against the glass, pressing himself so hard he can stumble through it if he really wants. With magic manifesting in weird and wonderful ways during childhood, the thought makes him worry. Just their luck if their son exposes himself on his first day. The corner of James’ lip quirks up, and he chuckles as Harry’s bottom lip juts out in a pout. He waves again.

“All right?” he says, holding onto the chains.

Lily sighs deeply. “I will be.”

“Okay.”

“Hey.”

Their gazes meet. She reaches out, curling her hand around his.

James smiles, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I will be too.”

Silence falls, occasionally broken by the creak and grind of metal. They swing idly, hands clasped tightly, legs gently pushing them to and fro. James’ thumb caresses the back of Lily’s hand in comforting strokes. His attention returns to Harry, and never leaves. The teacher successfully pulls him away, but even as he obeys and sits with the class, he continues looking at them.

James makes sure to wave each time, not missing the anxious look on his son’s face—because it’s his. Harry looking exactly like James is like a conduit to his son’s emotions—a mirror and a trip to the past at the same time. Because he recognises it; he’s seen it before on himself. It’s as helpful as it is heartbreaking, especially during times like these when he would rather Harry wear a happier face.

“We spoil him too much.”

James turns to Lily, sees her stop mid-wave.

“He spoils us too,” he squeezes her hand. “Look at us.”

Lily chuckles and smiles defeatedly at him. The amused sparkle in her eyes is a relief. She squeezes back, smile fading as she looks to the classroom again. James’ hazel eyes trace the line of her profile. The redness has begun to fade, leaving behind her natural colouring—a gentle sort of rose-pink, gradating into her skin. A gentle breeze blows by, carrying threads of her hair into the air, glinting fire into the morning light.

“He hasn’t left our side since he was born,” she muses, voice low.

He nods slowly. “We’ve left him alone plenty.”

“No—I mean, yeah, with family and friends…” she trails off into contemplative silence before breaking it with a sharp sigh. She meets his eyes. The amusement has vanished, replaced by a much more concerned glint. “But we’re leaving him with strangers. That’s different—we barely know these people.”

“True.” Not helpful, something Lily doesn’t want to hear.

But he can’t lie to her—he doesn’t want to.

“They don’t know him like we do.”

“They will… eventually.”

Her brows draw together. “What if they get it wrong?”

“He will tell them.” James pauses. Sighs. “We will. They’ll learn.”

“And if he gets hurt?”

There’s an insistent note in her voice. Suddenly, anything he says will bear a lot of weight. It’s not that he’s been careless, but he senses the challenge, the bait appealing to his arrogance, his need to have an answer for everything—to be right in everything. It reminds him of when they were younger, back when they were rivals, and everything was a source of annoyance and challenge—well, for Lily, anyway. Half of the time, James just did things to get a rise out of her because he found her cute.

“Then he gets hurt—Lily,” he adds hurriedly at his wife’s incredulous, affronted look. He squeezes her hands to get her to stop and listen. Her hackles calm, and she watches him with narrowed eyes. “Lily, love, we got hurt. Our parents were in this position once—they still are. You know they wished for the same things; still, none of us got away unscathed.

Lily huffs a sigh, but she blinks in acknowledgement—and displeasure.

“I know, love, I’m sorry… but this is how it will be from now on.”

Lily still looks unhappy, but that’s not what James is trying to do anyway.

“We will be here for him—all of us. Always,” he continues, taking the challenge with certainty he doesn’t feel right now but knows will be as inevitable as today, as any other days like this in the future. “He will be okay.”

“... But it won’t be that easy.”

“No…”

He rises from the swing and kneels in front of her. Lily’s hands rest in a tight ball on her lap, and he covers them with his own, holding them firmly. He looks up, gazing into her eyes. They’re as vivid as the greenery surrounding them but deeper, revealing an endless depth only reserved for Harry and their family. She meets his gaze, searching desperately, no longer challenging him to be right but hoping he is.

He squeezes her hand, asking for that trust, asking for a chance, as he always does, because when has he ever been wrong before?

“This is how it’s always been,” he murmurs, nodding. “It’s life.”

Lily hesitates and nods in return, looking down at their hands. “I know.”

“It’s… terrifying. Horrifying. We—” he hesitates, swallowing hard, “—we know that better than most.”

Lily audibly swallows hard. James knows that in that instant, the same memories flicker in her mind—barely adults waging a war that wasn’t theirs yet dumped unceremoniously on their doorstep. Children had to make choices that weren’t their own. Shattered innocence still hoping for a brighter future. Lily’s back carried the weight of survival, while James carried the weight of protection. Determination did not push them to stay alive every day—it was this. Exactly this. That hope was like a hearth in their hearts, keeping the fire ablaze and angry.

Now Harry carries that hope, that fire.

He’s even more precious now, making them feel even more wretched about letting go.

“But,” he continues, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles to bring her back to him. She looks into his eyes again, darker and more haunted. Seeing him brings back their usual colour—the forest under a cloudless day. He smiles, brilliant and handsome. “It’s beautiful too. Kind. Lovely. Like you.”

Lily’s shoulders sag, and her eyes soften. The corners of her lips tug up in a warm, gentle smile before they set in a more permanent, wry slant. She rolls her eyes. He can tell she’s trying not to be swept away by his compliment. He grins, smug and pleased with himself. He kisses the backs of her hands, her soft chuckle filling him with warmth.

“Look, I wish that’s all he’ll ever know.” James leans away and looks back up at Lily. This time, she’s the one nodding. “I want him happy all the time. God, I want nothing more, and I know we’ll do our best to make it so… but life. He’ll learn that, just like we did.”

“... I know.” Lily bites her lip and looks away, avoiding his piercing look as she finally admits: “I just… I’m so scared it won’t work out for him. That something will go horribly wrong.”

“I know, love. It’s paralysing, I get it. But that won’t happen, yeah? Life will work out fine for Harry—again if it doesn’t, we’re here.” Another squeeze, as if to prove the truth of his words—ensure that they are alive, and so is Harry. Though apart now, he’s only a short distance away—they’re never truly gone from each other. “We will be here. For him. To help. To guide. Comfort. Love—”

“And that’s enough.”

James pauses before sighing in relief, beaming at Lily’s addition. “Yes.”

Lily meets his eyes, smiling back. “Better than if we weren’t here.”

“That’s right.”

“At least it’s not the war anymore.”

“Precisely.”

With a sigh, he kisses her hands again. He takes on a more comfortable position, crossing his legs but still staying by his wife’s feet. He senses the change in her mood, the return of her usual light. When it was time to let go of Harry, she had been so inconsolable that he worried about whether she’d be okay. But he should’ve known he never had to worry; Lily’s resilience is unmatched, a fact he had gotten to know intimately in school and during the war. But when the weight of everything became too much, he made sure to be there—to hold her up. To keep the light shining in her eyes, he’ll carry the weight of the world for her.

“That’s my girl.” He smiles wider at her chuckle.

Silence again. James glances towards the classroom, half of him expecting Harry plastered against the glass again—but no. He remains with his class. James catches his eyes, though. Anxiety flashes across Harry’s face for a second. James waves, smile softening in relief when Harry waves back this time, albeit reluctantly.

It’s only now, separated by glass, that James realises just how much his son has grown up—how much time has passed. He remembers when Lily gave birth, how that was the singularly most terrifying thing he’s ever experienced. Because of that, his family has been his life for years. He swallows hard, a lump forming in his throat as a strange, overwhelming sense of loss washes over him.

For a time, it seemed that Harry would remain a baby forever—that the days of him being so small, so chubby, so theirs would go on for eternity. But he turned one. He grew out of so many clothes, each outgrown outfit marking a moment of change—quicker than they could even keep up with buying replacements. Parts of him took on more shape; the greens of his eyes started looking familiar, reminding James of a forest under a cloudless day. Every day, James sees the mirror of him growing before his eyes until one unexpected moment, he realises that his own expressions are no longer his, but Harry’s.

But… still. Still a baby. Still theirs. They were all he knew, all he ever called upon—kept them at night, gave them his firsts and received theirs. The world belonged to them, their lives inextricably theirs. But he turned two. He shot up and lost all the chubbiness. More clothes to discard, but now containing versions of him, changing old parts for new ones. Within the ever-deepening green of his eyes, awareness and consciousness lit up like something inside him flicked it on. Harry manifesting as himself. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again.

It never stopped. Another year. Another version—more Harry than their son. He saw more of the world and saw less of theirs. He made friends, liked things, didn’t like things, loved some, and hated others. Spilling from his lips were words and sounds that sounded like them but painted with his colours. In his unique way, he let them know who he was—Harry as himself but still so painfully theirs in some sparkling moments. In their cottage, they lived a dual life: raising a child who came from them, while also raising the person he was meant to become.

And it was wonderful.

But also alarming.

Death never fazed James, especially not during the war. But little does he know it has different faces—that loss is not just about losing life but also about living it. Within the landscape of grief are winding paths and forked roads. No, James has never feared losing his life—but losing Harry… losing what was once was to make way for what will be, for what is supposed to be, well…

That fucking terrifies him.

“It just feels so fast.”

Lily’s soft voice grounds him. He realises his heart is racing, trying to run from a reality they can’t escape. James swallows hard and turns from the classroom to his wife. He caresses her hands, trying to assure her and himself.

“I know.” His voice cracks.

Lily smiles at him tightly. “The past few weeks, my mind’s been on a loop about how one day… he’ll be gone.”

“Lily.” He squeezes her hands again. “He’ll come back to us—”

“No, I know—”

“By law, he has to.”

Lily snorts. Within the next few seconds, her expression shifts and twitches in an obvious effort not to laugh. But she snorts again, and something breaks. Full-bodied laughter bubbles from her lips—beautiful, like her, and so lovely. It’s lighter than the breeze blowing by, dancing with her fiery hair; within the trilling notes are hints of Harry’s laughter. James can’t help joining in—his is a little lower, slightly sombre, but still full of love and amusement.

He tapers off first, watching her ride the wave of her joy. The darker red of her lashes glints copper in the sunlight as little gems of unshed tears cling on, making them sparkle. James isn’t sure if they’re from laughter or more grief, but he doesn’t push anything about it. His wife is laughing, and for now, that’s enough.

“Well… one day he won’t.” Though she continues to smile, she gives him a pointed look.

“Then we go to him just like our parents do now.”

“James.”

He shrugs—always, always, he has an answer ready for her. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as he doesn’t leave her hanging. Lily knows that—it’s evident from how her smile becomes indulgent and longsuffering, but the edges remain soft and loving. Her shoulders sag defeatedly in such an obvious way it’s like she’s been fighting a battle all this time. James laughs when she makes a show of sighing.

“All right, you persistent prat,” she concedes. “You win—as always.”

“It’s going to be okay, Lily, I promise,” James grins. “It’s change.”

“I know.”

Lily leans in. James quickly rises on his knees to meet her halfway, happily receiving the kiss she presses on his lips. They linger, reluctant to break the bubble of comfort and assurance around them—James more than Lily. He cups her cheek with one hand, holding her in place as he deepens the kiss a little—mindful that they’re in a preschool and not in the privacy of their home. He breaks it eventually, but Lily doesn’t move away.

“Change is fine, I suppose,” she mumbles against his lips. “As long as it’s with you.”

He chuckles, pressing another kiss. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

“No, suppose not.”

Another chuckle. One last kiss. And James on his feet. As he does so, his gaze turns to the classroom—and a smile lights up.

“Look,” he breathes.

He doesn’t check to make sure she’s looking—it’s obvious from her happy gasp. The class seems to be doing an activity now. Harry sits at a table next to another child. They’re talking and shyly sharing crayons as they scribble. James watches, pride filling him to the brim, elation fluttering like butterflies in his body as he sees the delicate confidence in how Harry holds himself, the concentration on his face, and the tentative way he moves around his new friend.

This must be what his parents felt when he was going off on his own. And here he is now. Hope whispers, assuring him Harry will be okay. Eventually, that hope morphs into a quiet wish that Harry would glance back for reassurance, just one more time. But he doesn’t. Along the flutter of happiness within James is now the sting of melancholy and disappointment.

Yet, his smile widens, and he shakes his head at himself. He looks at Lily just as she looks at him. It doesn’t surprise him that the same disappointed but happy smile graces her beautiful face. Raising his brows inquisitively, he inclines his head towards the exit. She nods. He offers his hand, and she takes it. With one last look at Harry, James and Lily start making their way out.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“—Fine,” Lily says at last.

Sirius blinks and glances at her. She doesn’t offer any more, too casually keeping her attention to the cupcakes. She hands the freshly frosted cupcake to James, who takes it, reaching for the toppings and focusing on decoration as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever done. Eventually, Lily looks up to acknowledge Sirius’s scrutinising stare.

“It was fine,” she insists with a tight smile.

Sirius grins slowly. “You cried, didn’t you?”

Lily immediately looks indignant and opens her mouth to retort—

James sighs affectionately. “As much as Harry did—”

“Oi!” Lily picks up the spatula from one of the bowls and smears frosting on his cheek. “So did you!”

“Whoa—hey!”

He takes Lily’s spatula and covers her left cheek with one firm swipe. And then, it’s like a free-for-all. Noise erupts, followed by chaos—frosting flying, laughter and yelps filling the kitchen. It’s like being back in that preschool. Mary walks in, sees the chaos, and tries to slip out unnoticed. It doesn’t escape their notice. Sirius, the closest to her, drags her into the fray. Lily and James scoop frosting from the bowls as Mary struggles, but with Sirius holding her firmly, resistance is pointless.

“No, no, no—!”

She stops protesting the moment the frosting lands. With a sigh, she sags against Sirius, hands raised in surrender. Her eyes squeeze shut as she takes the impromptu make-over from her friends: Lily drawing a heart on her cheek, James adding more on her forehead, and Sirius finishing off with his signature amorphous blob on her nose.

“Great,” Mary deadpans, nodding with a conceding expression. She opens her eyes and sees the three looking very pleased with themselves. “Perfect. Thank you, very lovely.”

Sirius winks. “We believe in equal frosting opportunities, Macdonald.”

At that, they all laugh, including Mary, but she sobers up quickly with a hastily put-together disapproving look.

“Well, I’m here to frost some cupcakes.”

“Oh, shit, right,” Lily gasps.

Covered in frosting, they return to the island, which remains clean. Lily and James go back to what they were doing while Sirius picks up a cupcake from the plate and hands it to Mary after she picks up a bag of frosting. With a murmured word of thanks, she takes the cupcake and starts to frost it—perfectly. Sirius’ eyes can’t help twitching at that.

“Why are we doing this again?” Mary mumbles.

“Gideon’s coming around with his nephews tomorrow,” James answers.

“Oh, nice!”

#jilytober2024 #jilytoberfest2024 #jily #james potter #lily evans #harry potter #jple #james potter x lily evans #james x lily #marauders era #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #mus writes #mus writes fanfic

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jamiewintons · 2 years ago

Text

A Break in Routine (Jamie Winton/F!Reader)

Summary: Jamie’s staying late at work, but with the impending end of the world, all you want is to spend some time with him. Maybe this is your chance to fulfil one of your long-time fantasies?

Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Desk Sex. Teasing. Fingering. Unprotected Sex. Slightly Dominant Jamie. Mentions of Death/End of the World. Implied Breeding Kink.

A/N: The first of the prompt fills for my request event; the prompts were “Jamie Winton + Desk Sex + Awkward Flirting”. I must admit, the "awkward flirting" part of the prompt kind of got away from me, so I'm instead interpreting it as Jamie reacting to the flirting awkwardly. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Word Count: 2879

Jamie Taglist: @pink-booty-butts, @demontoucansam, @the-fandomgremlin, @glow-inthe-darkstarz, @definetlynotasmutaccount, @thingses-and-stuffses, @jamiewintonmybeloved @clydethesnake @bluedenimbabe @notwhateveriwasbefore (Please fill this form out if you want to be added!)

Well, this is the man I fell in love with, you think to yourself, idly playing with a loose thread hanging off of your skirt. You sigh, looking at him hunched over his desk, scribbling away at some paperwork. Some paperwork that really didn’t need to be done, considering that the world was going to end in approximately two weeks, and everything – this bank, all the paperwork, and the two of you – would be gone, like it had never existed in the first place.

But he loves his routine, and so he continues to show up to work every day even when no one else does. It makes him feel calmer in the face of death, he would insist.

You only wish that Jamie had instead decided to spend all of the time he had left with you, but at least he’d conceded today, and asked if you could stay by his side while he worked. Unfortunately, he decided he needed to stay late tonight, and as the evening became later and later, you grew increasingly impatient. Jamie was so focused on his work that he hadn’t noticed any of your exaggerated, exasperated sighs, which had been all a ploy to grab his attention.

This just won’t do. You’re determined that you’re going to tick at least one thing off of your bucket list before that comet destroys everything. So quietly, you stand up, removing your jacket and draping it over the back of your chair. Jamie doesn’t seem to notice that you had moved.

To demand his attention, you break the silence - which had been lingering for at least half an hour at this point - first by clearing your throat, and then by speaking up. “I think you should take a break,” you tell him, keeping your tone soft and relatively neutral. You don’t want him to know exactly what you’ve got in store for him just yet.

Jamie’s hand doesn’t cease moving, continuing to focus on the paperwork even as he speaks to you. You cross your arms over your chest, mildly irritated at not being his top priority. “I’m almost done, sweetheart. I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“You said that an hour ago, Jamie,” you say, with yet another sigh.

Now it’s Jamie's turn to sigh, and you can tell from his eyes that he feels guilty, but his gaze is still locked firmly on the paper in front of him. “I know. I’m really sorry, but I do mean it this time.”

“Well… this is important, and it can’t wait.” Finally deciding that it’s time to just take what you want, you put yourself between Jamie’s chair and his desk, blocking his view of his work. Your boyfriend looks up at you with confused eyes, only for you to lean towards him, your lips so close to his ear that they touch it when you begin to seductively whisper. “I want you to fuck me, Jamie.” Your hand rests on his thigh now, and you feel him tense beneath you. “On this desk. Right now.”

With how close you are to him, you can hear his breath quicken at your words. You smile to yourself, your hand taking a firmer grip on his thigh. Jamie blinks rapidly, trying to find the words to respond to what you’ve just said. “Love, we… we can’t do that…”

“Why not?” you ask him, and pull back to be able to look into his eyes as he considered his answer. His cheeks had gone that shade of pink that you loved, nearly the same shade as those pink boxers he always wore. You trailed your hand further up his thigh, getting dangerously close to his already hardening cock. “Come on, are you seriously telling me that you’ve never thought about it?”

Jamie stays silent, the blush on his cheeks only getting brighter and brighter. He awkwardly fidgets with the buttons of his jacket, trying not to betray the fact that he definitely has thought about it. When the day was getting far too stressful and he knew that you were the only one who could bring him any comfort. Or when you’d come into the bank to visit him, and his eyes couldn’t help but linger on the parts of your thighs he could see, uncovered by your short skirt. He’d certainly thought about it, but it was just that; a fantasy. One that shouldn’t be replicated in real life, owing to how utterly inappropriate it was to have sex at work.

“You haven’t thought of me kneeling down under your desk, unzipping your trousers and taking you into my mouth? No one else can know what I’m doing, so you have to try and keep a straight face when I’m making you feel so good?” Your hand leaves Jamie’s thigh, and his eyes flicker up to you, mourning the loss of contact. Instead, you shift his paperwork out of the way, and take a seat on his desk right in front of him. “You haven’t thought of sweeping everything off the desk and fucking me on top of it? Because I certainly have. Every time I step foot in this place. After I leave, I always find myself needing to, well… take care of business.”

Jamie takes a sharp inhale, overwhelmed by the fact that every time you visit him at work, you end up touching yourself to the thought of him fucking you on his desk. Part of him wonders how long you would wait to do it. Would you wait until you got back home? Or did you sometimes find yourself so turned on that you couldn’t help yourself but do it in your car, before you could even think about driving home? He swears under his breath as those images invade his mind. Already, his resolve is beginning to slip, and the paperwork he’d been trying to finish seems far, far away, to the point that he barely remembers it.

You know that Jamie is so close to giving in, and you’re so close to getting what you want. You cross one of your legs over the other, drawing his attention to your thighs, before speaking again. “Come on, honey, what’s the harm? It’s just the two of us here, the place is all locked up… you can do whatever you want to me, and no one will see or hear us.”

With that last push, something in Jamie’s eyes changes and before you even know it, he’s on his feet and pushing your legs apart so he can fit in between them. One hand tangles in your hair as he crashes his lips against yours with an almost bruising roughness, while the other rapidly slides up your thigh until it’s beneath your skirt and the tips of his fingers are millimetres away from touching your panties. You smile into the kiss, feeling Jamie’s very prominent erection, and you bring your hand down to brush your fingers against it through the fabric of his trousers. At this contact, Jamie deepens the kiss further, making you whimper and leaving you breathless.

Jamie’s just about to push you down onto the top of the desk, but suddenly he notices all of his work supplies and stationary still in their proper places sitting on the surface. “Hold on, I, uh… I need to get this out of the way.” To your surprise and horror, Jamie pulls away from you, starting to pick up all of his things and placing them meticulously on the other end of the desk. It baffles you to understand how he could even have the presence of mind to think about a few pens and sticky notes when you can barely think at all.

For a few moments, you simply watch him as he goes along, neatly rearranging things. It’d probably be funny if you weren’t so horny, but you were so you could hardly see the humour in it. When Jamie gets close enough to you, and he reaches out to grab the stapler that was beside your leg, you take hold of his wrist and stop him in his tracks.

“I’ve been waiting patiently all day,” you tell him, pouting. He opens his mouth to say something, probably about how it would take just a little bit longer for him to be done, you quickly cut him off. “None of this stuff is going to matter for much longer, Jamie. Please, don’t keep me waiting. I need you.”

Jamie hesitates. His eyes flicker between your face - as you look up at him with pleading eyes, flushed cheeks, and biting your bottom lip - and the stapler beside you. Then he looks again. And once more. After that, it only takes a few more seconds of consideration before he pulls you off the desk and brushes all of the remaining items off of it with a sweep of his arm. You barely even hear the sound of work supplies clattering onto the floor, before he lifts you onto the desk and pushes you back so that you’re laying down on the surface.

His lips are on yours in an instant, though they don’t linger there for long. Soon his kisses are trailing down to your jawline and then to your neck, where he sucks a mark into the sensitive flesh. All the while his hand slips back under your skirt, grabbing at your panties and pulling them down your legs. You do your best to lift your lower body up to make it easier to remove them, though it’s a little difficult with Jamie on top of you. He manages to get the pesky garment out of the way, letting them fall to the floor before his fingers are teasing at your already soaked entrance.

You moan loudly as one long finger slips inside of you, your hand gripping onto the fabric of Jamie’s shirt. A similar noise escapes Jamie when he feels how tight and wet you are, even around just a single digit. He begins moving his hand, eager to stretch you out so you’ll be able to take him. A second finger quickly joins the first, and before long, a third one does too. You’re squirming and whining as Jamie prepares you, wrapping your legs around him so tightly that it’s difficult for him to pull away.

He manages however, and once he’s withdrawn his fingers from you, you sit up a little so you can watch as he unbuckles his belt, before pulling his trousers and boxers down just enough to free his painfully hard cock from its confines. “Are you ready?” he asks, his voice slightly deeper than usual, and you immediately squeak out an affirmative answer, your eyes locked on his intimidating length. Once you’ve given your consent, he’s back between your legs and flipping your skirt up, before slowly, carefully pushing inside of you.

It stings a bit as you struggle to take him in - though that's true every time you have sex, regardless of how much time he puts aside to prepare you - and once he’s completely sheathed inside, you close your eyes tightly and grasp Jamie’s shoulder, adjusting to the feeling of being so ridiculously full. As you do so, Jamie presses his face against the side of yours, whispering soft, soothing praises in your ear as his large hands massage your thighs in an attempt to make you feel more comfortable. With each passing second, the pain fades away, and is replaced with a burning desire for him to just start moving already. For him to fuck you until you’re both pushed over the edge.

A quiet, strained “Jamie, please”, seems to get the point across, and he pulls back to look at your face, wanting to make sure that you’re ready. You nod, a whimper escaping you, and you brace yourself as both of his hands come to hold your hips.

Jamie starts off with slow, shallow thrusts - though they’re more than enough to have you gasping out loud, and scrambling to wrap your legs around his midsection once again. You tuck your arms beneath Jamie’s own, digging your fingernails into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

His lips find their way back to yours, your messy, open-mouthed kisses only being interrupted by the moans being pulled from both of you as Jamie begins to speed up the pace of his hips. With every thrust he’s managing to hit that sweet spot inside of you, making you squeeze him tighter with both your legs and hands.

Eventually the kisses become impossible to maintain, with how you’re practically gasping for air, so Jamie’s lips return to your neck, gently nipping and sucking and marking you even more. Now his pace is getting faster, rougher, and it’s making your head spin. You try to speak, to beg for him, but all that comes out is semi-coherent babbling; sobbed out curse words and the word “please” over and over.

Jamie knows that you’re close. He can feel it from the way you’re squeezing around him unbelievably tight, how your hands are struggling to find purchase against his shoulders but your grip is failing. All you need is that last little push and he has to do it quickly, because he knows that he’s going to come soon too, and he’ll be damned if he finishes before you’re satisfied.

He manages to pry himself from your grip and you whine at the loss of contact, but once he’s pulled back a bit and begun rubbing circles on your aching clit with his thumb, you’re no longer complaining. This combined with his deep, rough strokes has you coming hard within moments, bucking your hips up against his as your cunt pulsates around his cock. Jamie does his best to go on for as long as he can, to prolong your climax as much as possible, but soon enough it’s too much for him. He buries himself inside you as far as he can, his hips stilling with a long, breathless moan of your name as he fills you with his cum.

You feel almost like you’re seeing stars as you come down from your high, your chest moving up and down harshly. Jamie’s peppering soft kisses all over your face, murmuring sweet praises and pet names into your skin as he struggles to steady his breathing as well. Once you feel in control of yourself again you smile contentedly, bringing your hands up to run your fingers through his impossibly soft hair. You stay like that for who knows how long, just enjoying the feeling of being so close, so connected.

However it eventually becomes uncomfortable to remain in your current position, so Jamie has to slowly pull out, his legs still a little shaky from his orgasm. He looks down, and watches with barely contained interest as some of his cum leaks from your spent pussy, considering trying to push some of it back inside with his fingers - definitely because he was concerned about making a mess, and no other reasons - but decides against it on the grounds that you’re probably feeling too sensitive.

As he tucks himself back into his pants, Jamie feels worn out, but there’s no way he’s as exhausted as you look; nearly passed out there on his desk. Still, you give him that warm, loving smile, making him feel a little giddy, even after what you’ve just done. He has no idea why he’d been bothering with boring paperwork when he could be spending all of his time with you.

“I hate to say I told you so…” you begin, smugly but sweetly, and Jamie can’t help but let out a quiet laugh.

“But you did tell me so.” Jamie leans down to pick up your underwear, and when he’s standing back up again, he just happens to glance at his watch and his eyes widen. “Shit, I didn’t realise how late it was. We need to get home.”

He looks around at the mess he left when he swept everything off the desk and briefly considered tidying it up, but then his gaze returned to you. Who cares about a few bits of stationery and paperwork? All he wants to spend all the time he has left with you. In his last moments, was he going to be thinking about the bank and how he wished he’d cleaned up, or was he going to think of all the things he missed doing with you?

Jamie knows his answer, and he doesn’t know why he had been spending so much time and energy on something that in the grand scheme of things, didn’t even matter. With that thought on his mind, he picks up his bag, wanting to get you home and cook you a nice dinner. “Ready to head home, love?”

“Uh, Jamie?" you say, as you try and then fail to sit up. He's right there in an instant, tenderly stroking your arm as he looks at you with concern in his eyes. "I think you’re going to have to carry me to the car. Not sure if I can still walk after that.”

Jamie grins. “Of course.”

#jamie winton x reader #jamie winton imagine #jamie winton fluff #jamie winton smut #jamie winton fanfiction #ymata imagine #you me and the apocalypse imagine #ymata fanfiction #you me and the apocalypse fanfiction #x reader smut #x reader fic #x reader fanfiction #mari's stuff #nsft text

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starfall-spirit · 2 years ago

Text

With You Between My Arms

Some Romance Week prompts will be attached to a romantic song.

Day 6: Ed Sheeran’s Perfect

SJMRW Prompt: Anniversary (Loose Prompt Interpretation)

Ship: This song SCREAMS Feysand

Summary: Fifty years after their original mating ceremony, Feyre and Rhys decide to renew their mating vows in the company of their family and friends.

Side Note: Mention of next gen OCs. Minor spoilers if you haven't read my fic A Court of Twisted Wisdom. This is a feysand romance piece, but because this is so far in the future I wanted to tie tidbits about the expanding family in.

“This is so romantic!” I smiled. Viviane had turned out to be a complete sucker for romance. Rhys’ and my decision to renew our mating vows before our family and friends was something she couldn’t get over. “Things like this are becoming rarer and rarer. Of course you and Rhys would do something like this for your mating anniversary.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly have a formal bond acceptance and none of our family witnessed my appointment as High Lady either.” I ignored Mor muttering about her scheming cousin. “It’s high time we did something with the family around us.”

I slid into the dress I’d wear for the ceremony, adjusting the snug bodice. Lilac fabric spilled down my body, covered by a translucent overlay of white lace. Twin silver combs swept up sections of hair on either side of my head so my face was in clear view.

Typical to the family dynamic, Rhys and I had made our guest list, telling them to wear whatever the hell they wanted. Knowing my mate as well as I did I could already picture him in a formal suit, black with silver threading at the lapels.

He’d be standing there—waiting for me to meet him with that quiet smile playing at his lips. That smile that was just for me.

High Lady.

Salvation.

Saving grace.

Mate.

His mate. His equal. His everything.

Feyre is the most beautiful High Lady.

Feyre is the most delightful High Lady.

Feyre is the most cunning High Lady.

I scoffed, throwing my mental shields into place. “Mind games?” the High Lady of Winter asked. Oh yes, she had most definitely held Kallias to Rhys' example.

“Always,” I grumbled. Mor was reading a scrap of paper, passing it off to me with a smirk. “Apparently I wound him, shielding my mind,” I relayed to Viviane.

Poor baby High Lord. Leave the ladies alone, I wrote back, watching the scrap vanish.

Temptation prevailed when the paper reappeared despite my command.

Feyre is the best lover a male could wish for.

Viviane glanced over my shoulder to read it. “Oh, he’s terrible.”

“Who?” I heard my niece ask as she entered—our last arrival for endless reasons, I'm sure. Though she was only approaching forty, she had found her mate at a considerably young age for the fae and taken on many responsibilities in his family's territory.

"Your uncle, of course. Fifty years together and the flirting is just as terrible as it was in the beginning. It's been a while since you came home. Is everything okay in Orynth?"

She smiled, hugging me. "Just really busy lately." Now a princess-a future queen, that seemed to be a common answer for her. The winter holidays in Terrasen seemed to be just as significant as those in the Night Court.

"And is everything okay with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Other than dealing with my insufferably overbearing mate and in-laws, you mean?" Her hand slid over her slightly swollen stomach. She was about fifteen years older than I had been when I was pregnant with Nyx. "Everything is on track, as far as the healers there can tell. They cleared me for crossing to Prythian whenever I need to until I'm closer to delivering."

Her abnormal gifts had become widely known among the citizens of Terrasen, as well as a select few foreign friends of the Galathynius family.

"By the way, I'm here with a ten minute warning," Ayla said. "Orlon and I ran into Dad when we arrived."

"Because he's such a stickler for time," Nesta muttered, cleaning up the minimal cosmetics behind me.

I grinned. "Well, ladies, we can be."

~~~~~

Human, fae, or anything in between, my mate was a vision.

Over the years we'd spent together, Feyre had worn each and every gown my mother had made for her-then wore them again. Somehow this one had been overlooked. Lace-covered lavender-likely a teaser to what lay beneath-pooled down from the form-fitting bodice. The color was lovely against her skin tone, paler than usual as late autumn training demanded extra coverage with the coming chill.

"High Lady," the priestess murmured as Feyre joined us, just glancing at our gathered friends and family.

The Inner Circle. Our brothers and sisters. Cousin. Dearest friend.

Our children and theirs.

Gwyn and Emerie.

Helion, Kallias, Vivian.

Our circle had broadened these fifty years.

I think we've given Viviane another thing to pester poor Kallias about, Feyre joked. She's a hopeless romantic.

I smirked. Good.

The priestess opened the ceremony, entwining our hands in a white ceremonial cloth which had been embroidered with symbols recognized through our court and the entirety of Prythian as symbols that bind. Purity, loyalty, honor, promises.

"Your vows, High Lord."

I held Feyre's gaze, running my thumbs across the backs of her hands. "We didn't have an easy beginning." She snorted. "There were difficult moments. Moments of a seemingly endless unknown. But the one constant was you. My mate. My anchor. My council in ways the others around me couldn't quite be. Someone who saw me—every kind and cruel part of me—and never shied.

"My salvation. I prayed for a thousand years with you, Feyre. For an eternity to have and hold. Honor and cherish. I don't know if that will ever be enough."

She swallowed, silver lining her eyes.

"You were insufferable," she blurted. Whether that was part of her rehearsed vows or an impulse, I didn't know. Those gathered got a kick out of it either way. "You still are, actually. Utterly shameless." I grinned. "And I love you more for it. For bringing me out of the dark, picking up the pieces.

"And you're right. Eternity won't be long enough. Here's to facing the next unknown. Together."

Before the priestess could grant me permission I had shifted my hands beneath the loosely wrapped fabric, tugging my mate against me and kissing her for all to see, taking the first step to the next unknown.

~~~~~

Tag List: Shoot me a message/ask/comment if you want me to add/remove you.

@sjmromanceweek // @reverie-tales //@faeriequeensuriel //@pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @goddess-aelin

#sjmromanceweek2023 #feysand #acotar #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #vow renewal #day 6 #rhys #feyre #anniversary

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