#The way he kept on holding her hand and both of them looking at each other 🦋🦋🫶🏻 this scene made butterflies in my heart 🦋🍁❤️
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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 day ago
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NFL Rafe x popstar
Please make them be taylor and travis
While I did pull inspiration from Taylor and Travis, this is not a retelling of their story. Let me know if you want other parts for this AU. I have so many ideas
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For weeks, you and Rafe had been planning your presence at one of the games — and to announce your relationship to the media at the same time. Unfortunately, your schedules never aligned. You were busy with the tour, singing your heart out each weekend in a different state. Touring was your favorite part of your career — seeing all the fans, meeting some of them, singing and dancing on stage. But it sometimes got in the way of your personal life. 
This weekend was going to be your first Sunday off since the beginning of the tour, and Rafe happened to have a home game. 
Your respective teams warned you of the backlash this would bring to both of your careers. The playboy quarterback and the popstar who writes breakup songs about her many exes. The media will have a creative blast with the headlines.
‘’Are you sure? Because I could set you up and sneak you in and nobody would know you’re there. My team—’’
You shook your head, interrupting him. ‘’No. I want to walk through the front doors. No special treatment.’’
It was kind and considerate of him to offer the option, but keeping your presence at the stadium a secret had downsides too. Were the rumors of you being at the game come out, the media would paint you as a diva.
‘’I know what I’m throwing myself into. It will inevitably draw attention to me — to us —, but any way we decide to reveal our relationship to the public will, Rafe,’’ you explained, reminding him that there was no escape to headlines. ‘’My publicist is ready to deal with the media, and so am I.’’
Rafe was still hesitant. A part of him wanted to look up from the field and see you in one of the suites, dressed in his team color — wearing his number — and cheering for him. It would give him extra motivation to score. But the other was thinking of all the nasty headlines and the hate you would get. You were strong, but football fans could be ruthless. 
‘’Just because we wanted a private relationship doesn’t mean it has to be a secret. I love you, Rafe.’’ You reached for him, holding his hand in yours. ‘’I want to be supporting my boyfriend at his big game…like all of the WAGs do,’’ you added, already thinking of the cute outfits you could wear.
Every move you ever made was calculated. From the car pulling into the Stadium’s parking lot to the security team escorting you to Rafe’s suite. You even practiced your walk pace — fast, but slow enough to allow the horde of sports reporters and paparazzi to take pictures. You wanted them to see you, to show the world that you were there. 
Bright lights flashed as you walked through the lobby, the click of cameras echoing off the stadium walls like distant fireworks. You kept your chin high, lips glossed in your signature shade, and your outfit — a blue blouse that matched the team colors and a mini skirt — was already trending online before you reached the elevators.
Security guided you past the crowd, up to the suite level, where heavy doors separated the chaos below from the calm above. Inside, the room was practically empty. You recognized a few of his friends from pictures and videos on his private social media, and his sister Sarah, whom you had met at his house before. It was nice to see a familiar face. 
‘’Sarah, hi!’’ you greeted, smiling at her. 
You stayed by her side through the game, watching from the front row of the suite. As expected, your face had made it to the big screens. The crowd’s reaction was a mix of gasps, cheers, and some scattered boos — nothing you hadn’t anticipated.
From your spot in the suite, you had the perfect view of him on the field — focused, fast, and commanding. He hadn’t looked your way yet, but you could tell by the way he carried himself that he knew you were there. Knew you were watching.
When halftime came, Rafe blew a kiss toward the suite you were in. You felt like you were sixteen all over again, dating the boy from the football team. 
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skyrim-forever · 23 hours ago
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WIP Wednesday
Hi everyone I'm posting this while it's still technically my Tuesday, because I'm gonna be busy all tomorrow morning. Thank you @chiqita and @heavy-metal-dick for tagging me
Tagging: @silly-little-diary @dirty-bosmer @sulphuricgrin @pocket-vvardvark @changelingsandothernonsense @theoneandonlysemla @friend-of-giants @scholarlyhermit @ladytanithia @firefly-factory @umbracirrus @labskeever Sorry if I forgot anyone and it might take me longer to get to your responses because the stiffness in my hands makes it harder to type. But I do love and want to read them <3
I almost wasn't going to post this week but I managed to add some to Chapter 10 of Changing Tides 9 isn't out yet but it's fine I'll get there but have some Visdros and, well whatever in Oblivion Marianna is to him :P
Gentle, shallow breaths kept the pain at bay. Whatever she had done had been effective, the fact he still stands a testament to that; Odile kept him out of a watery grave. Now that they have made it to the city, she will likely part ways with him. To this, the mer claims indifference but it is merely a surface level claim as though he does not even utter it internally, the existential fear of having to handle things on his own take hold. Almost choking him, he’d never been alone. Not truly alone, his extended family scattered throughout their estate and of course his elder brother always near, always looking out for him. But, he would be alone now. Everyone would eventually end up alone. Turning away from the door for a moment, Visdros eyes the barkeep. The gold coins in his hands clink together as he drops them on the bar top, preparing to sacrifice the little funds he had in the name of relief when he hears a voice. One not heard in years but nevertheless, familiar. Like his grief, inescapable, blunt. 
“You look like shit.”
The Maormer does not need to turn around to know that she is addressing him. Despite all the patrons in the bar, each unusual but anyone’s contemporary standards, it is clear she intends to speak to him for she utters the declaration in Maormeri. However, it is not until he does turn, his eyes finding the doorframe he had been looking at only moments ago, does he realize two things. The first of which is that he was indeed correct. The voice belongs to exactly who he thought it did: Marianna Maro. A captain in her own right following the death of her mother. She was careful, cunning, and unfortunately for him, among others, very beautiful. Skin rich and touched by the sun itself, her dark curls flowing wildly; now cropped to shoulder length and sporting a few strands of silver. It is different from how he remembers her, as is the eyepatch she’s sporting. What is the story there? Even with the wound, the years have been kinder to her than him. The second thing he realizes is a feeling within him, one for now he mistakes as relief for any known face is welcome. At least he would not be alone if she were here, pushing aside memories of how they met nearly two decades ago. A bar fight between their respective crews, prior to her taking command and one that ended with several concussions, bloodied glass, and the two of them stealing the innkeeper’s bed for an hour. Touching his eyebrow as she approaches him, Visdros swears he can still feel a piece of the bottle she broke over his head, skin long growing over it. Healers were hard to come by both at sea and at port, he was relieved to have Odile now. 
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serensama · 2 days ago
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A Word with Friends: Of Houses, Hearts and Hidden things
WOOHOO I'M EARLY(ish)
But full transparency, I had 95% of this written out previously for another story I had planned, but it just works so well going into the new phase of this story, I just thought- WHY NOT SQUISH EM TOGETHER? :3 At the very least, it's not super long, just 2k-ish long! Thank you @hedwigoprah for this game- so much love for you honey <3
Read on Ao3
This weeks word is
Métier/Metier:
• Any activity that is pursued as a trade or profession; a calling • An activity to which a person is particularly suited; a forte
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“You will look out for her, right? You haven’t just abandoned her now that things have gotten hard, have you, Viago?” 
The Fifth Talon looked over the younger man with contempt. How dare the damned brat assume anything about what he was doing with his Crow? With his charge? Like he was the one who had spent most of her life doing everything in his power to ensure her safety. Like five years of fucking her in the dark was equal to fifteen spent polishing her into something sharp, something cultured. He hadn’t just been her lover once. He had always been everything else as well.
“And what of you, Dellamorte? What do you plan to do now that Lilya has been forced to flee because of you? What protections do you think I can give to a Crow who stepped too far out of line? She is lucky she still lives.”  Illario pulled at Viago’s arm to turn him around, both men glaring daggers at each other, both blaming the other and themselves for the danger Lilya was in. 
“You are her Talon, more than that, I know what she means to you, just like you know what she means to me!” Illario spat, the usual confident veneer stripped off of him. He was being honest, sincere, and for some reason, that pissed Viago off all the more. “I am… working on what I can do for her. There is something I am unravelling, and it will take time to do so. In the meantime, do I have your word that you still have eyes on her? That she’s not completely alone?” 
He wanted to lie, to kick him out and let him suffer without an answer. He deserved it. But if the same thing happened to Teia and someone from her House refused to give him anything, he’d probably look as pathetic as the man before him.  “She has never been alone for even one day in my House, Dellamorte. There are always eyes on her, even if my hands are bound.” 
Illario sighed, his shoulders relaxing at Viago’s words. 
“Thank you.” 
“I do not do this for you.” 
“Still. Thank you. When I know more… so will you. Until then, may your eyes never lose sight of her.” 
Viago laughed darkly, unable to hide his loathing. “The only time they did, was when it came to you. I do not make mistakes twice.” 
---
Salle, 9:34
Viago had been sent to the slave markets to select the most promising recruits for the Fifth Talon to review, the first look granted only after the slavers’ hands were properly greased. That part had already been taken care of. Not by him, of course. The Talon had seen to the bribes; Viago was only there to ‘sift through the merchandise’ and make the hard calls. He could have used it against him. Caterina Dellamorte wouldn’t have needed much convincing to act on what she likely already suspected. A well-placed word, a quiet report, and the Fifth Talon’s career - and life - might start to come undone. But Viago didn’t want power like that. He didn’t need to steal it. He was already circling the seat. It would be his in time, not because he clawed his way to the top, but because everyone would see that there was no one else more suited to hold it, and they would put him there freely.
This time, the damned slaver talked too much. He had not stopped preening over how he had gotten some amazing specimens for them, and that he was going to love the ‘pretty yellow rabbits, caught for them special’. Babbling on about five knife-ears in particular that were of note, “kept sep’rate to make sure they don’t catch sickness or scars.” He unlocked the door, called for the slaves to line up, then he swore and let out a wet gurgle before dropping to his knees. A metal bar jutted from his throat like a grotesque handle, blood pulsing out in thick bursts as he crumpled. He fell to his knees, Viago watching him die with a dispassionate look on his face, his eyes quick to scan up and locate the assailant. He had expected to see a row of young elves scatter and hide behind their cots; instead, there was one girl in the centre of the room, with dirt and footprints all over her smock and arms. He checked her hands to see if she had any more weapons, and breathed easier when he saw her raise them up to the side of her head.  
Other bodies littered the floor, three other guards with stab wounds in their abdomen, one more had the same length of sharpened metal driven through his throat. He looked around the room for what they could have possibly taken the metal from; their cots were made of timber, and the only other source could be… 
Viago pointed at the elf and told her to stay with what he hoped was the sternest expression he could muster. He looked up at the high window in the corner of the room, which should have been barred off, only to find a gaping hole in the middle, the ends tinged with flecks of frost.
Which meant either one of the elves who escaped was a mage… or the girl beside him- 
He managed to jump back as the little wench leapt on him, desperate to get her hands on his face. Viago managed to kick her squarely in the chest, the small girl forced back into the wall, air pushed out of her lungs.
“Cazzo- stay down, brat!” he spat out, eyes throwing daggers at her as she coughed, glaring right back at him with matched intensity.  He looked over the corpses of the three guards who were killed before his arrival, trying to figure out why there wasn’t more blood on the bodies or on the floor. The girl keeled over and lay on the ground, watching him as she gasped for air - probably punctured a lung - her rage-filled eyes slowly widening with a tinge of fear as he inspected the bodies closer.  
She wanted to touch me, she could have thrown one of the metal bars at me and tried her luck, but she lunged for me without a weapon…   Viago pulled out his blade and cut away their shirts, revealing odd markings on their arms and chests- angry, red veins that branched out toward their hearts. He rotated their wrists and found blackened, charred skin carefully hidden under their sleeves. He heard her move and looked back, only to find her scooting herself into the corner as far away from him as possible. Standing up easily, he closed the distance between them and allowed two body lengths of space to remain- he was sure he could beat back the chit, but he wasn’t going to tempt luck.  “You are a mage.”  She looked up at him but said nothing, her laboured breathing the only sound in the room.  “This was you. All you. I can see the footprints of the other children; you let them use you like a ladder to climb up to the window, which you cleverly froze to break off the bars for them to escape from. But ripping the bars off wouldn’t have been quiet, so you attracted the attention of a guard. You electrocuted him. And the others that came along when he screamed out. You could have tried to escape, but either you didn’t have enough time, or you stayed back to ensure that the others had more time to run away. Is that right?”  Her top lip curled into a snarl.  
“You then stabbed the men and threw the sharp bar at our slaver friend here, to throw off the scent that you were much more dangerous than you let on. Without any more weapons, you would be seen as less of a threat; meanwhile, the greatest weapon was just you all along. That is almost impressive, Little Bird.”  
She spat at him, blood staining her lips.  
Ah, yes, definite punctured lung.  
“How about this then, Little Bird? I will not give chase to the others who came in with you. I won’t ask for the other people to hunt them down. But in order to save them, you come with me, without trouble. I will take you away from here and you will lead a better life, for whatever it is worth. It will not be easy. It will be dangerous. And your future will be bathed in blood. But at least you could have a future. Nod if you agree. If you don’t, I’ll just slit your throat now and let you die quickly as thanks for an intriguing night.”  
Her bright green eyes filled with tears as she thought over her choices. Even as she despaired at her limited options, the fire behind those eyes still burned.  
“Not… circle,” she rasped, coughing up more blood. “Rather… die.”  
Viago threw one of his handkerchiefs to her and motioned for her to clean up her face. “You’re not going to go to the circle. You’re to be a Crow.” He noticed how her brows raised slightly, but otherwise gave no other indication of her feelings at being recruited to become an assassin. “Can you stand? Good. Get up. There is a healer waiting for us not far from here. Sometimes the candidates have been roughed up and need a little attention before final approval from the Talon. Come then, Little Bird. Walk ahead of me now.”  She stood, her breath coming out in soft rattles. She offered him his handkerchief back, which he told her to keep; there was no way in the Maker’s name he would take back that bit of material. Not when she could try to electrocute him within that distance. They walked slowly, Viago giving her directions as they went, pleased that she did not try to run away or attack him, though, given her breathing, he doubted she’d get very far with either.  
After quietly walking the back streets of Salle at twilight, she paused and leaned against an empty merchant’s table, her breaths even more shallow than when they left.  “It’s not far now- maybe another 100 yards at most. Can you make it?” he asked, trying not to sound concerned.  
“Yes, just… let me… catch my… breath.”  “You have a minute, Little Bird. I do not want to be out here longer than necessary.”  “Stop… calling… me. Little… Bird. My name… is-”
"I don’t care what your name is. After you are healed and sent to training, and if you survive, then you can tell me your name. For now, you are just Little Bird, understood?” he clarified, a harsh edge to his tone. He didn’t want to add that even though she showed promise from the onset, he didn’t need to remember the name of every possible fledgling he picked up, only to learn that someone else cut them down. It wasn’t his métier, after all. This hand-holding, this shepherding of fledglings through blood and bone toward something better. Poison, politics, blades in the dark - that was the work he was meant for. Talon, of course. Or King, perhaps, if he truly desired it. But not a caregiver. Not a mentor. It was part of their lives as one rose in the Crows; he understood that, but it wasn’t something he had to accept without some level of distaste.  
The Little Bird wheezed at him, but he could tell it was meant to be a scoff, a noise of derision and dissent that would either help keep her alive in the Crows, or guarantee her a swift death. 
Antony, a healer on retainer of the de Riva house, gave him an unimpressed look when they finally arrived, his hands glowing immediately at the sight of the slightly hobbling, panting kid.  “Mierda, Viago! What did they do to her?” he asked, hurriedly getting to work.  “The lungs are my fault. I kicked her.”  “... Really, Viago? She can’t be more than thirteen!”  “Fifteen.”  Viago looked down at the girl, whose breathing had already evened out as she sipped on the healing draught the healer handed to her. “What was that?”  “I’m fifteen years old,” she said, peering up at him. “Or is that something you also don’t care about?”  Oh, she was going to be an interesting one if she wasn’t killed off.  
Viago’s mouth twitched; the Little Bird almost made him smile.
---
Softly tagging: @jenn2d2 @rookamell @woundedsoul12 @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @himluv @davrinsleftpectoral @the-sparrohawk @seaglassmelody @talkmagically @kabsey @aetherflowers @thrilmalia @jukkaricity @selennes @serstolas @brennacedria @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @gingervitus @fireheartedpup @introvertedfangrl @hightowerqueen and anyone else who wants to play!!! <3
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allthingsfangirl101 · 1 day ago
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From Now On – Glen Powell
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I took the test several times. Even after a doctor confirmed it, I still couldn't accept it. To be honest, that night constantly replayed in my mind. My dreams were filled with what we did that night. My thoughts were filled with how he made me feel.
As amazing as that night was, it ruined a lifelong friendship. Well, maybe it didn't ruin it, but it definitely complicated things.
Glen and I have been best friends since we were 5. We were inseparable until he got his first acting role. When his career first started, he'd come home in between projects.
As it started to kick off, he didn't come home as much. When he did, he made sure to make time for me. He'd come over and we'd spend all day watching movies, ordering food, and catching up. We'd talk all night until we both fell asleep in each other's arms.
The last time Glen was in town, he was dealing with his most recent breakup. I tried to help him not think about things, but it didn't work. So, we went to the nearest bar and drank for several hours. When we could barely walk, we got in a cab and went back to my place. Somewhere along the way, we didn't hold back.
I remember everything about that night. I remember how it felt when we kissed. I remember how soft his hands were as they explored my body. I remember the chills he caused as his lips touched my skin. I remember the moment we both gave in.
I also remember waking up to his phone ringing. I remember the feeling of my stomach sinking when he got out of bed and started getting dressed. I remember how I felt as I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.
I remember him walking back to the bed and sitting on the edge next to me. I remember how gently he lifted my chin. I remember how he held onto my chin as he leaned in and delicately kissed me. I remember him promising to call me.
I don't, however, remember him calling me.
A few weeks went by, and I started to feel weird. I was nauseous, uncomfortable, and easily irritated. After I was late, I panicked. I ran to the nearest pharmacy and bought three tests. Even after going to my OBGYN, I still didn't fully believe it.
I was pregnant with Glen's baby.
After I found out - and I finished freaking out - I tried calling him. I called him over a dozen times. I left messages, begging for him to call me back. But he never did. So, I decided to do this on my own.
Seven months after Glen and I crossed the line we can never uncross, I was walking out of my latest baby check-up when I bumped into someone I was kind of hoping I wouldn't see.
"Y/N?"
I held my breath as I turned around. The second I did, Leslie's eyes widened. "Oh my. You're pregnant! Congratulations! I didn't know that you were dating anyone. I thought. . ."
I subconsciously put my hands on my belly. I cleared my throat and looked away from her.
"Y/N," she whispered as she took a step closer to me. "How far along are you?"
"7 months," I whispered.
"Oh," she gasped. I watched as her eyes widened. "It's his, isn't it?" I opened and closed my mouth, unable to answer her. "Y/N, are you pregnant with Glen's baby?"
I felt like I couldn't breathe when she asked me that. I didn't have to say anything. The tears in my eyes must have given it away. Instead of waiting for me to answer, she took a step forward and wrapped me in her arms.
"Does he know?" She asked with her arms still wrapped around me.
"I tried to tell him," I said through my soft sobs, "but he never called me back!"
When the rougher sob escaped, she tightened her arms around me. "Let's sit down," she whispered as she led me to a nearby bench. Once we sat down, she kept her arms wrapped around me.
"I'm sorry he never called you back," she whispered. "Do you want me to call him and tell him to call you or. . ."
"No!" I gasped, quickly pulling out of our hug. "Please, no. Leslie, you can't call your brother. You can't tell him. Please. Promise me you won't tell him. It shouldn't come from you. It should come from me. And I know I should've worked harder to get through to him. But eventually, I had to stop focusing on chasing Glen and start focusing on the baby. Right? I'm a mother now. My baby needs to be my whole world, have my whole focus. Even. . . Even if I have to do this alone."
"You don't," she gently cut me off as she grabbed my hands. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. Even though Glen is away a lot for work, you've got all of us. You're not alone."
"I'm not?" I asked, my voice breaking. She reached up and gently moved some hair out of my face.
She rewrapped her arms around me. "You're not alone," she whispered as she started rubbing my back. "We've got you, honey."
"I know I need to tell Glen," I whimpered. "It's just been so long. He's going to be so angry with me for not telling him."
"No, he won't," she gently pushed. "Glen could never be angry with you. He might be upset for a little while that he didn't know right away, but he'll be excited."
"Excited?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"Of course," she chuckled. "Honey, the one thing my brother wants more than anything is a family."
"But with me?"
"Y/N, you don't know this," she said with a smile, "but Glen has loved you all his life."
"He what?" I stuttered.
"He's loved you all his life," she repeated. "He's been in love with you since you got scared during the haunted house in middle school, and you clung onto him. He told me that he felt like your hero that night. And he didn't want to ever not feel like your hero. So, I know that when he finds out that you're pregnant with his baby, he is going to be so excited."
"You really think so?"
"Oh, honey," she sighed. "I know so." She paused before gently adding, "But you need to tell him."
"I know," I whispered. "And I will. I just. . . Have to find the right words."
"And when you do?" She asked. I looked at her, well aware that what I was about to say wasn't as easy as it sounded. She knew it, too. She probably also knew that it would take a lot of courage to do it. Courage that I wasn't sure I had.
"I'll call him."
* * * * *
I didn't fully believe Leslie when she said she wouldn't tell her brother about the baby. It was clear that she had, in fact, called her brother when I answered the door a few days later, thinking it was the pizza deliveryman. It wasn't.
"Glen," I gasped. I was frozen as I stared at him. His eyes slowly fell to my 7-month belly. When he looked back up at me, there were tears in his eyes.
"Hi," he chuckled awkwardly. "I know it's been a while, but Leslie told me I really needed to talk to you. She kept pushing me to call you. I thought she was crazy and overthinking something. Clearly. . . Clearly, she was right to be so pushy."
I held my breath as he slowly reached forward. The tears burned my eyes as he placed his hands delicately on my belly.
"Is it a girl or a boy?"
His question was soft, so soft it was almost a whisper.
"A son," I answered. "You have a son, Glen."
His eyes lit up. In the blink of an eye, he let go of my belly and pulled me into his chest. The second I was wrapped tightly in his arms, the tears started streaming down my face.
"I'm so sorry, Glen," I sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry."
Glen gently shushed me. Without unwrapping his arms from around me, he led me back inside. He closed the door behind us and made sure to lock it. I was still silently sobbing as he led us over to the couch.
We sat down and finally pulled out of our tight embrace. He reached up to move some hair out of my face, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I was all of a sudden hit with all the guilt I've been pushing down for the last 7 months. And it felt like I was drowning.
"There are some things I think we need to talk about, Y/N," he tried to joke. I closed my eyes, struggling to calm myself down. Glen gently grabbed my chin and made me look at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried," I said, my answer getting caught in my throat.
"What do you mean?" He asked, slowly letting go of my face. 
"I called you," I confessed. "I called you right after I took the test. Well, tests. And then I called you again after I went to my OBGYN. I left you a lot of messages, begging you to call me back. The only reason I didn't leave it in a voicemail or a text was because it wasn't something you should hear that way."
"Oh," he whispered as he looked away. Without looking at me, he reached over and grabbed my hands. He squeezed as he looked back up at me and mumbled, "I suddenly remember all the missed calls I never returned. I am so sorry, Y/N. I never meant for you to go through any of this alone. I should've called you back. Please forgive me."
"Of course," I stuttered. "Wait. . . You're not. . . You're not angry with me?"
"Angry with you?" He repeated. "Why would I be angry with you, darling?"
"Because. . . I found out I was pregnant and didn't tell you."
"To be fair," he smiled, "you tried. I was the one who forgot to call you back. But I promise, from now on, I will never forget to call you back. In fact, I will make sure I always answer your phone calls."
He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to mine. I grabbed his face and deepened the kiss. Silent tears streamed down my face as we kissed - something I have wanted to do since the morning he left 7 months ago.
Glen broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. I smiled when he slightly rubbed his nose against mine. When he leaned back, I saw sadness in his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"Were you really going to raise our baby alone?"
"Well, yes," I shrugged. "I didn't really have a choice."
"You do," he said, his voice nothing but serious. "And so do I."
"Glen. . ."
"You have been pregnant on your own for 7 months," he continued, "but you're no longer alone. From now on, you are not alone."
"That's good to hear," I whispered. He smiled as he reached up and cupped my face.
"Y/N," he whispered. "I love you. I always have. And now, I love our son. Which means you and our son are going to be the reason I am never going to be unreachable. I will always be here for you both."
"I love you, too," I whispered as I reached up and gently grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still holding my face. I put my other hand gently on my belly. Glen soon placed his free hand on top of mine. "We both do."
Without letting go, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I let out a small moan as I kissed him back. That moan turned into a giggle when he gently laid us down. He laid next to me, with his hand delicately on my belly. Before we could get too into the kiss, the doorbell rang.
"Who could that be?" Glen pouted as he broke the kiss. "And how dare they interrupt a family reunion?"
"It's the pizza I ordered before you got here," I chuckled.
"Oh," he smirked. "I could eat. What'd you order us?"
"This baby has done nothing but crave meat lovers."
Glen laughed as he stood up. He didn't go to the front door right away. Instead, he leaned down and kissed my belly.
"That's my boy."
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cherrysugcr · 2 days ago
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Even as he tried to keep his focus on the newspaper in his hands, Luke couldn't stop himself from glancing in her direction now and again. Although her memories of their relationship has escaped her mind Millie's mischievous personality was a constant. He could tell she had something in mind from the way she kept eyeing him. So when she stood up from the table he didn't even look up as she settled herself in his lap. This felt all too familiar for him, to spend their mornings entwined in each other. Without looking at her yet his hand slide over her leg, enjoying the sensation of holding her close. After a minute he puts down his paper to give her his full attention. "You," he starts in a whisper as both hands are on his body now as he looks into her eyes. "Are not going to make me break my promise. I do not break promises," he implores pressing their foreheads together. "Even for beautiful little minxes who use their sexy selves for evil." Luke looks down to her lips before lightly kissing them. "That doesn't mean we can't be naughty sitting right here or somewhere else if you have the patience. Or would you prefer to just be close," he questioned brushing her hair behind her shoulders as his fingers delicately traced over her neck.
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On the one hand, Millie was almost impressed and amused by his display of control. Now, on the other hand, the part that had her pouting was extremely disappointed she wouldn't be seeing this lack of control he was speaking of. For a long moment, she was silent as she considered him, carefully cutting up her slice of French toast and popping it into her mouth, but there was no hiding the definite mischief or plotting that lingered in her gaze. For all the confusion and conflict she was feeling, it was easy to lean back into her mischievous side, to allow her teasing habits to come to the surface. When she was done chewing, she purposely set her utensils down and stood up on her feet, and in a few short strides, she made her way around the table to where he sat, and with ease, threw a leg over his thighs to straddle his lap, her hands braced on his shoulders as she smiles innocently at him. "There we go."
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maomaojinshi · 1 year ago
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The way he kept on holding her hand and both of them looking at each other 🦋🦋🫶🏻 this scene made butterflies in my heart 🦋🍁❤️ Jinshi and Maomao are made for each other
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lxnarphase · 8 months ago
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𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !
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❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k
❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk
❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!
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the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.
after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.
you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.
it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.
there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?
well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.
you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.
it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.
has...has he always looked that handsome?
he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.
"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.
"mm."
slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door
"good."
dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.
he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.
you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.
once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.
his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.
modest, yet sensual.
"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...
you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.
"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"
it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.
a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...
it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.
"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"
such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.
It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.
but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.
the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.
his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.
calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.
even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.
"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.
the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.
neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.
sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?
they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.
'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.
however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.
"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.
"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.
he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.
"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."
with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.
you were this aroused just from...talking?
the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.
you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!
you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.
but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!
a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.
if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.
no true man of god would do such a thing.
"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."
giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.
something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.
so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.
a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.
he's so fucked.
"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.
the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.
this is what it felt like?
this is what he waited for?
fuck, it felt...it felt so good.
too good.
for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.
little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.
his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.
no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.
the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.
meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.
the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.
the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.
"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.
“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.
but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.
nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.
look at her.
those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.
so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.
"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"
messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.
he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.
how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?
doesn't she know she's giving into lust?
doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?
"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.
nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.
but he's lying to himself.
he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.
the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.
"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."
he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.
his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.
you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.
“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”
be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.
his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.
the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.
fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.
but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.
breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.
with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.
this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.
"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.
"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.
his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."
a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,
"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.
if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.
"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."
he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.
"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.
his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.
nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.
"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."
that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.
it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.
no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.
the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.
you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.
"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.
he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.
"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."
with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.
the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.
your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.
not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.
"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.
you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.
"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.
no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—
"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.
"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"
with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.
it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.
a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.
oh.
you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...
his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.
it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.
"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."
but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.
"k-kento, that's nasty!"
all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.
clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.
but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.
"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.
his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?
"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."
may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.
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all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work
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luvyeni · 6 months ago
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MAKE HER TAP OUT ♱. ── ( 엔하이픈 )
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it’s too much , but you can take it?
𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 엔하이픈 x fem!reader )  ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. word count. 1k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !
𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ did this with skz so i decided to it with enha … also this has jungwon so … links are nsfw
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﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 희승 : heeseung ﹚ .ᐟ
heeseung being so deep inside you that you began to shake; but does he stop? absolutely not , he goes deeper , watching you shake like crazy; it turns him on even more. “fuck baby.” he chuckled against your ear , he skin warm against yours. “you’re shaking so much.” he pressed your back into a deeper arch. “so-so deep.” you stuttered , his hand came from behind , and around your neck. “so deep inside your pretty little cunt you’re shaking so fucking much.” he cursed. “to-too much.” you stuttered out , eyes rolling to the back of your head. “but you looks so cute all fucked dumb on my cock.” he said. “you can take it baby.”
“take my fat cock like a good girl.”
﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 제이 : jay ﹚ .ᐟ
jay having a stressful day at work and coming home pressing you against the bed , pounding into you. his hips slapping against your ass as he presses your face deeper into the pillow , letting out all his frustrations. “stu-stupid fucking job.” he growled. “fucking employees don’t listen for shit.” holding the back of your head as the pillow muffles your screams. “don’t want to hear anything you say right now princess.” he said , you could grip his wrist and he would stop , but you loved when he treated you like this. “just want you to shut up and take my fat cock like a good cock sleeve.”
“can you do that? can you be a good cocksleve and take my dick princess?”
﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 제이크 : jake ﹚ .ᐟ
jake eats you out for sport; like that’s his second job and if he’s not holding you down , as you scream out his name , pushing at his head to release your poor sensitive bud from his plump lips — then he’s simply not doing a good job , he’s losing the game. the taste of your wet cunt on his tongue , you tugging on his hair; he’s in heaven and he shows no signs of stopping. meanwhile you’ve cum so many times you can’t even remember when he first pulled you down , getting in between your legs. “fuck i can’t cum anymore!” you moaned , but jake new you could , you haven’t squirted yet , that’s what he was waiting for. “fuck baby , you can do it , come on squirt for me.” you scream as he sucked on skin , covering him in you. “sh-shit baby, that's it keep cumming for me.” he said.
“you can do that again , fuck i want you to squirt just like that in my mouth.”
﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 성훈 : sunghoon ﹚ .ᐟ
sunghoon overstimulating you; closing your legs, only for him to pry them back open , forcing another orgasm out of you , your juices covering his hand. “su-sunghoon fuck!” you squeal as he pushed his cock back inside you after making you cum for like the umpteenth time. “stop running from it.” he growled , holding your ankles. “you had a lot to say earlier now you’re struggling to take me.” he spat out. “you said you can take what i give you -fuck- so fucking take it.” cumming once again , he pulled of you , was he stopping? no , he was slipping his fingers back inside you. “sunghoon ! fuck please no more.” you screamed , but you knew you wanted more and so did he. “you know the safe word.”
“until you say it im gonna keep making you take my cock and my fingers.”
﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 선우 : sunoo ﹚ .ᐟ
you and sunoo both being in a subby mood; you were on top , bouncing on his cock , him rutting his hips up trying to match each other but. “oh fuck you got tighter.” he whimpered out his hands shakily coming to your waist. “sun , m’gonna cum.” you moaned out he sped up, his thrust uncoordinated. “oh fuck my love me too — im gonna cum.” he said. “su-sunoo.” the way you said his name doubling over as you came, him following shooting his load deep inside you. “oh my god im cumming.” he kept going , riding your orgasm.
“cum please , please cum so i can make you cum again.”
﹙ 𝐢𝐯. 정원 : jungwon ﹚ .ᐟ
most of the time sex with jungwon is soft and sweet; but there is sometimes where he is as ruthless as he can be. your arms tied up , legs spread open as he presses a vibrator to your clothed sensitive bud; pushing closer and closer to edge — only to move it away leaving you a sobbing mess. “pl-please.” you cried , he smiled , but not his normal sweet smile. “please what , what are you begging for?” he teased. “please let me cum.” you cried. “i never said you couldn’t cum did i?” he pressed the vibrator down on your clit hard. “ah fuck! please don’t move it.” you moaned. “im gonna cum.” you scream , you could feel the nearing of your sweet release; until you couldn’t anymore. “no , no please.” you sobbed , you could’ve said the safe word and he would let you cum , but you didn’t .
“on second thought maybe i should make you beg me to let you cum .. yeah , beg for baby , let me hear you.”
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©️LUVYENI
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marauroon · 2 months ago
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𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑. (𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧)
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lily forces her help on james after discovering an unsent letter he wrote to you at the end of last year. it doesn’t exactly go as planned.
CW | characters are 17-18, lily is the best wingman, banter on banter, MDNI AFTER A CERTAIN POINT (there is a separate warning before it begins)
james potter x fem!reader | 18.7k | series masterlist.
main masterlist.
AN | and so, 1-100 comes to an end, thank you so much to everyone who’s kept up with reading and supporting this series, i love you guys sm !! 🫶
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There’s something about stepping back into the Great Hall after a summer away that always makes your stomach twist.
Maybe it’s the grandeur of it—four long house tables glittering under a sky enchanted to mirror the fading twilight—or maybe it’s the realisation that this is it. Seventh year. Your last first feast at Hogwarts. You glance around at the familiar faces, older now, and think how quickly everything’s changed, and how much it hasn't at all.
The Gryffindor table is buzzing, voices overlapping as friends greet each other, chatter about summer holidays, and sneak wary glances at the staff table where the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is already under intense scrutiny. You sit between Lily and Dorcas, with Marlene just opposite, her chin in her hand as she eyes the new teacher with suspicious intensity.
“I’m giving him a two weeks before he loses his temper,” Marlene says, not even blinking. “One, if he’s already had a mental breakdown before arriving,”
“You’re just bitter because Professor Lome never liked your essays,” Dorcas points out, stealing a bread roll from the centre plate before anyone else can. “He gave me full marks on that piece about curse detection,”
You’re half-listening, mostly looking around the room. It’s the same as ever, and yet not. Everyone’s taller. Slightly leaner. Tired in that way only seventeen-year-olds on the cusp of adulthood can be. The weight of NEWTs, of future plans, of knowing this is your last go at all of it.
The buzz of the hall dies down as Professor McGonagall stands at the staff table. The sorting ceremony has already taken place—little first-years blinking up at the ceiling, clutching their house badges like lifelines—and now it’s time for the usual announcements.
“Welcome back, students, to another year at Hogwarts. A particular welcome to our first-years, who I hope will find these halls as challenging and rewarding as the generations before them,”
You tune out a bit as she goes through the basics: forbidden forest is still forbidden, Zonko’s products are still banned, and any students caught brewing illegal potions will be given detention and a strongly worded letter home.
Then, she straightens, and there's a tiny spark in her eye that sets everyone leaning forward.
“And now, I’m pleased to announce this year’s Head Boy and Head Girl of Gryffindor. A pair who will, I trust, represent the house and the student body with diligence and pride. Please join me in congratulating Lily Evans and James Potter.”
Silence.
Then—
“What?” Dorcas shrieks before she can stop herself, hand flying to cover her mouth.
Lily’s face is a perfect blend of composed and internally screaming. You can see it in the way she holds her posture just a touch too rigidly, in the slight widening of her eyes.
A few seats down, James has frozen. Mid-sip of pumpkin juice. You think he might choke on it.
The hall erupts in applause, mostly polite, some genuine. The Gryffindor table is particularly vocal—Sirius is cheering obnoxiously loud, Remus is clapping with amused restraint, and Peter looks like someone just told him Christmas has come early.
“Head Boy?” Marlene mouths, turning to stare at you and Lily like you’ve both gone mad. “Him?”
You glance at Lily, who is clearly experiencing an existential crisis in real-time.
James slowly sets his goblet down. “I—what?” he says weakly. “Me?”
“I… wasn’t told,” Lily says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I knew I got Head Girl, McGonagall owled me over the summer, but—him?”
You smother a laugh. “You okay, Lils?”
She glares at you. “No.”
James, for his part, finally seems to have processed the information. He sits a little straighter, shoulders back, trying for composed but mostly looking like he might be sick.
“I’m already Quidditch Captain,” he mutters to Sirius, who slaps him on the back with far too much enthusiasm.
“You’ll be brilliant,” Sirius grins. “Just think—power, responsibility, and even more excuses to boss people around.”
Remus raises an eyebrow. “You do realise it’s actual work, right? Prefect meetings, patrols, schedules…”
James pales slightly. “Bloody hell,”
You and the girls settle back into your seats as the feast begins properly. Food appears across the tables in a shimmer of golden light, and the scent of roast chicken and buttered potatoes fills the air. For a while, everyone’s distracted—eating, catching up, stealing sips of pumpkin juice between bites. The announcement lingers in the air though, rippling down the table in whispered disbelief and mild chaos.
You poke at your roasties, thoughts elsewhere. You’re happy for Lily—Head Girl is so her. She’s meticulous, clever, endlessly fair. But James? It’s not that he’s a bad student—he’s clever when he applies himself—but his reputation precedes him. Pranks. Detentions. A casual disregard for rules that somehow charmed most of the school and irritated the rest. You look down the table to where he’s now loudly panicking about his term planner.
“He’s actually worried about having too much to do,” Marlene says, eyebrows raised. “Is this a new personality shift or did he hit his head over the summer?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dorcas says through a mouthful of carrots. “Maybe this’ll actually knock the arrogance out of him. Or at least make him too busy to be annoying,”
Lily just stabs a pea with unnecessary force. “I’m going to murder Dumbledore.”
You snort, covering it with a cough. “Think of it this way—you get to boss him around,”
“Please,” she says dryly, “he’ll talk about the Marauders and Quidditch and I’ll be asleep by the third sentence,”
You laugh properly at that, and the sound feels good. Light. Familiar.
Marlene leans closer, dropping her voice. “Anyway, more important question—have you had any more letters?”
You blink. It takes you a second to realise what she’s referring to.
“Oh,” you say, slowly. “No. Not since the last one. You know, the one I got right before term ended,”
There’s a beat of silence, the kind that means they’re all about to jump in.
“You’ve still got them, don’t you?” Dorcas says, eyes narrowing.
“Of course she does,” Lily says before you can speak. “She practically laminated the bloody things,”
You shove her shoulder with yours. “I did not. I just… kept them. They were nice,”
“Nice?” Marlene repeats. “They were poetry. Like, actual effort. Not ‘fancy you, meet me in the broom cupboard’—actual, personal, stupidly romantic letters,”
Dorcas sighs dreamily. “Still can’t believe we never figured out who it was. No hints? Nothing?”
You shake your head, and try not to let your disappointment show too much. “They just… stopped. That last one before summer hols—it was like a goodbye. Like they didn’t know what else to add,”
“Bit tragic,” Lily says softly, and despite her sarcasm earlier, you hear the real sympathy in it.
You shrug, reaching for a second helping of Yorkshire pudding to hide the sudden ache in your chest. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. I didn’t even know who they were,”
“But they knew you,” Dorcas says. “Really well, apparently,”
The words make something twist inside you. Because she’s right.
Whoever they were, they did know you. The letters had come at your lowest points last year—when the pressure of coursework, the drama with Severus, and everything else felt like too much. Each letter had felt like a lifeline, like someone reaching across the void just to remind you that you weren’t invisible.
You miss that. You miss them.
“I just thought maybe,” you say quietly, “there’d be another one waiting. When we got back,”
The silence around your little corner of the table grows thick with understanding. No one says anything for a moment. Then Lily bumps your knee under the table.
“Well,” she says, with the kind of finality only she can manage, “maybe they’re just waiting for the right time,”
You nod, but you don’t believe it. Not really.
The conversation moves on. Marlene brings up the new Hogsmeade permission rules (apparently no more ‘mysterious illnesses’ to get out of going—thanks to a Slytherin who faked being poisoned last year). Dorcas starts planning the best window seat in the common room for her study spot, and Lily starts stress-talking about her NEWT timetable.
But your thoughts don’t quite leave the letters.
You wonder where they are now—your mystery writer. If they’re even still thinking about you. If they’re watching you across the Great Hall, debating whether or not to start again.
You hope so.
Even if you don’t say it out loud, not even to Lily.
Even if you’re pretending not to look toward the other end of the table for who it might be.
It becomes a weekly ritual. Every Wednesday night, Lily Evans storms back into the Gryffindor common room around ten-thirty, throws herself onto the armchair closest to the fire, and launches into a detailed monologue about the trials and tribulations of patrolling the corridors with James Potter.
And every Wednesday night, you, Marlene, and Dorcas do your best not to laugh too obviously.
“He just won’t shut up,” Lily declares one evening, halfway through untangling her scarf from her hair. “Every corridor, every stairwell, it’s Quidditch this, Marauders that—and not even mildly interesting Marauder tales. No, no. Apparently Sirius once managed to transfigure a Slytherin’s tie into a snake and got away with it by pretending it was a defence demonstration. That’s what I have to listen to for two hours,”
Dorcas, stretched out on the rug with a textbook balanced on her stomach, snorts. “Honestly, sounds like quality entertainment,”
“You do realise he’s trying to impress you, right?” Marlene adds, not looking up from her Ancient Runes homework.
Lily looks personally offended. “By telling me about how many nosebleeds they’ve collectively caused in the name of house pride?”
“Maybe he thinks violence is your love language,” Dorcas offers with a shrug.
You laugh softly but say nothing. Lily rolls her eyes and turns to you, as she often does.
“You would die. Honestly. You should swap with me sometime just to understand the suffering.”
“I’m not a prefect,” you remind her, amused.
She huffs. “Tragic. You’d actually hold a decent conversation. Meanwhile, I’ve learnt the entire 1974 Quidditch Cup roster twice, and I don’t even like Quidditch,”
Still, she doesn’t ask for a trade from any of the actual prefects. And despite the complaints, she never actually seems to loathe their time together—frustrated, yes. Exhausted, absolutely. But somewhere beneath it all is a sort of resigned affection she doesn’t quite admit to.
You often sit by the fire after she’s done ranting, book in your lap, mind somewhere else entirely.
Because while Lily battles James's endless rambling about goal strategies and prank logistics, your thoughts drift to the letters again and again.
You miss them.
More than you like to admit.
Even now, months after the last one, you still half-expect to find something tucked inside your Transfiguration book. Or a note slid under your pillow. That hopeful little ache has never quite gone away. You know it’s silly—it’s been so long, it’s probably over—but that connection, however brief and anonymous, was something you’d never really had before.
Whoever wrote those letters saw parts of you you didn’t think anyone noticed. They wrote like they knew what you needed to hear before you even knew it yourself.
And now… it’s just silence.
It’s late December when Lily finds it. Just a few days shy of the Christmas Holidays, when the castle starts to shift into that enchanted, warm glow of the holidays. Wreaths bloom along the walls, garlands wrap the banisters, and the air smells faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke.
It’s snowing outside, but the halls are still humming with end-of-term energy—homework, holiday plans, and whispered excitement about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.
Lily’s rifling through James Potter’s satchel.
To be fair, she asked him where the patrol rota was, and he told her—somewhere in his bag. He’s halfway through an apple and elbow-deep in a discussion with Remus about whether or not the Gryffindor team needs a strategy change after Christmas.
She pulls out quills, broken Sugar Quill sticks, crumpled bits of paper, at least two spare ties, and—at the very bottom—a small, folded piece of parchment.
Gold foil.
Your name on the front.
She freezes.
It’s unmistakable. The handwriting is the same elegant, slanted script you used to show them, the same ink, the same careful fold. But this letter has never reached you.
Her eyes widen. Her breath catches.
She looks up at James.
Still talking.
Still completely unaware that in one careless second, he’s just given everything away.
Lily takes the letter. Quietly. Carefully. She tucks it into her robe pocket and says nothing. Not yet.
But she watches him all night. She watches the way his gaze flickers towards you sometimes across the common room. The way he gets unusually quiet when your name comes up.
Later that night, in the corridor outside the common room, she pounces.
“James.”
He jumps. “Bloody—Evans, you trying to give me a heart attack?”
She crosses her arms. “I need to ask you something,”
“Okay…?”
She pulls the letter from her pocket.
He stops breathing.
“Is this yours?”
He tries—tries—to play dumb.
“I—uh—never seen that before in my life.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“No? Oh well, guess i’ll deliver it myself then,”
The way James snatches the letter from her hands you’d think it was his lifeline. It kind of was. “Don’t you dare—”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then:
“It was you.”
He nods, sheepish. “Yeah.”
“You were writing the letters all last year. All that time. While she was agonising over who it was.”
Another nod.
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I—” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I panicked, alright? I was going to. I really was. The last letter—I wrote it to finally tell her. Then I just… I bottled it. It felt too big. Too serious. I didn’t think she’d… you know. Want me.”
Lily stares at him.
“You absolute moron.”
He blinks. “Sorry?”
“She’s been miserable for months. She kept waiting for another letter, hoping you’d write again. Do you have any idea how much she—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”
“I didn’t think she liked me,” James mutters. “I mean, properly. Not just the letters. And not after everything—after how I was in fifth year—”
“You’ve changed.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know if that matters.”
Lily looks at him, and something softens.
“It does. And for what it’s worth, I think she would want to know. But—” She holds up a finger before he can respond. “—If you want to be a coward, I won’t say a word. But if you want my silence, you’re going to have to make it worth it.”
James straightens. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll keep your secret—for now. But only if you actually do something about it. No more hiding. No more waiting. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to let me.”
James looks like someone’s just told him he has a shot at the World Cup.
“You’ll help me?”
She nods. “But only because I’m tired of watching her mope around like a ghost every time she checks her pillow for a letter that never comes.”
His expression shifts—hope blooming like a star behind his eyes.
“Alright,” he says, determined now. “Deal.”
Lily smiles.
The Christmas holidays was an odd time for both Lily and James. While a welcome respite from the usual whirlwind of school activities, they brought their own pressures. For Lily, it was the mounting anticipation of how to pull off her bold plan, and for James, it was the dawning realisation that he might just have a chance with you—but only if he didn’t screw it up.
It started innocently enough: a stack of parchment and a quill. The first few letters between them were brief and clumsy, full of the usual banter that you’d expect from James Potter. But with Lily’s encouragement and careful advice, his words began to take shape. She steered him, nudging him in the right direction.
There were moments of frustration—James was a disaster with anything that wasn’t a Quidditch strategy or prank, and this was, in his mind, far too serious to be a joke. But Lily stuck by him, offering a steady hand when his confidence faltered, teaching him how to make the words meaningful.
The tone of the letters shifted as they continued. At first, James wrote about what he thought you would want to hear—grand gestures, over-the-top declarations that, in hindsight, seemed ridiculous. But Lily patiently worked through them with him, showing him that it wasn’t about showiness—it was about connection. The real connection. The sort of connection that wasn’t about impressing you with his charm, but letting you see who he really was. She made him laugh, made him reflect on his own growth, and made him understand that this wasn’t just some passing fancy.
Their letters became a sort of symbiotic process. James would write something a bit too much, and Lily would dial it back with a comment about being too self-deprecating or too dramatic. He’d write again, taking into account her feedback. Then, Lily would send him back something that was genuinely thoughtful about what he could say to you—subtle things like, “She likes someone who listens, not just talks,” and “Remember, be genuine. It’s okay to be nervous.”
They’d find themselves exchanging letters, not just for the sake of figuring out what to say to you, but out of a shared sense of friendship, a bond that neither of them had expected to form.
They started to know each other better—not just as the Head Girl and the Head Boy, but as two people who were learning to be better versions of themselves. James began to appreciate Lily in a way that went beyond admiration—he respected her, her intelligence, her patience. She had a depth to her that he hadn’t quite realised before.
And Lily, for her part, couldn’t deny that James was more than just the loud, arrogant Quidditch star he used to be. He was thoughtful. He was kind. And beneath that cocky exterior, he was actually a lot more humble than anyone gave him credit for.
When the holidays ended and the students returned to Hogwarts, the air was thick with a sort of nervous energy. It was a fresh start after weeks away, and the school had a distinct feeling of a new term—new opportunities, new resolutions. It was also, for Lily, the moment when the plan she had been quietly constructing would need to unfold in full force.
As they returned to their regular routines, Lily began her work behind the scenes. It started innocently enough—casual conversations in the corridors, the library, and the common room. She would slip in little details about James—never overtly, but just enough to plant the seed in your mind.
“Did you hear about James helping that first-year with their transfiguration homework? I swear, he’s actually really good at it when he puts his mind to it,”
You had glanced up from your own work at the mention of James's name, frowning a little, because honestly, you hadn’t thought about him much. Not lately. He’d been busy with Quidditch, as usual. You couldn’t deny, though, that the idea of him being helpful—genuinely helpful—sounded out of character, even for him.
Over the next few days, Lily casually dropped more snippets into conversations. “James, honestly, I’m impressed with how he’s handled being Head Boy. He really seems to be taking it seriously. Even with Quidditch on his plate, he always makes time to help out,” She’d speak with genuine admiration, her voice unconsciously laced with warmth whenever she spoke of him.
At first, you dismissed it. It was all so subtle—so carefully orchestrated—that you barely noticed it happening. But the more Lily spoke, the more you began to pay attention.
One afternoon, you were walking down the corridor to the library when you spotted James on the far side of the hall, surrounded by first-years. You were about to look away when you saw him gently helping one of them with a stack of books, his hands steady, his voice low and encouraging. A completely different side to the usual cocky, mischief-driven James Potter. You’d never seen him like this before. You’d never seen anyone so engaged in something so simple.
That night, when you sat with the girls, Lily mentioned it casually. “James was really great today, helping the first years carry their books. He’s definitely grown up. It’s funny, isn’t it? We always think of him as the prankster, but there’s so much more to him than that. Honestly, I’m starting to see him in a new light,”
You were about to say something dismissive—something that would push the conversation away. But then, you stopped. There was something in the way she said it, so earnestly, that made you pause.
“Why do you keep talking about him like that?” Dorcas asked, raising an eyebrow at Lily.
Lily didn’t even bat an eyelash. She was smooth. “Why? What do you mean? He’s really changed, that’s all,”
“She has a bit of a point,” You immediately regret backing Lily. Why did you say that?
You weren’t sure what was happening to you. Why, when you closed your eyes that night, did your thoughts drift to James? Why, when you caught his smile in the corridor, did your heart feel like it skipped a beat? Why did you feel the need to brush your hair just right every time you passed him?
What was Lily doing to your head?
Lily Evans was a lot of things. Bright. Commanding. Intimidating when she wanted to be. But above all else, she was strategic. And once she caught on to the fact that you had—finally—developed something resembling a real, actual crush on James Potter, it was game over. For you.
You just didn’t know it yet.
“You need a break,” she said, as if that weren’t a suspicious statement from someone who had spent the last week stress-annotating every page of her Arithmancy textbook.
You glanced at her warily. “A break from what?”
“Studying. The common room. Yourself.” She sipped her tea primly. “We’re going to the library,”
“You think the library is a break?”
“Yes, because you’re not going alone this time,” she said. “We’ll revise together,”
You narrowed your eyes. “You hate revising with other people,”
“I don’t hate it,”
“You said—and I quote—‘group studying is a punishment for introverts who can’t read in silence.’”
Lily gave you her best innocent expression. “Wow. That doesn’t sound like me at all,”
Still, she wore you down. As she often did. And twenty minutes later you were being marched into the library under the pretense of productivity.
You weren’t entirely sure when you’d clocked it. Maybe it was the faint hum of nerves in Lily’s step, or the way she seemed to be leading you rather than walking beside you. But then you turned the corner near the back tables, and there he was.
James Potter. Sat alone at a table by the window, sunlight catching on his hair like it was doing it on purpose. His head was bowed, pencil tapping rhythmically against his lip as he read, and for once he looked almost serene. Normal. Thoughtful.
“Oh,” Lily said, not even bothering to feign surprise. “James. Didn’t see you there,”
He looked up, blinking at the both of you, then smiled—wide and easy. “Hey. Fancy running into you two,”
You turned to Lily with a look. She smiled sweetly and gestured to the empty chairs. “Plenty of room. Come on,”
You gave her a long-suffering sigh, but joined them. You didn’t miss the way James straightened up a little when you sat down. Or how he nudged his textbook closer to make space.
“We’re reviewing Potions,” Lily said, as if that was the plan all along. “James, you’re good at Potions, right?”
He gave a modest shrug. “Decent. Do you need help?”
She said nothing. Just looked at you. Pointedly.
“…Sure,” you mumbled, flipping open your book. “Why not.”
Later that week, it happened again.
You and Lily were walking down toward Herbology, cutting across the greenhouses when a burst of motion caught your eye near the Quidditch pitch.
James was there. Not flying, not showing off—but hovering gently just above the grass, alongside a very nervous-looking first year. The kid was wobbling on their broom, fists clenched white around the handle.
“Easy now,” James called, encouraging but calm. “Keep your knees loose. You’re thinking too hard. Let the broom do the work,”
“Is that Potter?” you asked, squinting.
Lily followed your gaze and made a noise like she’d just noticed. “Oh, yeah. I think he’s mentoring first years this term. Sweet, right?”
You turned back toward him. The wind ruffled his hair, and he reached out to steady the kid’s broom with a gentle hand, his voice low and kind and patient. It was… not a side of him you saw often. Or ever.
Your stomach did a thing.
Lily nudged you. “You’re staring,” she sang under her breath.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m observing,” you said flatly. “For science.”
“Sure. For science,”
By the third encounter, you were onto her.
This time, Lily “forgot” her notes in the Divination tower and asked you to come with her to get them. But when you reached the corridor, who was leaning against the wall chatting with Professor Sinistra?
That’s right.
James bloody Potter.
“…Hi?” he said, eyes flicking between the two of you.
Lily acted delighted. “Oh! James! What’re you doing up here?”
“Dropping off the star charts for Astronomy club,” he replied.
Lily gasped. “Look at you. Responsible and helpful,”
You turned your head slowly, muttering under your breath. “You planned this,”
“I absolutely did not,” Lily said, far too brightly.
You stared.
She smiled wider.
James, to his credit, just looked confused.
And maybe—maybe—a little hopeful.
Later, in the common room, you finally snapped.
“You’re setting me up,” you accused.
Lily beamed, completely unbothered. “Yes. And you’re welcome,”
“I didn’t ask for your interference,”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the sofa. “No, but I got tired of watching you pretend not to like him every time he breathed in your direction. So I decided to help you skip to the part where you realise he’s more than just a pretty face with Quidditch shoulders,”
You covered your face with a groan.
“Oh come on,” she said. “You like him,”
“No.”
“You do,”
You peeked between your fingers. “He was really sweet with that first year,”
Lily smirked. “I know,”
You slumped further into the cushions. “I hate how well this is working,”
“I’m a genius,” she said modestly.
And honestly? She kind of was.
It wasn’t long before Lily noticed that she didn’t have to nudge you in James's direction anymore. You started coming to her with your own observations. It started innocently enough.
“Did you see James helping that second-year with her Transfiguration homework today?” you asked, as you sat in the Gryffindor common room one chilly evening. “It was kind of… sweet,”
Lily's lips twitched in a knowing smile, but she hid it behind the book she was pretending to read. “Oh, really?” she asked casually, though her voice was laced with an almost imperceptible hint of amusement. “That sounds like him,”
And then, the more you noticed these things, the more you found yourself noticing him. The way his hair always fell in that messy way, no matter how much he tried to push it back. The way his eyes seemed to light up when he was talking about something he loved—Quidditch, of course, but also the way he spoke about his friends, his teammates. His honesty, unpolished but real. How, after all these years, you hadn’t truly seen him for what he was—someone who, despite his flaws, actually tried to do the right thing, even when he didn’t have to.
The realisation hit you slowly, like a wave creeping up the shore. You liked James Potter. You were attracted to him.
And that made you feel insane.
It was a Tuesday, and the usual hustle and bustle of Potions class filled the air as students shuffled into the dimly lit dungeon. You were seated next to Lily as usual, one row behind the Marauders, but that day, for some reason, your focus was nowhere near the task at hand. You were supposed to be preparing a Draught of Living Death, but your eyes kept straying to James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who were across the room, clearly engaged in some kind of prank plan.
It wasn’t even subtle. They were making faces at each other, stifling laughs, and it was so obvious that Professor Slughorn wasn’t even pretending to ignore them. You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips as you watched James pass something to Sirius behind his cauldron, a quick handoff of some joke ingredient that was almost certainly going to explode in someone’s face.
“You’re staring again,” Lily pointed out with a grin, her voice low enough so that no one else could hear.
You blinked, realising that she had caught you, yet again. “What? No I’m not, I’m paying attention!” You quickly turned your focus back to your potion, though it was already too late—the glint in Lily’s eyes told you that she knew the truth.
She raised an eyebrow, still looking amused, and shook her head. “It’s okay. I mean, I did call it though,”
You groaned, slumping in your seat, feeling your cheeks flush. “I’m insane,” you muttered to yourself, so quietly that only Lily could hear. “What am I supposed to do? He’s been a complete arse to me for years, and now I’m falling for him? I’m a lunatic. Someone, take me away to Mungo’s. Commit me now. I’m beyond saving,”
Lily’s laughter bubbled up, and she didn’t even try to hide it. “Oh, come on, you’re not insane. You just like him. It’s not the end of the world,”
You shot her a glare. “Lils, I hate him. I have hated him for six years. Six years! He’s loud, he’s cocky, he’s arrogant. And now I want to—what? Be all gooey-eyed at him?”
She shrugged, the smile still dancing on her lips. “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know,”
“About him?” you said, pointing dramatically toward James, who was still engaging in some prank or another, his laugh unmistakable even from across the room. “What is wrong with me? Maybe I need a head examination. Maybe I just need to stop thinking about it altogether. Because this? This is crazy,”
Lily laughed again, a sound that was half sympathetic, half mocking. “I think you're being a little dramatic, don't you?”
“Drama's my middle name, Lils,” you muttered, sinking further into your seat, your face growing hot as you tried to ignore the fact that, even now, you could feel the pull of James Potter’s presence across the room. “Ugh. What do I even do? I can’t just talk to him. He’s so annoying. I can’t believe this is happening,”
Lily's tone turned more serious as she leaned a little closer, her voice softening. “Maybe… maybe you should start by just talking to him. Like, really talking. Not about Quidditch or anything that’s just… surface stuff. Maybe actually get to know him, without the whole cocky idiot routine he’s always doing,”
You frowned, looking over at James again, who had just leaned back in his chair, grinning at something Sirius had said. You shook your head, resisting the pull. “I don’t know, Lils. This whole thing is just… confusing,”
Lily sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, I get that. But you know, I think he’s just a little misunderstood. He’s not perfect—he never has been. But… I think he’s worth getting to know. And I don’t think you’d regret it, if you gave him a chance,”
You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you… are you implying something here?”
Lily raised her hands in mock surrender, her eyes twinkling. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying… you should give him a chance to surprise you,”
You let out a long, dramatic groan. “What is wrong with me? I need help,”
Later that evening, you found yourself sitting in the Gryffindor common room, trying to ignore the noise around you. You were perched on the edge of the couch, pretending to study, but your mind was elsewhere entirely. Not on the anonymous love letters, but on James.
How had it happened? How had the most annoying person you’d ever met—someone who had spent years making fun of you, pranking you, and generally being an all-around nuisance—suddenly become someone you were seriously thinking about? It didn’t make sense. And yet, here you were, sighing over him like some lovesick fool.
“Everything okay?” Lily asked, sliding into the seat next to you. She had that familiar, knowing smile on her face—the one that made you feel like she could see straight through you. “You seem distracted,”
You let out a frustrated breath. “I’m an idiot,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “I’m an absolute, utter idiot,”
Lily laughed, clearly enjoying your inner turmoil. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just human,”
“Human, my arse,” you grumbled. “I’m supposed to be in control of my emotions. I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. And instead, I’m obsessing over James Potter. I mean, James Potter. What is wrong with me?”
Lily’s laugh was warm and understanding. She didn’t press you for more, though she did, at the back of your mind, know something you didn’t. She knew that you were slowly starting to see James for who he really was. And she knew that, when the time was right, it wouldn’t take much for him to see you for who you truly were, either.
But for now, all she had to do was sit back and watch the inevitable unfold.
By March, the weight of the upcoming mock NEWTs had hit Hogwarts like a bludger to the ribs. The once-lively Gryffindor common room was now filled with students hunched over parchment, quills scratching like beetles in the quiet, anxious air.
Even the usual chaos of the Marauders had simmered into a tense sort of focus—less pranks, more sighing, and an abundance of sugar quills chewed to bits while everyone tried to pretend they weren’t on the verge of collective academic collapse.
You’d taken to escaping the chaos by spending more time in the library, where the silence was less oppressive and the chances of being interrupted were, blessedly, low. There was something grounding about the musty scent of old books, the feel of parchment under your fingers, and the soft rustling of pages turning around you. Here, at least, you could pretend to have control over the mounting panic.
You didn’t expect to see him there.
It was a Thursday afternoon. The sky outside was grey and moody, a typical March sulk, and you’d made your way to the far side of the library looking for a quiet corner. Your bag was heavy on your shoulder, the strap digging into your collarbone, and your fingers were already ink-stained from a particularly ambitious essay you'd abandoned halfway through breakfast.
You turned down one of the aisles and paused.
James Potter sat alone at a study table, bent over a thick Potions textbook, hair sticking up in that ridiculous, familiar way, glasses slightly askew, brows furrowed in concentration. His quill tapped thoughtfully against his lips as he scanned a particularly long paragraph, completely unaware of your presence.
There were no Marauders in sight. No Sirius lolling about with a smirk, no Peter sneaking sweets, no Remus patiently annotating with colour-coded inks. Just James. Quiet. Focused. Normal.
It was weird.
You hovered there, unsure for a moment. James Potter was not someone you’d ever associated with solitude. He belonged in groups. In crowds. Loud, chaotic ones. He was a whirlwind of motion and noise and cheeky grins. But now—
Now, he just looked… Tired. Still. Almost soft.
You blinked. Once. Twice. And then, before your brain could talk your body out of it, you approached.
“Mind if I join you?”
James startled, looking up as though you’d just Apparated beside him. His expression shifted rapidly—surprise, confusion, and then something else entirely. Something warmer.
“Oh. Er—yeah! Yes, absolutely, yeah, course you can,” he stammered, quickly moving his things to make space for you, nearly knocking over his inkpot in the process. “Didn’t expect company,”
“I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you replied, sliding into the seat beside him and placing your books on the table. “Alone, I mean. No gaggle of mischief-makers in tow,”
He gave a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, I figured I’d actually try to… I don’t know, pass transfiguration this year. Trying this whole ‘focus’ thing,”
You arched an eyebrow. “Look at you. All grown up and responsible,”
He mock-scowled at you. “Don’t make it weird,”
You smiled despite yourself. “I’m stressed about the Potions exam,” you admitted after a moment. “I feel like Slughorn could hand me a list of ingredients and I’d still forget what a bezoar does,”
James gave you a surprised, almost earnest look. “Do you want to revise together? I mean—I’m decent at Potions. Got a weird knack for it. I could help,”
You tilted your head, eyeing him. “You? Helping me revise?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, grinning now. “I can be serious when I want to be,”
“Can you?”
James snorted. “Okay, I try to be,”
You laughed, and somehow that broke the tension. The two of you slipped into an easy rhythm. You started with Potions, him explaining the nuances of antidotes and the precise slicing technique needed for Sopophorous beans.
His explanations were animated—hands gesturing as he talked, voice fluctuating with a kind of earnestness you’d never quite noticed before. It made sense why he was such a good Quidditch captain; there was something undeniably compelling about the way he communicated, even when it was just about brewing Draught of Peace.
He didn't mock you when you forgot something obvious. He didn't interrupt. He listened.
And when your hands brushed across the table, reaching for the same note at the same time, he didn't flinch away. He just smiled.
Then the subject drifted. From Potions to Charms. From Charms to Transfiguration. From school to House gossip to whether centaurs secretly judged the students during Care of Magical Creatures.
Somewhere along the way, the edges between awkward and easy blurred.
There were pauses, of course—comfortable silences where you simply worked, and longer ones filled with light teasing or surprising bursts of genuine conversation. Like when he told you about his mum’s obsession with over-feeding the stray street cat, or how Sirius once bewitched his bed curtains to play harp music every time someone said his name.
It was weird, how easy it was.
It was weirder, still, when you realised you’d lost track of time.
“Blimey,” James muttered, glancing at the high windows. “It’s practically dark out,”
You blinked, checking your watch. “We’re late for dinner,”
“I was supposed to meet the team for a strategy review,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.
As if summoned, Peter popped his head around the shelf with a harried expression. “There you are!” he said to James, and then looked at you, visibly surprised. “We thought you’d fallen in a cauldron or something,”
James gave an apologetic shrug. “Lost track of time,”
Peter eyed the two of you, then turned his gaze back on James and raised his eyebrows very pointedly. “Riiight,”
You and James exchanged a glance, and then you both gathered your things and followed Peter out.
When you entered the Great Hall late, your friends were all over you.
“Where were you?” Dorcas asked, half-standing.
“Don’t say the library,” Marlene warned. “We know you left for the library, but you didn’t come back for hours,”
“And with James Potter?” Dorcas added, now openly gaping.
You groaned, sliding into the seat beside Lily. “It’s not what it sounds like.”
“It sounds like you two met up for a shag,” Marlene suggested, delighted.
“Absolutely not,” you said, head thunking dramatically onto the table. “He was helping me with potions. That’s all.”
Lily grinned, rubbing your back. “So you finally cracked, then?”
You peeked up at her with a groan. “I can’t stand how smug you look right now,”
Dorcas leaned in eagerly. “Wait—you like him?”
You sighed and sat up. “I begrudgingly have a crush on James Potter. There. I said it. I hate myself. I hate him. I hate everything. Kill me now.”
The table burst into laughter. Marlene actually clutched her chest. “I knew it. You’ve been making heart eyes for weeks,”
Lily looked positively radiant. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s only taken you, what? Seven years?”
You scowled. “This is the worst timeline.”
Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.
Meanwhile, James was in the middle of a complete overshare.
“I panicked,” he said, flopping dramatically onto Sirius’ bed. “She just walked over and sat down. And then we actually talked. Like properly talked. And she laughed, Sirius. She laughed. At my jokes,”
Sirius grinned from where he was perched at the edge of Remus’s bed. “So you didn’t ruin it. Colour me shocked,”
James threw a pillow at him. “I’m being serious.”
“I’m being Sirius,” Sirius deadpanned.
Remus groaned. “Not this again,”
Peter snorted, settling at the foot of his own bed. “So what now? You two just revise together like it’s no big deal?”
“She asked to join me,” James said, like it was still unbelievable. “And I didn’t mess it up. I even helped her with Potions,”
Sirius gave him a sly look. “You like her,”
“Yes,” James said, no hesitation. “Obviously. I’ve liked her for ages. And now she’s actually… noticing me. And it’s terrifying,”
“What happened to cool, confident James Potter?” Remus asked with a faint smile.
“He’s dead.” James exclaimed. “He doesn’t exist,”
Sirius cracked up laughing.
James groaned, grabbing another pillow. “Promise me you lot won’t screw this up for me,”
“Course not,” Remus said. “We want you to be happy,”
“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered. “I liked it better when he was hopeless,”
But he smiled anyway.
From that point on, library sessions became a thing.
At first, it was casual. A few times a week, whenever you happened to run into each other. Then Lily started suggesting you go together—“oh, James said he’d be in the library after dinner, you should head down,”—and it became routine.
You tried to tell yourself it was just studying. That was all.
But it wasn’t.
You and James talked about everything—from exam stress and professors to more personal things. Like how he hated how he used to treat people, especially you and Lily. How he couldn’t believe he’d wasted so much time being a prat. How he’d let his ego make choices he still regretted.
“I was a total wanker,” he said one evening, sitting across from you, fiddling with the end of his quill. “Back when you and Lily were still friends with Snape. I was just… angry all the time. Jealous, maybe. I don’t know. But I was awful. And I’m sorry,”
You blinked. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard.
“Thanks,” you said softly. “That actually means a lot,”
He gave you a small smile. “I just—I want you to know I’m trying. Not just for you. For me, too,”
And you believed him.
Which was maybe the scariest part.
Because this—whatever this was—wasn’t just a passing crush anymore.
You were really starting to fall for James Potter.
It was a Friday afternoon, the eve of the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch final, and James Potter was, predictably, in full strategising mode. You’d barely sat down at your usual table in the library before he launched into a spirited rant about formations, wind direction, and something called “chaser rotation efficiency” like he hadn’t just spent the past two hours at practice already barking the same things at his team.
You, meanwhile, were fighting a losing battle against a headache and the slow, creeping guilt of having left your Potions essay untouched for two full days.
“—and I swear if McLaggen swerves left again when I signal right, I’m going to charm his broomstick to fly backwards—”
“I forgot my quill,” you interrupted, sighing dramatically and digging fruitlessly through your satchel. “Great. That’s perfect. That’s exactly what I needed today,”
“Oh—here,” James said, gesturing vaguely to his bag without pausing his train of thought. “There’s loads in there, probably. Knock yourself out,”
You slid his satchel toward you, still only half-listening as he rambled on, now something about wind tunnels and Ravenclaw’s new Keeper. You unzipped the bag and fished around, fingers grazing parchment, a broken sugar quill, and several unidentifiable sticky objects before landing on a whole bundle of rogue writing utensils.
And then—your fingers brushed something else.
Smooth. Firm. Familiar.
You pulled it out.
Gold-foiled parchment.
Your breath hitched.
It was folded and refolded a dozen times over, edges fraying, the once-glossy surface dulled and creased. There were small ink stains on the back. A faint smudge of what might have been chocolate. You didn’t even need to open it to know what it was.
But you did anyway.
You shouldn’t have. You knew that. But your hands acted faster than your brain, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes were scanning the page.
Your name was there, in that now-unmistakable handwriting. The curves and flicks that had haunted your thoughts for nearly a year. And the words—oh, the words. Soft and intimate and so completely James that you were stunned you hadn’t pieced it together before.
I know I said I wouldn’t write you anymore, but I’m afraid I can’t help myself. The truth is, I’ve been terrified of saying it out loud, of giving you something you don’t need or want. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve loved you for so long, in ways that I can’t even put into words. I’ve watched you, really watched you, every day, and I’ve noticed things about you that—
You were halfway through reading it when James looked up from his notes, mid-smirk.
“I know my bag’s a bit of a disaster zone, but come on—it can’t be that hard to find a—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
His smile dropped.
You slowly looked up, the letter still in your hands, your fingers clenched tight around the gold paper. Your voice, when it came, was a whisper. Distant.
“…It was you?”
Silence.
James stared at you.
He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
You saw it—the flicker of panic, the rapid calculations behind his eyes, the moment he considered denying it.
But he didn’t.
He just nodded. Once. Barely perceptible.
You rose from your seat with a quiet scrape of your chair.
“I— I need to go.”
“Wait—” James started, standing as if to follow you, but you were already gone.
You didn’t look back.
James slumped back into his seat like the air had been knocked out of him.
He felt like he might be sick.
He'd known it was a risk. He’d always known. That’s why he never sent that final letter. That’s why he buried it in the bottom of his bag with the other forgotten things. Because if you ever found out…
And now you had.
He ran both hands through his hair and groaned into the table.
Lily found him twenty minutes later, still in the library, head buried in his arms.
“James we need to— What happened?” she asked immediately, sliding into the seat beside him. “You look like someone hexed your soul out,”
James didn’t lift his head.
“She found the letter,”
“…What?”
James groaned again. “I had it in my bag and she went in for a quill and she found it. Read it. Said ‘It was you?’ and then just—left.”
Lily’s eyes widened.
“What? James, that wasn’t the plan—!”
“I know,” he said miserably. “Trust me.”
Lily didn’t wait for more. She stood, grabbed her bag, and strode from the library like a woman on a mission.
She found you in the girls’ dormitory, door slightly ajar, the room quiet except for the faint rustle of parchment and the erratic, uneven sounds of your breathing.
The gold-letter lay open on your duvet, surrounded by all the other ones you’d carefully saved. The edges were frayed and thumbed from how often you’d reread them, but now they were scattered like fallen leaves, forming a halo around your crossed legs.
You didn’t look up when Lily entered.
She sat beside you quietly.
For a while, there was only the sound of your sniffles and the occasional tear hitting paper.
“I feel insane,” you said eventually, voice shaking. “I— I didn’t think— I never imagined it would be him,”
Lily reached out gently, plucking a letter from the bedspread. “You mean to tell me you never noticed the handwriting?”
“I never thought to look,” you mumbled. “Why would I? It was James Potter. He was—he was awful for so long,”
“But he isn’t now,”
You looked at her then, eyes red, lips trembling. “No. He’s not,”
There was a long pause.
Lily tilted her head. “You really like him, don’t you?”
You groaned, flopping backwards onto your pillow with a dramatic sigh. “I guess! I don’t—I didn’t think I did, not like that, not really, not until recently, and now—now I don’t know what to do, Lily,”
Lily smiled gently. “It’s okay. It’s… a lot. I know that,”
“It’s so much,” you moaned. “It’s like my brain is having a meltdown. All the letters—I loved the letters, and now they’re his letters and it’s like this huge secret just blew up in my face and I think I want to cry but also yell but also maybe kiss him and I don’t know what order those things go in!”
Lily laughed softly. “That’s the grief talking,”
You sniffled. “Grief?”
“Yeah,” she said solemnly. “The five stages of realising you’ve been in love with James Potter,”
You gave her a look.
“I’m serious. Denial—you definitely had that one early. Anger? You stormed out of the library. Bargaining—we’re doing that now. Depression is when you go quiet and start rereading all his letters while questioning your entire existence. And acceptance—well,”
“I’m not at acceptance yet,” you insisted, even as your voice wobbled. “I’m still in a very dramatic spiral,”
“You’ll get there,” Lily said kindly. “Just… breathe, okay? You’re allowed to freak out. But this—this doesn’t have to be bad,”
“He lied to me,”
“He didn’t lie,” Lily said gently. “He just… couldn’t find the courage to tell you the truth,”
You fell quiet, chewing your lip. “Was this your plan all along?”
Lily hesitated. “Not this exact ending, but… I knew. For a while. And I may have nudged things along,”
You groaned again, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. “You kept it from me?”
“It wasn’t mine to tell,”
You peeked out. “He’s really upset, isn’t he?”
“Like a kicked puppy,”
James was falling apart.
The Marauders tried their best to be supportive.
Which, unfortunately, amounted to Sirius offering him chocolate, Remus recommending deep breathing exercises, and Peter saying things like, “Well, at least it’s out now?”
“Out?” James choked. “It’s out like a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a greenhouse! She’s going to hate me,”
“You’re being dramatic,” Sirius said. “She likes you. Even I can see that,”
“She liked the version of me who wrote the letters,” James said. “Not the idiot who shoved them in a bag and hoped they never saw the light of day,”
“She liked you, mate,” Remus corrected. “You were being yourself in those letters. You just… didn’t know how to show it in person,”
James rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s over, isn’t it?”
“No,” Sirius said, surprisingly firm. “Not unless you give up now,”
James looked at him.
���You’ve come this far. She knows now. You can’t back down. Not unless you’re okay with always wondering what would’ve happened if you tried,”
James took a deep breath.
“I want to try,”
“Then try,” Remus said, clapping him on the shoulder.
You stayed up most of the night rereading the letters.
Every word hit differently now.
The soft musings. The little jokes. The genuine awe in the way he’d described you.
James Potter had written them all.
And somehow, that made your heart hurt in the most complicated, overwhelming, real way.
By morning, your mind was no clearer—but you knew one thing.
You needed to talk to him.
James didn’t wake up until nearly noon.
He jolted upright in bed with a strangled noise, heart racing, hair a chaotic mess of pillow creases and stress, the realisation slamming into his chest like a Bludger—he’d missed practice.
He’d missed practice.
On the day of the finals.
There was a beat of stunned silence in the common room, broken only by Peter’s stifled gasp as James scrambled down the stairs, knocking over a chair, his wand, and nearly himself in his blind panic.
“Shit—shit—shit—”
“James, mate, calm down,” came Sirius’s voice, too calm, too amused for the situation.
“I missed practice, Sirius! Finals practice! I'm the captain! I was supposed to run drills, go over the formations—McLaggen was probably leading it, and now the team’s going to think I don’t give a damn—”
“Breathe,” Remus added, flicking his wand to fix James’ mess of a hairdo mid-spiral.
“I can’t—breathe! I should be—kicked off the team, I should sub myself out—”
At that, Sirius sat up properly, ruffling a hand through his dark hair. “Okay, whoa, no. What are you on about?”
James didn’t answer. He was halfway dressed, chest still heaving, hands shaking so badly he couldn’t even fasten the buttons.
“I mean it,” he muttered, voice lower now, harsher. “Maybe I shouldn’t play,”
“You’re literally the best Chaser in the school,” Peter said, face scrunched in confusion.
“I’m also a disaster. You didn’t see her face yesterday. She looked—like I’d broken her, or something. I can’t concentrate, I can’t think—I can’t lead the team if my brain’s stuck on whether or not I’ve ruined the only real shot I had with her,”
“James,” Sirius said carefully, sitting on the edge of one of the sofas. “You don’t have to ruin everything just because your crush found out you have feelings,”
James shot him a look. “It’s more than that and you know it,”
Sirius shrugged. “I do. I also know you’re being an idiot,”
“I panicked. I didn’t mean for her to find the letter—”
“No one thinks you did,” Remus said gently.
“Then why did she run?”
Sirius gave him a flat look. “I dunno, maybe because she’s been falling for you and just found out the sweet, romantic mystery boy she’s been dreaming about for a year is the same idiot who hexed her potions cauldron in fourth year? Maybe it was a lot?”
James dropped heavily into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
He muttered something into his palms that sounded suspiciously like, “I hate everything,”
Sirius stood. “You can’t sit this match out, Prongs,”
“I might make things worse,”
“You won’t,” Remus said.
“You’re just scared,” Sirius added. “And you should be. Feelings are terrifying. But you either play today and show her you’re still you, or you hide away and let her think she was right to walk away,”
James didn’t answer.
You were pacing the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room like a lunatic.
You’d spent half the night re-reading the letters again, still overwhelmed, still processing, but ultimately—and maybe most importantly—feeling guilty.
You hadn’t meant to run out on him like that. You did still care. A lot. Too much.
So you needed to say something. Maybe not everything. Maybe not a confession, not yet. But something.
You asked a third year if they’d seen James. They hadn’t.
You tried the Quidditch pitch. Empty.
Eventually, you made your way to the prefects dorms, hesitating at the door before quietly pushing it open.
“…sub myself out…”
You froze.
James was sitting on his bed, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, looking like the ghost of himself. Sirius was pacing. Remus and Peter were quiet. And then—
“Oh,” you blurted.
All four heads turned.
You immediately wanted to melt into the floor. “I—uh—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I was just—um—I came to wish you luck. For the match. Lily and I are gonna watch for Marlene, obviously, and I know you were really going on about it yesterday so… yeah.”
Your cheeks were burning. You tugged at the sleeve of your jumper and avoided eye contact like it would save you from death by embarrassment. “Anyway. Yeah. Good luck,”
You turned and practically sprinted out the door, pressing both palms to your face the moment it closed behind you.
Inside, there was a beat of silence.
Then Sirius’s slow, satisfied, “She so likes you,”
James didn’t believe it. But still—he sat up straighter. There was a faint flush in his cheeks, a tiny, hopeful ember reigniting.
He wasn’t going to sub himself out.
Not now he knew you were watching.
The match that afternoon was nothing short of brutal.
Ravenclaw had a reputation for smart plays and clever feints, and they came in swinging with strategy and speed. But James was a force. It was like someone had lit a fire under him—every pass was clean, every dodge intentional. He was focused. Sharp. Alive in a way he hadn’t been in days.
The crowd in the stands was on fire.
You’d never really been the biggest Quidditch enthusiast—not like Marlene or even Dorcas, who pretended to be bored most games but secretly had a very complex internal fantasy league ranking system. But today? You were completely, helplessly, entirely invested.
Your throat was raw from shouting. You didn’t even care that Lily kept elbowing you in the ribs every time you shrieked James’s name louder than was probably acceptable for someone not dating him. (Yet.)
“I’m sorry,” you rasped after the sixth time, cupping your hands over your mouth as James executed an absolutely outrageous dive to steal the Quaffle from a Ravenclaw Chaser. “But that was hot. That was so—Lily, did you see that—?”
Lily didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t grinning. “I saw it. The whole pitch saw it. You are so painfully gone for this boy it’s almost tragic,”
You shoved her shoulder, cheeks on fire, unable to wipe the dopey grin off your face. James was glowing—wind-swept, flushed, every movement clean and confident and completely alive. It was unfair how good he looked flying. Like it was something stitched into his DNA.
Gryffindor was ahead. Barely. And the entire stadium was one collective heartbeat waiting for the final move.
It came with a streak of red and gold as the Seeker bolted upward—Marlene’s signature move—and then a roar from the crowd when she clutched the Snitch in her hand, grinning like a maniac.
“Yes!” you and Lily screamed in unison, nearly falling over the bench in front of you.
Below, the team rushed to meet her midair, swarming in a tangle of hugs and back pats, and James—James looked up toward the stands, searching, scanning, finding you.
Your breath caught. He grinned, absolutely beaming, and you—without thinking—grinned back.
The Gryffindor common room was buzzing. It looked like every single student in the house had packed themselves in to celebrate the win. There were butterbeers flying, someone had enchanted the couches to bounce like trampolines, and music blasted from one corner where Sirius had commandeered the record player.
You tried to stay off to the side with Lily and the other girls, laughing and pretending to be just another teammate’s supporter, not the girl who had maybe-sort-of-definitely admitted feelings for the captain.
But they were not having it.
“Go talk to him,” Dorcas demanded, poking you hard in the ribs.
“He just won the Cup, obviously you have to congratulate him,” Mary added, dragging you a few steps forward.
“I will! Just—” You resisted, flustered. “I need a second. Or ten.”
You didn’t get ten.
Because moments later, James appeared near the fireplace, sweaty and still in uniform, laughing at something Sirius said, absolutely radiant. And the girls all but shoved you in his direction.
You stumbled a bit, clutching your butterbeer like a life raft. He noticed you instantly.
His smile faltered. Just slightly.
You walked the rest of the way on your own, heart hammering like a snitch in your chest.
“Hey,” you said.
“Hey,” James replied, voice quieter than usual.
You stared at each other for a long moment.
Then Sirius, bless his idiotic timing, called from across the room. “Oi! If you’re gonna stare at each other all night, at least do it while snogging! Save us all the agony!”
You blinked. James blinked. Your face caught fire.
You coughed, trying to rally. “Congratulatio—”
“I like you.”
You blinked again. He was staring at you now, so intently, like you were the only person in the room. The words spilled out of him like they’d been waiting on his tongue for weeks.
“A lot. It might not even be liking anymore—I think I might actually be in love with you. Which is terrifying, obviously. I mean, do you know how scary that is? I didn’t mean to say that just now but it’s true and now it’s out there and I can’t take it back and I am so definitely panicking right now what am I doing—”
“James.”
He stopped.
You took a step closer.
“I like you too.”
Silence.
Then James let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh and maybe a choke. “You do?”
“I do,”
“Like, like-like me?”
You rolled your eyes, grinning now. “Do you want me to write it in a letter that I’ll never send to you?”
“Okay, wow,” James let out a short laugh, one your grateful breaks the tension a little. “Too soon, too soon,”
He looks at you with unbridled affection as you return the laugh with an unapologic “Sorry,”, and he can’t seem to help himself.
“We should kiss now, right? Wait—should I have asked that? That sounded stupid—so stupid—oh my God, what is wrong with me, I’m gonna go cry in a corner—”
You interrupted him the only way that made sense.
You kissed him.
He froze for half a second—just long enough to register that it was actually happening—and then he melted into it like he’d been waiting forever. His hands hovered for a moment before settling, warm and firm, at your waist. His mouth was soft, gentle, hesitant in the best way, like he was afraid he’d wake up and realise this was all a dream.
But it wasn’t. It was very, very real.
And, unfortunately, also very public.
“Oi! You’re in public, you know!” came Marlene’s unmistakable cackle from across the room.
You broke the kiss, face flaming as you realised—oh no—everyone had seen.
Like… everyone.
James looked equally shellshocked. You both stared at the cheering, whooping, laughing room of Gryffindors, then at each other.
You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”
James laughed, looping his arms around your shoulders and holding you tight, radiating smug glee.
“No can do,” he said into your hair. “I’ve been waiting years for this,”
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“And yet,” he grinned, “you like me anyway.”
You looked up at him. “Unfortunately.”
And yeah, okay—maybe it was chaotic, and soft, and totally unplanned—but your first kiss with James Potter was exactly as ridiculous and wonderful as it should’ve been.
Lily caught your eye across the common room after the commotion of the kiss settled into a hundred knowing glances and too-loud whispers. She made a very obvious, very exaggerated “go!” motion with both hands, then shoved her way across the crowd to reach you.
“We are not doing this in front of thirty nosy Gryffindors,” she said under her breath, looping her arm through yours and all but dragging you toward the dorms.
“Wait, what’s happening—”
“Privacy, darling. Trust me,”
She glanced back at James, who was still slightly dazed, and jerked her head at him. “Potter. Move,”
He blinked. “Yeah—yep—coming.”
“Also,” she added over her shoulder to the room at large, “if anyone so much as breathes near the Head Boy’s dorm in the next hour, I will personally hex your toes off,”
There was a smattering of laughter, but everyone—whether out of respect or fear—gave a collective nod of understanding.
You didn’t even fight her on it. You let her guide you through the winding corridors until James was unlocking the door to his private dorm, a quiet space tucked away on the top floor of Gryffindor Tower.
He stepped aside to let you in first. You walked in slowly, half-expecting something chaotic, like prank supplies or an entire wall of Quidditch posters—but the room was surprisingly clean. A little messy around the edges, sure—a few rogue socks, a quill left in an ink bottle too long—but warm. Lived in. His.
“Your curtains don’t match,” you said, for lack of anything better.
He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Peter charmed them once to be the colours of the Weird Sisters and I’ve never managed to get them back properly,”
You nodded slowly. “Cool,”
A pause.
Then—
“You’ve liked me since fourth year?”
It slipped out without warning. You hadn’t meant to say it, not so quickly, but the words burned in your chest. That letter, the gold-foiled parchment, the confession—it was still vibrating through you.
James looked startled, but only for a second. He nodded once, soft and certain.
“Yeah,”
You swallowed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He smiled faintly, stepping closer. “Because I was a little idiot. Arrogant. Immature. A menace, honestly. You hated me,”
“I didn’t—hate you,”
“You did,”
“…Okay, a little, maybe,”
That made him laugh.
“But honestly— I didn’t think I deserved to like you back then,” he said. “You were smart. And kind. And so real. You were always thinking about things, you saw people. I was just the loud idiot on a broom,”
You were quiet, because hearing it like that—laid out so plainly—made your heart ache.
He was in front of you now, barely a foot away. You thought he was going to kiss you again, but he didn’t.
Instead, James reached up and gently cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs grazing the apple of your cheeks like you were made of glass and starlight. And then he just looked at you. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was committing every inch of you to memory.
“You have no idea,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, “how much you make me feel.”
You couldn’t speak.
So instead, you leaned up and kissed him.
This time, there was no chaos. No crowd. No interruptions. Just you, and James, and the warmth of something blooming between your ribs.
It was slow—achingly so—your lips brushing his like a question. He exhaled into you, a soft, broken sound, and kissed you back like you were the answer.
It was… everything.
The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove itself. One that said: I see you. I’m here. I want this.
Somewhere between one kiss and the next, you murmured, “Thank you,”
He pulled back just slightly, brow furrowing. “For what?”
You looked up at him, heart thundering.
“You didn’t make this some huge thing. You didn’t… turn it into a game, or a bet, or something loud and performative. You liked me. And you didn’t hide it, but you didn’t push me either. You just… were. You were you.” You blinked. “Thank you for being you,”
James’s face crumpled just a little, like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or cry. One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other curling behind your neck like he needed the anchor.
He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in.
“I don’t think you know,” he said hoarsely, “how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,”
You smiled, dizzy with it all. “Well. Get used to it,”
His lips brushed yours again, so soft it was almost nothing. “I’m really, really in love with you,”
Your breath caught.
“I know,” you whispered.
And then you kissed him again.
And again.
And again.
-MDNI FROM THIS POINT ONWARD.-
It started soft—careful, like you were both still testing the weight of the moment. His hands cradled your face like you were something fragile, something precious, something he’d been terrified of holding wrong for years. But each time your mouths met again, the kiss deepened. Grew bolder. A little less hesitant. A little more sure.
Your fingers tangled in his hair—so soft, so stupidly soft—and James let out a noise against your mouth that had your heart stuttering in your chest. The hand cupping your cheek slid down, fingers grazing your jaw, your neck, until it found the curve of your waist and settled there, grounding you.
He was warm. Too warm. Like every inch of him was heat and adrenaline and the barely-contained relief of finally, finally having this.
You tugged him closer.
He didn’t hesitate.
Your back met the edge of the desk behind you, his chest flush with yours, and suddenly there was no air left between your bodies. Just the solid, real weight of him—every inch as solid and strong as you’d imagined when he walked through the halls like the sun had chosen him to orbit around. But here, like this, he was just James. And he was looking at you like he could drown in the sight of you.
His thumb brushed along your hipbone, under the hem of your shirt, and your whole body lit up like you’d been cursed—like every nerve ending had just remembered it was alive.
“Are we—?” he started to ask, breathless.
You kissed him again before he could finish. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “But don’t stop,”
James definitely didn’t stop.
His hands wandered with a careful hunger—like he wanted to memorise the shape of you, not just with touch but with reverence. His mouth followed the same path, trailing kisses from the corner of your lips down the line of your jaw to the soft skin beneath your ear. When he whispered your name there, barely audible, your knees buckled.
You gripped his shirt, fisting the fabric at his chest to stay steady. “God, you’re—” You stopped yourself before the rest could fall out, but the look in his eyes said he’d heard the whole thing anyway.
His lips parted like he wanted to say something—maybe something funny, maybe something devastating—but you kissed him before he had the chance. This time slower, more deliberate, your mouths fitting together like puzzle pieces that had always been waiting for the right alignment.
And it worked. Somehow, it just worked.
The kind of kiss that felt like you’d been chasing it your whole life.
James groaned softly into your mouth, and that noise did something catastrophic to your brain. One of his hands slid up your back, fingers spread wide like he was trying to anchor himself to you, and when you opened your eyes for half a second to look at him, you found him already watching you—eyes blown wide with want, with feeling, with everything.
“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your skin. “For so long,”
James kissed you like a man starved after that—still gentle, always careful, but no longer pulling back.
It was clumsy in places, breathless in others. Too many teeth in one kiss, your shoulder knocking into a stack of textbooks in another. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
You were on fire.
And James was the match, the spark, the sun itself.
At some point, his forehead pressed to yours. You both just breathed. Hard. Laughing softly between gasps, because of course it was James who made kissing this addictive and this stupid.
You were lost in him.
In the feel of every inch of him pressed against you—his hips pinning you to the edge of the desk, his body surrounding you like a forcefield of lean muscle and freckled skin.
Heat was unfurling like liquid fire in your veins, but his mouth still traced over your jawline and across your cheek like he couldn’t stop. Like you were precious.
You gripped the fabric of his shirt, tugging hard enough to bring his gaze back to yours and then holding it, your breath hitching when you caught that look in his eyes, and his hips moved—just once, and just a little—and god, what that did to you. How it sent desire flashing like a lightning bolt down your spine to pool low in your stomach, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from gasping out loud.
His fingers curled around your hips, digging into the soft flesh through your jeans, and then he pulled you closer like he couldn’t get enough. Closer still, until you were practically draped over the desk, your thighs parted and hips flush with his, and he was devouring you—his touch, his kiss, with no sign of being full.
God, he wanted everything.
His hands mapped out the line of your waist, your ribs, your spine, and everywhere you could feel the warm, rough slide of his touch you burned for more. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could feel it pulsing through your skin, and when you rolled your hips up towards his you were just as surprised by the noise you made as James was.
He inhaled sharply, swearing softly, and there would have been time to be embarrassed if you weren’t too busy being turned to mush.
“God that was hot,” James practically breathes out the words, hungry eyes half hidden behind fog-covered lenses as they drag down your body.
He looked utterly ruined already. Hair a mess from you running your fingers through it, shirt rumpled from when you couldn’t keep yourself from touching him. Wanting him.
You reached up to cup his face on impulse, your fingers tracing the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, before sliding your fingers across the arms of his glasses, delicately pulling them from his face. “D’you need these?”
The smirk that spreads across his face is just a little bit smug, but it still does things to you. “Depends,” he said, still breathless. “Are we planning on doing anything that would necessitate me being able to see?”
You laugh, dropping both your voices, and it comes out sounding rough. “Maybe not,” you say, slipping the specs into the front pocket of his shirt. “Do you need to be able to see to kiss me?”
His eyes are half-lidded, and you could count each of his eyelashes from the way he’s looking at you, lips still swollen from a few minutes ago. “No,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his mouth over yours again, “but it does help with the view.”
He took your chin with his finger, tilting your face up so he could take in the sight of you properly. A slow-burning warmth unfurled in your stomach—no, lower than that, and for a few seconds you were both just looking, and it felt almost more intimate than the last few minutes.
“God, you’re… blurry,” he whispered, and you can’t help the sharp laugh that echoes out of your throat.
“Bugger off,” you said, without any real intent behind it. You weren’t even sure why you were acting so shy—maybe you were just overwhelmed by the situation, the feelings, or the way being with James just felt. Whatever the reason, he seemed to find your nervousness amusing.
He chuckled, dipping his head to press a kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, right there at the edge of your jaw where you were softest. “I’m kidding,” he murmured. “I’m nearsighted. And you’re definitely close enough for me to see,”
He pulled back just enough for the smirk to return, the tips of his fingers grazing over the strip of exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the waist of your jeans and sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth was still curved in that maddeningly smug smile, but his voice was so low when he continued to talk. “I’m gonna take your shirt off now, okay?”
The question comes out quiet and gentle, but there’s a heat to it too. Asking what you want, asking what you’ll let him have.
You manage a breathless, “okay,” and his gaze is still fixed on you when he lets his hands slide up under your shirt, calloused fingers dancing over the bare skin of your waist.
Every point of contact seemed to sizzle, nerve endings you didn’t even know you had sparking alive beneath his touch. You felt like you were trembling, like every breath hit was a jolt of pure, liquid feeling.
His eyes were still trained on your face as he drew your shirt over your head, gaze drifting across your exposed chest with an unabashed—and kind of feral—kind of reverence. “God, you’re perfect—”
He pressed a kiss to the spot just below your collarbone, and you could feel the rasp of a day’s worth of stubble against your skin, burning down to your very bones. Both his hands splayed across your ribcage, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your body by touch.
You can hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when his fingers catch the edge of your bra, and he’s already murmuring again, his voice a low, wrecked sound against your bare skin. “Can I take this off too?”
You answer by helping him fumble with the hooks, the heat from his skin and his gaze almost too much to bear. By the time it hits the floor somewhere behind you, his mouth has found the delicate, thrumming hollow of your neck, and his hands are wandering lower. Across your stomach, tracing over your curves to slide across your hipbone and dip under the waist of your jeans.
Any coherent thoughts you’d been clinging on to up until this point were gone, lost in a haze of heat and want. Every touch was electric, his mouth searing a path down your neck, across your shoulder, across the bare skin of your collarbone, until he’d left a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along the apex of your breasts.
“You sound so good,” he whispered, the words catching against your skin. “Taste so good.”
He was everywhere, surrounding you, all his attention on the body under his touch. His nose grazed the sensitive skin just above your nipple, just a gentle brush at first, and then he flicked the tip of his tongue across the peak of your breast and every nerve in your body went white hot.
“God—” the single syllable comes out as a broken gasp. A plea, maybe, a wordless begging for more.
He chuckled softly, a dangerous, wicked sound, and then he closed his mouth over your nipple and sucked. It felt like he’d lit a fire in the pit of your stomach, like it was all you could do to breathe, and he wasn’t even finished. One of his hands was still holding your hip—steadying you as he switched his attention to the other, teeth scraping just enough to make the heat in your belly flare brighter, deeper, all of your muscles tensing at once.
Every part of you felt like it was on fire, and you were so empty. The ache between your thighs was insistent, demanding attention you couldn’t give it. You let out a breathless whine, shifting to try and get some friction, and when he raised his head to look at you, eyes all half-lidded and mouth still slightly slick, you thought you might actually go insane.
You were so caught up in the moment that it took a second longer than it should’ve to notice the cocky smile plastered across his face. He was watching you writhe under his touch like it was the best show he’d ever seen.
“You good up there?” he said teasingly. “Look like you’re about to combust.”
“Bastard,” you managed, and it sounded as breathless as you felt. You reached up to bury a hand in his hair, tugging on handfuls of messy waves and relishing in the way he cursed softly under his breath. “You’re a goddamn tease.”
He gave the underside of your breast one last wet kiss, then started pressing a line of kisses up your body towards your mouth. “A tease, am I?” He said between kisses, his voice still low and rough. “I don’t know, sounds more like I’m trying my best to be a gentleman instead of rushing into the action,”
“Some gentleman,” you laughed, and that time it came out more of a gasp than anything else. He’d drawn himself up to full height, looking down at you with a smirk that was half amused and half smug, and god, he was handsome. “You’ve got me half naked on your desk, I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of gentlemanly,”
“That’s not my fault,” he said, mock-offended, and you let out a bark of laughter. “You’re the one who started it. With the shirt, and the kissing. All my good intentions went right out the window,”
You were still giggling—his hand was now tracing idle circles on your hip, gentle and tender—but his touch was driving you insane. He was everywhere, burning through your skin, and all it did was make the heat beneath your ribs worse. You took a deep, shaking breath, trying to slow down your heart.
Your voice came out much more timid than you expected. “You’d probably better finish what you started, then.”
His eyes caught yours, and the smile that spread across his face sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Are you asking me to take your pants off, sweetheart?”
You rolled your eyes at the endearment, but it was impossible to stay irritated with the way your heart was jumping into your throat. “I’m asking you to take your pants off, actually,”
He raised an eyebrow, expression still cocky but edged with a touch of surprise. He looked so good like that—glasses missing, mouth pink and kiss-swollen, eyes fixed on your every move. “Consider it done,”
He took your chin in one hand, his touch almost teasing, tilting your head back to give himself full access to the line of your neck. His other hand drifted to rest on your side, pulling you away from the desk to push you over to his four-poster instead.
It was a bit undignified, stumbling backwards while he was still glued to your neck, but somehow you both managed to land in a heap on the mattress, with him on top. The sheets rustled in protest, and god, you could just feel his weight on top of you, pinning you to the mattress and setting fire to every point of contact.
You barely even noticed him pulling off his own shirt and pants, your mind too clouded with desire to pay attention. You just watched, taking in the sight of his bare chest and the sharp planes of his muscles, his lean and strong and all you could do was reach up to run your hands down across his shoulders—over the freckles and moles and scars that covered his skin.
He let out a strangled sound when your hands slid over the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fixed on your face, his whole body rigid under your touch as the fabric drags down his thighs. He was breathless, his breathing coming fast and shallow, but he still managed to speak.
“You seem to be missing a few things, if you haven’t noticed.” His voice was still that same, annoyingly smooth, but there was a rasp to it too. Like talking was suddenly more difficult than it should have been.
And yeah, okay, he had a point. You hadn’t even realised you were still wearing jeans until now, but it was quickly becoming an issue. He was still pinning you to the mattress, but you managed to lift your hips up under him enough to reach the zipper on your pants.
He sat back on his heels, watching you struggle out of your jeans—he reached down to help when your legs got tangled, and you swore the smirk on his face when he got the second leg off was almost wolfish. “Careful, there, you almost kneed me in the bollocks.”
“Too bad, I was aiming for them.”
He laughed, running a hand up your bare thigh, fingers tracing across the edge of your underwear and making your whole body burn. “Nice knickers.”
“Shut up,” you said, but your voice was already hoarse, half from the effort of talking and half from the way every little touch seemed to send lightning straight to the pit of your stomach. “You literally have snitches on your boxers, you’re not allowed to make fun of me,”
“For your information, they’re my lucky boxers,” he said, as if it was the most logical thing in the entire world. “And they seem to be working,”
You were about to comment on the ridiculousness of that statement, but then he let his hand brush over the damp patch in your panties and every thought in your head evaporated in about ten seconds flat. “Oh, fuck—”
His touch was agonising. Just a single, gentle stroke traced across the edge of your underwear, but it felt like being set on fire. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, still watching your face like the world’s most beautiful train wreck, and the way he’s smirking is just a little bit cruel. “Is this all because of me?”
You should’ve found the teasing infuriating—maybe even patronising, but your head was spinning and you were so turned on you couldn’t think straight. “You know it is,” you managed to gasp out, arching your hips up into his touch and desperately trying to find more friction.
His thumb pressed across your clit through your underwear and the gasp that came out of your mouth was practically obscene. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”
He was shifting back on top of you, and his mouth was on your neck, hot and wet and distracting, and you’d almost forgotten about his thumb until it moved again—a slow, torturous circle that had you whining. “God, you sound so good,” he murmured against your skin. “Can I take these off? Please?”
If you’d had even a second of self-control left, you probably would’ve found the way he was almost begging for it adorable, but as it was all you could manage to do was nod.
You felt more than heard him swear, and the next thing you know he’s hooking his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down your legs with a speed that says he’s having trouble keeping his own eagerness in check.
He sat back once you were completely naked—just you, sprawled out on his four-poster, bare and trembling and wanting. Every part of you felt like it was on edge, like you’d fall apart as soon as he touched you again.
He was looking at you like he was starving, eyes wandering across every inch of your body. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, “Merlin, look at you,”
You couldn’t help but shiver under his gaze, the feeling of helplessness sending another jolt of heat down your spine. You’d almost gotten used to seeing that cocky smirk of his, but now it was gone—replaced by a look you couldn’t place, like he was in awe of you.
You watched helplessly as he shifted, his body covering yours again, bare skin against bare skin. His cock was already hard against your thigh and you were so empty that you knew nothing except the urge to have him as close to you as possible. “Please,” you managed to say, words a gasp as he traced a finger over your hip.
He groaned softly at the desperation in your voice, and then he was reaching down, his fingers finding your opening and sliding in. All you could do was moan out loud, clenching around him and aching for more. “God—” His voice was ragged, rough, like he was using all his willpower just to keep himself from going too fast. “That’s it. That’s it,” he murmured, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re so tight.”
“You’re gonna destroy me,” you gasped out, as he slowly started to pump his fingers in and out. “I—” Whatever you’d been about to say dissolved into another moan. “Please, just—”
“I’ve got you,” he said, and another kiss, against your collarbone. “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you,” And then he added a third finger, and you were certain you wouldn’t even be able to string words together anymore.
“Oh god—oh, god—” Your back arched again, hips lifting off the bed, and he curled his fingers again and the pleasure of it was so sharp it almost hurt.
“Just like that? You like that?” He murmured softly against your skin.
You weren’t even sure how to answer that, your brain so overwhelmed by heat and pleasure that all you could do was let out a helpless whine.
He kept pumping his fingers, working you open, and you were trembling with the effort of trying not to let go just yet. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, and god, he was so cocky like this. “Just be patient—”
You gasped out something between a laugh and a moan. “Patient? You have some nerve—”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of nerve,” he said, and then he pulled his fingers out with another sound from your throat. You were about to complain, but he kissed you before you could—a brief brush of his mouth on yours that was so distracting you almost didn’t notice him moving until he was between your thighs.
He had one hand on your hip and the other wrapped around himself, and the way he’s looking at you makes your whole body ache.
“You ready?” He asked, and his voice is still rough and a little breathy. You nodded, words failing you, and the sound he made was almost desperate.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, and then the tip of his cock was right at your entrance and you were trembling so badly you were almost whimpering.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, and then he started to press in. It was a torturously slow stretch, every inch of him filling you like you were made for him. You’re still too full of him—you clench around him without meaning to, and all of him shudders.
“Oh my god,” he says, and it comes out like a gasp, and when he’s finally in all the way you feel like you might cry, like he’s touching all of those parts of you you’ve been waiting for him to find.
“Oh, god,” you moan, and it’s all you can manage. It’s just too much—the feeling of him, the stretch of your body, the heat in your ribs that you can’t seem to breathe around. It’s like he’s everywhere, and you’re not sure you want it to ever stop.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and he’s starting to move, “that’s it, breathe. Just feel me.” He leans down to kiss you, messy and sloppy, just a brush of open mouths before you’re arching off the bed and his lips are on your neck.
“You look so god damn good like this,” his thrusts are slow, deep, and they’re already driving you mad. “All spread out for me.” You can’t even answer him in words anymore, every sound slipping out of your mouth a high, breathy whine.
He keeps up his torturously slow pace for what feels like a small eternity, and every time he pushes in you can feel him against the inside of you, like your body was made to take him in. “You feel so good,” he’s murmuring, “God, why haven’t we done this before?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been a coward for the last three years—” Your response is humorous, lighthearted, and falls almost completely flat as it comes out more desperate than goading.
But everything feels so good—he feels so good, the slow drag of his cock filling you over and over, his hands on your thighs holding you open just for him, his teeth and mouth everywhere they can reach.
He laughs, the sound coming out as half-moan, and it’s incredible how he’s somehow still acting cheeky when he’s like this—like the whole world has shrunk down to the two of you and there’s still room for playfulness. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so blind you would’ve noticed me sooner,” he says, and he’s still teasing, like he isn’t literally inside you, and you’d hit him if you had the brainpower. “You could’ve had this the whole time.”
Your face is so flushed it feels like you’re on fire, every muscle in your body tense and trembling. You dig your nails into his shoulders, trying to find some kind of anchor. “You’re still a cocky bastard, you know that?” But it’s hard to keep up the banter, and all it comes out sounding like is a soft whine.
“I know,” he grins, and he’s so smug you’d almost hate him if you weren’t so desperate for him. “God why didn’t I know sex felt this good-?” He leans down again, his mouth hovering over yours, the heat of him so close that you can feel it and it burns.
“Maybe I’m just that good,” you manage to say—and yes, okay, your voice is half a gasp and the words are broken, breathless by the way he’s still moving inside you, but you still manage.
He laughs again, sharp and ragged at the edge, and you feel like you’re being unwound like some old toy, your whole body vibrating like a live wire. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear.
He’s still smirking when he says, “And you call me cocky,”
He’s picking up the pace, but only just enough to make you whine again, his head dipped to mouth at your throat again.
You’re so tight around him it’s like he’s trying to make you come apart one piece at a time, his breath warm against your skin as he keeps whispering. “But you’re right, you feel so damn good—”
He’s losing control, losing his smugness, because despite what he said about patience he looks like he’s ready to go over the edge already. But he’s still got that smirk on his face, like even now, when he’s all ragged breaths and desperate thrusts, he’s still teasing. “I should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve taken you back here back in fourth year. Should’ve had you like this when I first started thinking about you,”
His hands are on your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones like he’s trying to hold himself back from just snapping and going wild on you.
“Should’ve had every day in fifth year," he’s panting now, and he’s still going just as slow, making it feel like you’re being taken apart, piece by piece. “Would’ve been better than those stupid pranks.”
You can’t even laugh—you just can’t, every nerve in your body is set off like a firework. You manage, “You’re- you’re terrible,” but then you’re arching your hips up into him, your body taking over despite yourself.
“I’m terrible,” he agrees, but he’s grinning, he’s breathless and there’s a sweat on his forehead and he still looks infuriatingly gorgeous. “Doesn’t change the fact that I want you so bad I can’t think straight. Couldn’t, back then. Just followed you around like an idiot.”
“You were an idiot,” you manage, and he’s moving faster now, his arms shaking on either side of you. “You-ah—” You’re falling apart—you can feel it happening—“you were an arrogant bastard—”
He’s kissing your neck and it just makes you louder, your words coming out in ragged gasps. “I know,” he says, like he’s laughing, and you would want to smack him if he didn’t feel so good. “I was an arrogant bastard who was in love with you,”
The words hit you like a bolt of lightning. You open your mouth to respond, but right at that moment he thrusts in a way that hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, and the sound that comes out of you is so indecent.
“You—oh, god—” You’re trembling, you’re coming undone underneath him, and he’s doing his best to keep up the pace but you can tell there’s something desperate taking over. “I’m- god, I can’t, I’m so-“
He’s losing more and more control, his breathing ragged and his own body shaking as like he’s just barely holding himself together.
“Please,” it comes out like a gasp, “just come for me, please, come on-” And he’s begging, now, like he couldn’t stand it another minute more, “I just want you to come, please, you’re so perfect—”
He’s pressing right against that spot, over and over, and you’re so on edge you think you might be dreaming. “I’m gonna— oh, god-”
His hand has snuck down between you, fingers moving in tight, fast circles on you clit, and everything is so close and so hot you could die— “God, you look perfect, come on, that’s it, you’re so good—“
The tension in you is snapping, and you’re on the edge, you’re so close you can’t see straight. “Please, I— I-“ you’re there, you’re there, you’re going to fall but he’s falling too.
“Come on, you’re so close, just come-“ He’s begging again, and you’re shaking so hard you feel like you might fall apart—and then you do, and the pleasure hits like a lightning bolt, and you’re crying out loud, the sound breaking like a whimper, and you feel like you’re going to fall apart.
“Oh, god-” His body’s shaking, the breath leaving his chest in ragged gasps, and you’re just clinging to him, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm and shaking so hard you think you might go insane. “Oh, god, oh, god-”
It didn’t really help that James was still going.
“God you’re so beautiful,” he’s saying, “God, you’re so beautiful, you’re so good, you’re so-“
Another wave comes over you like a shockwave, and it’s almost too much, you’re so sensitive and over-whelmed you feel like it’ll break you, but he’s still going, still moving inside you, still driving you straight through the edge of pleasure and over it into something bright-hot and almost frantic. “God, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—“ He’s falling apart, and he’s never looked better. “I’ll pull out I promise—”
You can’t find the words to answer him, but you manage a nod, your whole body trembling as you cling to him.
He swore, and he’d almost be swearing with that same cocky smirk if it weren’t for the fact that he’s falling apart completely, gasping out “You’re gonna kill me, you’re gonna-”
His whole body trembles, and then he’s pulling out, just in time, his body going rigid, his mouth finding yours in a messy, desperate sort of kiss. And he’s still shaking, still panting against your skin, his forehead pressed against yours like he’s never going to let go, watery ropes of his come left decorating your pussy and your torso.
“Fuck,” he’s panting, and he’s still shaking but there’s a smile on his face, like he’s drunk and blissed out and just happy. “Just- give me a minute, just a minute-”
You just lie there, feeling like you’ve just been set on fire and left to burn, and he’s pressing kisses wherever he can reach, on your neck, your temple, the corner of your mouth, until both of you are finally still, just lying wrapped up in each other.
He’s wrapped himself around you like he’ll never move again, his face buried in your neck, and your whole body feels like it’s come unglued.
After a few minutes, he lifts his head to look at you, and that smirk is back, the bastard. “So,” he says, and there’s a sly look in his eyes. “Did I live up to the hype?”
“There was no hype, James, you were a virgin,” You laugh shortly with a roll of your eyes, shifting your legs a little wider open to accommodate for the stickiness between them.
“Ouch.” He winces dramatically. “You’re gonna ruin my ego.”
He’s looking at you with so much heat you’re half-convinced he’s about to go for round two, but then he shifts, pulling away to lie down next to you, your legs tangled together. He’s still grinning, a smug sort of half-smile on his face.
“Don’t look so damn pleased with yourself,” you grumble, but you’re still so buzzed up and he’s looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.
He’s looking at you with a kind of reverence you’ve never seen before, but he covers it up with the same stupid smirk he always wears. “So,” he says, like he’s casually mentioning the weather. “You, uh… had fun?”
You laugh—that’s a severe understatement of the year—and you can’t help but smile at the boyish enthusiasm in his expression. “Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “I did.”
He grins at that, and then he’s rolling on top of you again, covering you with his body like a blanket. “I’m assuming that means we can do this again sometime.”
The words come out as the same obnoxious cockiness, still cocky and self-assured, but there’s something almost… nervous underneath it, like he’s not really being blasé at all. You hum, tilting your chin back enough that he can bury his face in your neck. “Yeah,” you say, and you wrap your arms around his back, tracing the knobs of his spine with your fingers. “Yeah, we can probably do this again. But maybe take me on a date first next time,” You laugh.
He grins against your neck, his mouth still leaving lazy kisses on every part of your skin it can reach. “That’s fair,” he murmurs, and his breath on your neck sends a shiver through you. “I have to romance you first. I can do that.” His teeth nip at your earlobe, and you can feel the sharp edge of of a grin. “I could even be a gentleman about it, if you wanted.”
“You? Be a gentleman?” You fake gasp, like it’s the most ridiculous suggestion you’ve ever heard. “Absolutely unheard of.”
He snorts, and you can feel the smile on his mouth, hot and wet against your skin. “You’re laughing, but I could be incredibly charming if I wanted to,” He’s still just mouthing at you, running his teeth over the soft underside of your jaw. “You read my letters,”
“Yeah,” you admit, almost against your will. “I did.”
He pulls back to look at you with a lazy, smug half-smile. “And they were charming?”
You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling. “They were… acceptable.”
“Acceptable,” he sighs sadly, mock-disappointed. “I don’t know how I feel about being reduced to ‘acceptable’. I put a lot of work into those letters, you know.”
But he’s grinning, his chin propped up on your chest with his chin, like he’s waiting to get a response. “Come on. I’m at least worth ‘good,’ right?”
“Yeah, alright,” you give in, even though ‘good’ isn’t nearly enough to describe his letters. “They were good. They were… nice.”
He pouts, like a kid who did a drawing and didn’t get a gold star. “Nice? Jesus, you do not understand the concept of positive reinforcement.”
“Sorry,” you say, with your best attempt at earnestness, “how about this? They were fantastic. World class even. You should be writing love letters professionally.”
It takes him a moment of studying you to realise you’re joking, but then he sighs in mock-agony, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I’ve fallen for a girl who’s mean to me,”
“Yeah,” you say, and you’re laughing, now, your whole body shaking with gales of laughter. “You’re really just… the world’s biggest loser.”
He huffs good-naturedly, his face still hidden in your neck. “Says the girl whose been attracted to me for years,”
“Says the boy who wrote me sappy-ass love letters like a Victorian maiden,” you retort.
He laughs at that, but it’s not mean or mocking. “It’s a wonder you didn’t catch on, honestly,” he mutters jokingly, “I laid it on so thick I thought even you would see me pining tragically through all the ink I used to write about how obsessed with you I was.”
You bite back a smile at that, rolling your eyes at his mock-exasperation. “God, you’re dramatic.”
His mouth presses a soft, wet kiss under your jaw, and he murmurs against your skin—“You like it, though.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
And he’s right, because you do—you do like him, when he’s all bluster and bravado and bullshit, and you like him like this too, when he’s gentle and reverent and a tad bit vulnerable. “Yeah,” you say, and it’s soft. “I do.”
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eraserbread · 4 months ago
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Sigh, thinking about Husband!Nanami coming home after work to his sweet wife and just being overwhelmed by his love for her. Cuteness aggression turned sexual? Because what reason does his wife need to have such an amazing smile if not for him to kiss her lips, both sets while he's at it!
...need i say more? nanami just loves his old lady.
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you tried out a new recipe, today. ken's a cookie guy - of course, he is. so, today decorated prettily on a plate he bought you, was a glazed ginger miso cookie. you spent hours perfecting the recipe, throwing out lots of expensive, unsavory doughs, and pining over flavor combinations before you landed on your jackpot.
then you waited for him at home, wrapped in a pretty lace apron that he bought you. for some reason, you were an especially good mood this morning - you had chatted on the phone with a friend for hours, received a surprise text from your perfect husband, and got to open another of his gifts that was painted on your lips.
a new, glimmering shade of lipgloss he so politely asked you to wear for him.
he comes home right at 6:30, spending time at the lock to allude you to his forthcoming arrival. work today had been especially annoying because there were no missions. he just went on a few training ones as a favor to satoru, but didn't break a sweat on the grade-4's he took care of.
all he thought to keep himself motivated was the feeling of seeing your soft, bright smile again. it was hard to leave your smaller, sleeping figure this morning, but he had to. he had to miss you sometimes to keep him excited.
so, he's so damn happy to see your stupidly beautiful face when he pulls the door open. you're waiting for him like a puppy, crossed hands and smiling so big, it renders him motionless upon impact.
"well, aren't you just the cutest?"
"i made you cookies!" you know to keep your voice soft for him after work, but your excitement is tangible. you don't typically bake for him, so when you do, he loves it. "don't worry, I made you actual food, too."
nanami stares at you for a moment, nose picking up on the delicious mix of scents filling his well-kept home. god, he wants to eat you alive.
he still finds time to pull his tie down when he approaches you, both hands reaching for you. you giggle when he captures your cheeks, squeezing them hard, and pulling you into a single, deliberate kiss.
"i just love you."
you two end up sharing a cookie, leaning over the countertop and feeding small, broken-off pieces between each others lips. ken focuses on the glisten of yours as you chew sweetly, making no sounds but a content hum. it makes him crazy - his stomach coils.
"i know this is so lewd, but I think I need you to sit on my face."
he's right. it's lewd - he's witness to all the chewed-up cookie in your mouth when your jaw drops.
but, you let him. no questions asked.
ken lays on his back in bed, already flushed to his neck and licking over his lips. he watches as you shimmy off your pants, under special request to keep the apron on. he just wants access to what's between your thighs, and he didn't make that vague.
you look at him for a second, suddenly conscious and slightly wary of his ability to breathe. he's given you oral countless times, but never like this. "ken, are you sur-
he fucking sighs and sits up, yanking you forward with a gentle, dominant hold on your ringed hand. "you think I can't handle my wife sitting on me?" you join him on the bed, crawling into a straddle so you two can kiss for a moment. he pets at your cheek, humming as he takes in your taste. green tea and ginger miso - what a palate.
but it maddens him even further. he needs you dripping on his tongue - there was no polite way to say it. he would not be polite when he eats you alive.
so, he sits back again, pulling you with him so you don't have a choice but to follow. with sexed eyes, he begs. "please, nanami baby."
that's what gets you this time. you take a breath and crawl up his body, holding it as you hover over his face. his big hands help you along, squeezing into your thighs and guiding you into the perfect position.
you reach down to tangle his messy golden hair between your fingers, giving him a look that kills him. he can't help that whenever you give him a look so pure and sweet, he has to squeeze you a bit harder.
"just follow my lead. pretend like you're humpin' my thigh, baby."
"mm, okay." still highly suspicious, but kinda turned on now, you nod. then, he guides your thighs down until you're fully seated over his head - all of your weight focused there. upon impact, he fucking groans and it sends a tsunami of vibrations through your eager cunt.
you bite down a moan. "ken-
as soon as you say his name, he's digging his fingers deeper and begins eating you alive, just like he wanted. one of his flexed, scratching hands slide against your back, urging you to ride him -- to actually treat him like a coined pony. so, you do... it's so unfamiliar and you're terrified of hurting him, but his thick tongue felt so good and so right smushed against your sensitive clit, that you needed to chase some friction.
he's vocal like you've never heard him before, obscene slurps and moans spilling out from between your thighs as he devours you. on every back thrust, his nose buries itself into your clit, forcing a cry from your throat. it was so overwhelmingly good - you felt him everywhere like your nerves were standing on end.
you cum for the first time embarrassingly fast, crying his name and unable to move, so he drags you through it. it's only on the break he gives you to even out that you see that crazy look in his eyes.
his entire face is soaked in... everything. you, him, more of him, and more of you. so erotic and messy, you hardly get to see him so spent with a ruby-red face and blown pupils.
so pretty...
"i should stop, but 's so addicting."
"no." you're breathless and halfway to death. "no, keep going I'm fine."
"i know you're sensitive." somewhere behind the mania, you can make out a bit of that husbandly worry. you admit that he has much better stamina, but with him doing most of the work, the only thing you have to control is not cumming everywhere all the time.
"keep going." you demand a bit too harshly, tugging his hair as you grind back down on his tongue. you can feel him chuckle against your messy cunt, but doesn't need to be told twice to swallow you again.
you two go on for hours until kento feels like he's going to pass out. these pants are nothing but trash now that he's came untouched. it's a spectacle you only notice when he flips you over to finally lay it down.
he peels off his pants with a wrecked face, tongue slipping from his lips every so often to catch another taste. his briefs are sticking to his skin, stained darker around his cock and unmistakable. you try so hard not to point it out, because you know he's embarrassed, but you can't not breathe out a chuckle.
"when did yo-
"shut up." he decides before fucking you into the bed for hours. no mercy, he's unrestrained and drunk completely off of your deep, familiar taste.
and when he leans down to kiss and love you after it's all said and done, you can taste the ghost of yourself over his lips, and push him to go wash off.
he does, but you catch him letting his tongue linger over his lips until he finally gives in and runs his face underwater.
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reidology13 · 4 months ago
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Reader goes to the triathlon w Jack and everyone's like 'omg is this ur gf' and he's like nooo this is my babysitter but they're like doing heart eyes the whole time and she's being rly cute w Jack and the whole team is like shipping them xoxoxoxoxoxo
you really got a hold on me
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Aaron Hotchner x fem babysitter!reader
cw: age gap, canon typical lack of boundaries??? fluff, fluff, and more fluff wc: 1.6k a/n: this is my first req, which is a little bit terrifying, I hope it lives up to your expectations! I moved the triathlon so Jack's still around 4/5 just bc my girl has been pining for years and I don't want to stretch that out too much <3
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You kept Jack close, hands on his shoulders to keep him from disappearing into the crowd, although you knew he would be unlikely to stray from your side either way. People had started crossing the finish line about half an hour ago, and your best guess was that Aaron would cross it any second now. You were correct, as it would happen, and a few minutes later he appeared in the stampede, sweat-covered and grinning as his eyes locked on yours.
“Jack, look!” You crouched down beside the boy, pointing in the direction of his father, jogging towards the finish line.
“Daddy!” He cheered, and you whooped as he crossed the line, starting to slow down as he made his way to the table with water and medals.
Once he had navigated a route out of the crowd, you walked with Jack over to him, waving to try and catch his attention again now that you were both in different places. He met your gaze, walking to you, breath heaving.
“Hey, bud.” He leant down to hug Jack, picking him up and swinging him around before placing him back down and turning to you.
“You did amazing.” You smiled up at him, almost in awe, and he did something completely unexpected, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you into him, “Get off me! You’re all gross and sweaty.”
“Never.” You didn’t put up a fight.
“Should we leave you two love bugs alone?” A familiar voice rang out, and he released you, allowing the blonde to enter your field of vision.
“Garcia.” He said slowly, that stern, stoic mask slipping into place over his handsome features, and you couldn’t help but ogle when he looked like that. There was something about it, the way it set into the sharp lines of his jaw, suiting his strong facial features so perfectly. 
“Sorry, sir.” She said, although you had a feeling she wasn’t apologetic in the slightest, mainly from the broad grin spread across her face that promised trouble.
And then the pack descended.
A wolf whistle, “Hello, gorgeous. You the lady our man’s been seeing?”
“Um, no, I’m not-” You tried to clear up the obvious miscommunication, fueled by Penelope’s meddling, but you were interrupted, this time by a female voice.
“If he ever hurts you, feel free to call me.” She winked, and you felt your cheeks grow warm, becoming more embarrassed by the second.
“No, we’re really not-” Apparently, Aaron’s entire team had a thing for not listening, no wonder he was so tired all the time.
“Way to go, Aaron, but isn’t she a little young?” You rolled your eyes at that.
“I’m standing right here, you know.” You looked up at him, silently begging him to get his team in line.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” They went silent, and you breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning into him as you realised he still had an arm around you.
“I’m Jack’s babysitter.” You introduced yourself to each of the group, besides Penelope. You wished JJ was there, but she’d had a baby roughly a week ago, marathons weren’t exactly her mood right now.
You decide that you liked Jordan and Spencer the most, because they had stayed quiet while the rest of the team teased you about your nonexistent relationship. Once everything quieted down, and the novelty of you had expired enough for them to turn their attention to food, you turned to Aaron. You realised that in all of the excitement—first of the race, then the team—that you hadn’t really gotten to speak to him.
“Hi.” You beamed, feeling awkward after the team’s fast paced attack of moments earlier, worse because part of you wished it was true. Scratch that, every single bone, muscle, ligament, every cell in your body, wished it was true.
“Hi.” He smiled back, and you were completely oblivious to how you were just standing there, staring at him and his stupidly handsome features, until a pointed cough broke through your daze. You weren’t sure you liked Spencer anymore. The rest of the team’s eyes shot to you immediately, and you knew you were never going to hear the end of it.
“Aaron, can we go? I don’t like these people.” You groaned, the second part mostly joining. Mostly.
“Anything for you. Jack, are you okay with celebrating at home?” He tugged the boy’s hand lightly to capture his attention, and Jack nodded, smiling as wide as ever, entirely unbothered by the change of plans.
“I’ll make your favourite.” You grinned up at him, “And we can buy ice cream on the way home.”
“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Emily piped up, and you glared at her, taking a step away from Aaron, as if to prove a point.
“I’m very sure.”
“She’s half my age, Prentiss.” 
“Okay, I’m not half your age, please, you make me sound like a baby.” You scoffed.
“No, of course you’re not, I just happen to be very old.” He rubbed your shoulder gently in a silent apology.
“You’re only thirty-eight, Aaron.”
“Aww, you even fight like a couple.”
“Please stop, he pays me to be here. I would rather not lose half my paycheck for fleeing right now.” Technically, he wasn’t paying you for this, the outing with Jack was completely voluntary, which had nothing to do with Aaron post-run. Absolutely nothing.
“Oh, so it’s a sugar daddy thing?” She smirked.
“It’s a babysitter thing.”
“Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed you by the arm, commandeering you away from the group, and you heard a few loud comments about manhandling, as well as the word ‘daddy’ thrown around fairly liberally. “I’m sorry about them, they’re incorrigible.” He murmured against your ear, giving your arm a squeeze.
“It’s okay, I didn’t mind it.” He looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, Jack piped up, calling your name, “Yeah, bud?”
“I wanna hold your hand, too.” You could have cried, standing right there in the parking lot, only a few feet from the car.
“Oh, of course.” You and Aaron rearranged Jack so that he stood in between you, each of you holding one of his hands.
“I’m hungry.”
“Me too, buddy.”
“It might take me a bit too long to cook…” You trailed off, swinging Jack’s arm, “There’s a great barbeque spot about ten minutes from here?”
“Sounds great, Jack, what do you think?”
“Yes.” He seemed very sure for someone you were pretty certain had no idea what a barbeque was. Aaron loved to use the grill when he had the chance, and yet no matter how many times the word was said, Jack would still be surprised at dinner. You figured he would pick it up in a year or two.
You reached the car, helping Jack into the child car seat in the back as Aaron slid into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. Once Jack was safely secured, you circled around the back of the car and climbed into the passenger seat.
“Do you know the directions? Aaron turned to look at you, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
“I think so.” You nodded as he pulled out of the parking space, the way he turned his head to double check the space behind the car made the tendons pop out from under the skin of his neck.
You did your best to direct him, although you missed one or two turns, courtesy of Aaron’s side profile looking a little too good. It took about ten minutes longer than it should have to pull up in the parking lot of the restaurant, and the sheen of sweat that had covered his skin had dried by the time you walked in. You were seated in a booth next to a window, and Jack insisted on sitting on your lap until the food arrived. You helped him with his restaurant-branded colouring page, a drawing of a pig cooking sausages on a grill, which was rather grim to anyone over the age of eight.
After lunch, Aaron drove you back to your campus, parking outside your dorm building. You hopped out of the car, walking around to the other side to hug Jack goodbye, then turned to the driver’s door. Aaron rolled down the window, and you leant against the windowsill on your forearms to talk to him.
“Did lunch live up to your expectations?”
“I preferred the company.” 
“So, I guess I’m never getting to choose where we eat again…” You pouted, trying to distract yourself from the warmth that blossomed in your chest at his words, at how casually he could say something so disastrous. 
“Of course you can, it was wonderful.” But you were better. He reached out, one of his hands gently running down your upper arm as he spoke, and maybe that was why you did what you did next.
“Thank you for the ride,” You smiled at him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. You stood there, leaning into the car, and time seemed to slow in a moment where everything was perfect. You stepped back, and reality crashed over you like a wave, a lump in your throat as you stumbled away from him.
“Have a good day.” He waved, and you nodded, licking your lips nervously, tasting the salt of his skin on your lips.
“You too.” You waved back at him, walking backwards from the car, “And shower! You taste like sweat!” You called out, hands cupped to your face to project your voice as you got further away from him, choking on your words.
He shook his head, an amused grin gracing his face as he pulled the car away from the sidewalk. You stood there, like a love stricken schoolgirl who’d just had her first kiss during a game of spin the bottle. 
Life changing.
Inconsequential.
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tysm for reading!!
Tags: @reidmoony-toast @selmasdaydreams - Comment to be added <3
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rainintheevening · 1 year ago
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They're his children of course. Richard still recognizes them; it's only been two years.
And yet...
Peter is a man. Still six months shy of his draft papers, but he stands, walks, sounds like a man. He always has a pocket knife, he tips his hat to all the females, he sings in a baritone that will only get deeper and richer. The tea he makes is decent, but sometimes he drinks coffee now. He talks about horses and crops and reads Augustine. He can drive a car. He gives orders, and expects them to be followed.
They all look to him, to Peter. Helen calls him to open a jar, Susan questions how her hair looks, Lucy runs to him in tears. As for Edmund, he and Peter are curiously joined, they turn to each other with their laughter, their thoughts, their books and newspapers and letters. As often as his family swirls around him, Richard sees them swirl around Peter, a habit, he knows, born of necessity, but that doesn't prevent it from being strange. Even painful.
Peter moves to take the head of table, catches himself. They both start to say grace, stop, glance at each other. Peter takes the newspaper over breakfast, and is a page in before he remembers. And every time he apologises. Each time he smiles at his father, and it is warm, glad, even benevolent.
One of the first nights, shortly after Christmas, Peter finds him sitting in his old armchair, staring into the fire, after everyone else has gone up to bed. "Dad?" comes the question, and he looks up blinking at the tall man, lamplight crowning him in gold, blue eyes deep and dark with knowledge and certainty.
"I'm not who I was," Richard says, a confession, the kind a father shouldn't burden his son with he thinks immediately, but then Peter is down on one knee, reaching for the mangled hand, tender with the three fingers as he clasps strong calloused palms around them.
"Neither am I, Dad. None of us are." Peter's gaze is earnest, bright. "But you are still my father. And I will always be your son. I am forever grateful for that."
It is as if a great burden rolls off of his shoulders, and he finds no shame in leaning on Peter's hand to rise.
When the holidays end, and the four go back to school, Peter says I love you to each of them at the station.
If Peter is a man now, Susan is a lady.
She sits straight, she walks gracefully, she can cook anything as well or better than her mother. She reads the newspapers with Peter, she scolds Lucy for coming home with twigs in her hair and a tear in her stocking and wet shoes.
She talks less than her father remembers, and there is a woman's sadness in her gazing out the window or into the fire. She is also very admiring of the boys in uniforms, and Richard requests her arm on the way out of church with a father's righteous sense of protection.
But she is also gentler than he recalls, she does not shy away from his injured hand, she takes care of him without making him feel as if he needs care. She sits on a cushion by his feet as she braids her hair in the evenings, leans on his knee as she reads aloud, and Richard thinks, Not my little princess, but a queen now.
At the train station, she kisses him goodbye, and he hugs her close, and there are tears in her eyes as she says I love you.
Edmund is the closest to unrecognizable, the once-obvious four year span between he and Peter seemingly halved. He greets his father wordlessly, all shining eyes and bright smile, and his face is so close to Richard's own it makes his heart break a little.
Ed is no more little boy, he is tall, slim, oddly graceful, but his handclasp is strong. He holds himself the same way Peter does, with squared shoulders and lifted head, but he wears that nobility in a quieter fashion. He's quick to see, quick to hear, quick with a wisecrack that makes Peter laugh out loud. He plays the violin now. He returns the family Bible to the living room with an apology for having kept it since the summer holidays. He reads Agatha Christie as a personal challenge, whispers to Susan in French, and his chess games with Peter are fierce battles of strategy that Richard cannot keep pace with.
In discussions of the war and its movements, he is sober and considerate, he meets each of Peter's moods with a balancing counter, he has a way of phrasing questions that pull out stories Richard had never planned to tell.
A few nights before the children return to school, Richard sits up in bed, certain he has heard a faint cry, and he slips away from his exhausted wife to check on his children, remembering how Edmund had suffered from night terrors as a child, imagining little Lucy inflicted with some dark dream.
But all he finds is shadows in the boys' room, and quiet whispers—Peter's apologies, Edmund's reassurance, and allusions to things Richard has no context for. He lingers by the door, an outsider in his home, until silence falls, and he returns with morning light to find them curled together in Peter's bed, Pete with an arm over Ed, and the father's love is bittersweet.
They have fought their own battle over here, on the home ground, Richard reminds himself. In their own way they have each faced terror and learned to conquer or be conquered, but perhaps he can meet them somewhere in between. Only time will tell.
On the train platform, Ed hugs his father tightly, gives him a smile, tells him to keep out of trouble.
Lucy is the least changed, though she too is taller and stronger, and her eyes are deeper. She still sings, still dances, still tries to make friends with all the animals, still smiles and speaks kind and stares dreaming at the Christmas tree.
She still gives fierce hugs, still climbs into her father's lap, though her head comes up higher on his chest, on his shoulder.
But then he finds gaps in his library, and Lucy returns the medical books with a winsome apology, she asks questions about his practices in the field, she winces but does not shy away from the blood and broken things he speaks of.
Then she recites long poems, words spinning off her tongue until they become half song; she dances swift and graceful, she and Peter laughing and stepping and clapping and spinning in intricate patterns to the swing song on the radio; and it is she who, breathless, quotes Byron: "On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined!"
Her comfort is both generous and thoughtful, and she strokes her father's hair with a motherly hand that makes his eyes sting, and he kisses her fingers, looks up at her to whisper, "Don't- don't grow up quite so fast, my darling."
When she hugs him on the platform, Susan waiting for her, the boys already gone, she doesn't want to let go, and there are tears on her cheek, that he wipes away gently. "Be careful, Daddy," she whispers. "Get strong. Take care of Mummy."
"Yes, little mother," he smiles back.
And then they are all gone, and he takes a cab home, weary of his still-recovering body.
He will have to learn his children all over again, he thinks. But he is proud of them still. That has not changed.
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brittle-doughie · 5 months ago
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I’ll Take You V1 (I’ll Miss You Alt)
Some things are not fated to last, but trying to push closer only makes love farther out of reach. Results can be fatal.
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Five Cookies were baked by the Witches, radiant beings graced with wisdom and power unparalleled. The Five were destined to reshape the tempestuous world and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for all.
Seeing as how the Five were unlike most Cookies, they could live on for far longer, the Witches have decided to bake one more Cookie. A Cookie that wasn’t as strong or held great power like them, but rather…as a companion for any of the Five to cherish and love dearly.
The love blossomed into something more that could be considered as forever happiness…
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You’ve always looked up to the Fount of Knowledge to know many aspects of this world like the back of his hand! However, all of the knowledge in the world wouldn’t compare to the joys he would have spending time with you!
He likes to spend his time in the Spire of All Knowledge cuddled up next to you as he reads books with you, showing you the many wonders of Earthbread! He always kept the stories interesting with his mannerisms and funny way of speaking, you’re never bored when he reads.
He makes sure to always leave time away from writing in scrolls and books to have moments with you, why would he keep his cutie patootie waiting on him! The texts could wait, snuggling up to you by his tower window was much more preferable to him!
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“Man, you always tell such fascinating tales, my fair Fount! It almost makes me feel dull in comparison!”
“Oh, don’t let those little words come out of your mouth again! You are way more fascinating than any of the books I have! I can write whole books on their own on what you’re just oh so great to me!”
“Oh stop, you’re just saying things.”
“Far from it, my little Cookie~ It’s the honest truth~”
The two of you share a laugh as you look out the spire window, leaning on each other…
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The Herald of Change always had that bit of a grumpy side to him when it came to getting him out of his temple to come look at the new civilizations and kingdoms being created everyday.
Everything was the same to him no matter the result, but he could never say no to your requests to visit these civilizations. Your enthusiasm to see what could possibly be different was pretty infectious, encouraging him to go with you in these visits.
He was quite the protective one too, insisting that in return of going with you, you are to stick by his side as you two walked. He makes sure of that by having one of his arms around your waist, he behaves himself but will shoot a glare anyone getting too close.
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“Look at that spring the townspeople made, my Herald! Look at the flowers blooming from the water and the creatures that inhabit in and around it, isn’t it wonderful?”
“It’s remarkable, but it’s nothing new to me. I’ve seen many springs like this before, they come and go eventually. Just like the many civilizations we’ve visited today, there’s so much more that I can get done by now!”
“The destination may be the same, but the journey doesn’t have to. It can be different compared to another, so many different ways Cookies behave and act, environment changing with many different plants and creatures. Tell me just one thing that you wouldn’t want to change.”
The Herald, looking down at the ground, slowly formed a smile as he softly laughed, turning his gaze to look at you. One of his arms going around you to hold you close to him.
“I’d say….”
“It would be us that I would never want to change.”
“Aw….”
The two of you hold onto each other close as you both looked on at the lively spring.
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The Seeker of Volition was immensely patient and considerate of you, shaping and changing her realm to make you as comfortable as you can be. She knows things around the Ivory Pagoda may not too interesting or extravagant, but that was alright with you. So long as you were with her.
Her displays of affection were pretty subtle that no Cookie that visited her would’ve suspected that you and her had something close and in a way, it made it more special to her. The gentle hand holding, the way she caressed your cheek as she spoke to you, it was small yet held so much love that she shared with you.
She’s always wondered why you never asked for a wish from her, with how many Cookies that visited her wanting that exact thing. Well, you didn’t really want to wish for anything, the Seeker was enough for you. Being able to stand by her side like this was a wish come true. She didn’t understand your refusal for a wish, but…it touched her that she was enough for you.
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“After all the Cookies that have come to me for a wish, I did not think you wouldn’t be one of them. Is there not anything you want wish for?”
“Oh, Seeker. We’ve been through this, ehe. I do not want a wish, I have all that I need here at the Ivory Pagoda. As long as there’s this, I’m happy.”
“You are? After spending all of your time here at the Ivory Pagoda with me, you must have some sort of wish you want granted. Please, say the word. I shall fulfill it to the best of my abilities.”
“Well….”
“Yes?”
“I wish to take a walk around the Pagoda with you. Just the two of us.”
The Seeker was not expecting such a simple and mundane wish, she would’ve seen it as a waste if it came from any other Cookie, but…
To hear it from you…it made giggle softly with a smile.
“Hm…hehe, very well. I shall grant you your wish, my dearest Cookie.”
The two of you hold hands as you leave out the doors to her Pagoda, intending to enjoy a peaceful walk together…
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But could that happiness really last forever?
As time went on, it felt the Cookies you once held dear to you had changed, no longer being the Cookies you once loved. It was as if the power they held was slowly warping their minds and ideals into something more twisted and dark.
“But we both know it’s ever too good to happen.”
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The Fount could never be truly honest with you, always masking his words that tinged with deceit, always making a game of things. Even the books and text he’d were how you remembered…
“Fount, this..isn’t how the story went the last time I’ve heard about it…”
“Oh, that boring ol’ story? I helped myself to make a few changes that really added to the pizzazz of it all, don’t you think?”
“But that never happened! It’s a complete fabrication! Real Cookies have gone through those events, I feel like we shouldn’t tarnish that to make it “interesting.”
“Oh my! I’m hurt! I just wanted to make it more good! Oh well, I’m sure those Cookies wouldn’t mind, right? Come on, let’s read another, shall we?”
“N-no, I don’t want to read another. I’ll just..be in my room.”
“Hey! Where you going?! I swear the details on the next one are accurate! Mostly! Maybe!”
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The Herald never could see how you see the many locations and civilizations you two see, always groaning and muttering that it was boring to him. It had gotten to the point where he ignored you and remain sat on his seat in the temple.
“What do you mean you’re not going?”
“I mean it. You say that all these places would be different in their own ways, but it’s all been the same! It bores me when I have to go through the same thing over and over again!”
“I-I promise that I’ll keep your interest piqued with this one-“
“NO!”
He destroyed a nearby table with a single hit.
“You can go on without me from now on. I have no reason to endure something so boring as another town visit…”
“R-right, okay, I’ll just…go.”
You hastily leave as the Herald looked at his fist that broke the table, he realized something as a large grin on his face formed…
“That…felt good….”
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The Seeker didn’t feel like herself anymore with the coldness and apathy she now radiated. She didn’t push you away when trying to be close like old times, but she didn’t really reciprocate your affections like she would back then. It felt like..she didn’t love you all that much anymore.
“Where you going?”
“I must return to the Ivory Pagoda in order to continue my pursuit of becoming a Leavened One.”
“I know this Leavened One status is important to you, but…wouldn’t that mean I won’t get to see you much anymore. I can’t bear that…”
“Oh, Y/N Cookie…”
She caressed your cheek, but it didn’t feel right. There was no sense of love placed into it, as if she only did it to calm you down by reminding you of the past.
“You should know that I hold this opportunity dear to me, but it does not mean I value you any less, it is meaningless to worry. I must go.”
“What about my wish to spend the day together…?”
“You should also know that not every basic wish will be granted. I am sorry…”
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Regardless, it felt like you were kicked to the curb as you walked outside during the night.
You were not happy. You look up at the sky, wondering if your Creator was looking down at you too.
You ask them how could things go so wrong. What purpose could you have now that the Cookies you were made for weren’t themselves anymore? Were they even the same Cookies at this rate?
You ask…what could you do…?
You look down, only now noticing a nearly invisible string flowing in the air, red in color as it looked like it came from your chest. You reached up to hold it and in doing so, the string was seemingly cut and it floats away into the sky…
That…oddly felt liberating. You looked at your hands and realized that..you did have meaning outside of your purpose. There was a whole world out there that you could now explore! Many things to see and Cookies to meet!
You felt rejuvenated and head off to rest for tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll be a new Cookie!
Surely, the “Virtues” wouldn’t mind if you were gone for a little while, right?
But you weren’t the only one who felt a change after that string was cut…
The spire trembled.
The temple shook.
The cocoon violently spasmed.
Their occupants having felt the full effects…
The Fount suddenly tore the book they were “changing” as he keeled over, clutching his chest where his heart was…he felt…empty.
The Herald started a rampage in his temple, the pain in his chest fueling his anger and muddied despair as he destroyed everything…he felt…lost.
The Seeker, once settled in her cocoon, was now clutching her head with both her hands as she lets out silent screams of anguish, the pain in her chest amidst a void of white too great to ignore…she felt…voided.
One by one, they fall….
They’d find you, and they’ll take you….
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You were just about to carry on in your boat out of the continent when a sheep wandered to you.
“Oh hello, little sheep. You lost your way from your herd?”
“Baaaaa….”
“Why are you looking down? Come on, look at me…”
The sheep suddenly jolted up to look you, it looked furious as it’s eyes glowed shades of blue.
“BAAAAAA!”
“What?!”
The sheep poofed into blue smoke, and in its place was now a very angry Cookie.
“My Fount?!”
“ERRR! WRONG! Now let me ask you a question. WHY DID YOU LEAVE?!”
Shadow Milk Cookie had found you right as you were about to leave Beast-Yeast.
“I’m sorry, my Fount. But…I can’t do this anymore. You are no longer the Cookie I know and loved. You lie to me, you twist things so badly, I can’t even tell what’s true and what’s not.”
“I do not lie to you! I never could! You weren’t supposed to leave me behind! You were supposed to stick to me like glue for as long as the two of us lived!”
“We all change, Fount. That includes you and me.”
“Is that it?! Are you just going to walk away from EONS worth of our time together all for my new change of style?!”
“You are NOT going anywhere! You are coming back with me to that Spire and we are going to adore and be mushy to each other like always!”
“I’m going, Fount. I’ve made my decision…”
“Oh…hehe….ehehehe~!”
“What? What are you laughing for-“
Your movements are stopped, you are horrified to see blue strings wrapped tightly around your arm. You try to free yourself, but you found that all your limbs were wrapped in strings too. You pulled into his arms as he giggled menacingly to you, a shadow over his eyes.
“Oh, you silly little thing~ I never would’ve expected you to lie to ME! My brand new style doesn’t mean my heart went out the window! If you can’t accept how deceit seeps into the very cracks of this world, then…”
He leans in real close to your face, whispering in a chilling voice…
“I’ll just have to take you, cutie~ Ehehehe~”
You were never seen again…
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You were having a peaceful time in the civilization you were staying at, enjoying a nice meal provided by the locals when…
“AAAAAH! Run for your lives!”
“He’s destroying everything in his path, watch out!”
“ARGH! It hurts!”
The screams of Cookies in the distance alerted you to turn around from where you were sitting to see Cookies running away from something.
And their screams weren’t the only ones you were hearing.
“COME OUT TO ME, LITTLE COOKIE! I KNOW YOU’RE HERE SOMEWHERE!”
The Herald(?!) shouted in anger as he was breaking and bashing through anything in his path up ahead.
Cookies that were in his way were simply hit back with enough force to send them into walls or sliding back on the ground, he didn’t give them any time to move.
“Ah! Please! Show mercy!”
“Mercy?! There IS no mercy for you WORMS!”
The Cookie on the ground from an earlier attack tried to get up, but groaned in pain as Burning Spice Cookie slowly raised his weapon, the Cookie covers their face to brace for impact.
“STOP!”
Burning Spice Cookie immediately stops to look in the direction of your shout and locking eyes with you, he heads for you.
“Please, don’t hurt any more Cookies!”
“So…you’ve been here all along, spending time amidst these ANTS! The tide of Change will sweep through all, leaving everyone here as nothing but dust in the wind!”
“Have you NO IDEA how long I’ve looked for to find you when you didn’t come back the temple?!”
“To not see you by my side for DAYS?!”
“I know you’re mad, but please, you don’t have to do this! I’ll..I’ll come back with you…”
“Will you now…? I must be sure!”
“What are you-“
Your talk was stopped when he grips your shoulders and brought you to a rough kiss that left you coughing spice when he pulled away.
“Hahaha! Yes! I remember this feeling now! I expect you to stay in the temple with me, for as long as we live! I promise not to break you too easily, ahahaha!”
You felt conflicted as you were dragged with him back to the temple. He’d never let you go as easily again…
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You say farewell to a close friend of yours as you head inside your home. You were ready to turn in for the night as you offed the lights, it was particularly foggy tonight, so you chose to keep things closed up before you turned in for tonight.
You close your eyes and drift off to sleep..or at least, you tried to before you hear a slight creak in your room. You sit up and look, only to see a pair of slit pupils staring right back at you in the darkness in the room.
Neither of you move….
“I may give nothing for your loyalty, but to see you offer your mind and soul to another, right after I had been free from my cocoon…you will learn that it was pointless to try and leave me…”
“My Seeker?!”
She barely gives you time to let the realization sink in before she rushed forward to hold your cheeks in her hands, lifting you up effortlessly to bring you face to face with her as she looks down at you. Her eyes wide open and pitch black, her slit pupils bearing down on yours.
She was as expressionless as ever, but her eyes told you everything you needed to know that she was mad. You felt weak, dough turning pale..
“I never forgot our bond, the years upon years that we shared…my rise to the Leavened One should not have been a path I walked alone…”
“Why are you saying..?”
“I should’ve shared my feelings with you, to show you that everything will be futile in the end. Just like your intentions to leave me as just a thought…”
“No, you don’t have to…”
“THIS is my wish. To have you see what I see, to feel how I feel. About everything, about you…”
“No, please…”
“I promise…I promise to not have us walk alone anymore…”
Everything was a blur as she took you away from your home, up the stairs; and back to the Ivory Pagoda. The last of the outside world forever a distant memory as the cocoon wrapped up once more, Mystic Flour clutching you close to her body.
Together in a world of white, that is what she always wished for…
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“I loved you
Even though I loved you
I’ll treat you like this
Like the traitor you are
Return my feelings
I loved you
Even though I loved you
Forever”
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2K notes · View notes
rafesangelita · 7 months ago
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thinking abt how rafe would be like when he takes the !readers virginities >.<
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warnings: first times, sooo much praise, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, dirty talk, corruption kink, guided masturbation, oral (f. receiving), body worship, teasing, cream pie, overstimulation, hair pulling, breeding kink
₊˚⊹♡ bambi!reader:
poor bambi is soooo nervous, she’s trembling as rafe slips off her panties, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear as he whispers the sweetest things to her. “m’gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl..” he’d insert his fingers in your mouth, telling you to get them nice and slick for him so he could ‘prep’ you for his cock. you’re gasping and whimpering his name when he finally curls his digits inside of you, your thighs threatening to shut around his hand when his thumb finds your sensitive bundle of nerves. “doing so good for me, bambi, ‘promise i’ll have you crying for another reason instead.” and he did. soon, your tears of discomfort turned into ones of pure bliss, your walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion that was his cock. you’d be staring up at him with those doe eyes of yours while he pounded into you at an unforgiving speed, one hand stroking your clit, and the other wrapped around your neck as he made you unravel until you couldn’t take it anymore.
₊˚⊹♡ sheep!reader:
rafe felt like he was corrupting you with his filthiest fantasy yet. here, in front of him, he had your legs spread apart while he instructed you how to touch yourself. “doesn’t feel like you!” you’d cry out in frustration, your fingers doing nothing to stimulate you the way rafe’s did. he’d pinch your side for getting loud, a whimper leaving your lips at the action. “i just want you to do it yourself one time, baby, that’s all i’m asking.. y’think you can do that for me?” looking up to meet his heated gaze, you’d welcome his lips in a kiss before pathetically rubbing yourself over the pink cotton of your underwear. “you look like you’re close.. if you cum for me, maybe i’ll put it in..” that was all the encouragement you needed, rafe’s large hands cupping your tits as he pulled you onto his aching cock. you yelped when he poked at your entrance, your bottom lip raw from biting it so hard as he bounced you up and down his length. “poor baby, ‘gonna be so sore tomorrow, hmm?” burying your face in his neck, rafe would shush you while stroking your skin tenderly.
₊˚⊹♡ latina!kook!reader:
latina!kook!reader had rafe mesmerized the second he saw her, so now that she was bare beneath him, he couldn’t believe his eyes. far too perfect to be real, he made sure not an inch of her remained untouched. he was gentle as he lapped at the wetness between your thighs, his fingers intertwining with your own as your moans filled the air of your room. “you taste so sweet, angelita.” your eyes would flutter shut as your first orgasm of the night hit you in soft waves, each one magnifying the last. rafe kept tasting you, not being able to get enough until you begged him to be inside of you already. “por favor dámelo, ray— please give it to me, ray.” he cursed under his breath when he heard those words leave your mouth, both of smiling into a kiss as he sat between your folds. “ima give it to you, gorgeous.. i’ll give you whatever you ask for.” your face twisted in pain when he thrusted into you, the man above you holding you by your chin. “you’re so fucking perfect, i could cum just by hearing your voice.”
₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!kook!reader:
rafe is so smug that he gets to be her first fuck, he keeps saying things like, ‘you really gonna let me pop your cherry?’ which only makes her roll her eyes, even as rafe’s tapping his glistening tip against her clit. “can you stop being annoying—” your words die in your throat when he slips inside, both of you gasping as you enveloped every inch of him. “ah, fuck, why do i feel like i’m the one losing my virginity here?” rafe was whispering against your skin, your nails digging into his flesh when the dull ache between your legs turned into pure bliss. you’re kissing him frantically, your teeth clashing together as he pins you down to the mattress by your hips. “tell me you love this shit.” rafe is pulling your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two are connected as you gasp at the sight. “fuck you.” rafe laughs before flashing you a glare. “i already am.” in seconds, he has you in a mean mating press, the words “i love it, i love it, i love it!” is all you could muster as he fucks you absolutely stupid.
₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!pogue!reader:
she’s annoyed when rafe keeps bothering her about it, his fascination only growing for you when you let it slip that you’ve never slept with anyone before. “come on..” he’s in your ear, fingers slipping under your shirt, “just the tip, i promise.” what a lie that was. all it takes is barry leaving the trailer for a few hours before he’s bending you over, pressing your head into the pillows as he digs you out. your glittery nails are clutching your sheets for dear life, your hips moving to meet his thrusts when he starts stroking your clit. “i’m the only one who can fill up this cunt, you hear me?” you’re too busy crying tears of pleasure to acknowledge him, a yelp leaving your lips when he pulls you up against his chest. “just a brainless fuck doll, that’s what you are.” you’re nodding, letting him rut into you until he’s spilling into you, his seed making a mess between your thighs as he rubs your clit into overstimulation. “i’m gonna break you in just fine, babygirl, just wait and see.” you’re a fucked out mess by the time he pulls his clothes back on, his palm delivering a sharp smack to your ass before he’s leaving to conduct ‘business’.
₊˚⊹♡ kook!sweetheart!reader:
rafe is unsure, even as your robe slips off of your body, revealing the gorgeous lingerie set underneath. “i want it to be you,” rafe is welcoming you onto his lap, groaning when you drag your hips against his, “i want you on top of me.. inside of me..” your voice is soft in his ears, his skin feeling hot against yours. “is this what you really want? ‘want me to fuck you?” your wrapping your legs around his waist, both of your lips melting together perfectly. rafe could see the desire in your eyes, along with the nerves as he’s laying you down on your back. unsnapping your bra with one hand, he’s marveling at sight of your tits as they spill out of the lacey material. after making sure you came at least three times around his fingers, you were feeling ready as ever when he finally aligned himself with your entrance, his hand taking yours as he slowly pushed inside. you didn’t feel any pain, the stretch around his cock making you moan. “you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, taking me so good like this..” rafe praised you, talking you through it all until you came, again and again, with a cry of his name.
₊˚⊹♡ farmer’s!daughter!reader:
a particular cowboy couldn’t wait to rock your world for the first time, even if it meant having to take you in the barn at three in the morning so you two couldn’t get caught by anyone. rafe is enthralled by your smile as the moonlight peaks through the old wood, casting its light onto your bodies. “sit still, sweetheart, i’m trynna make this as painless as possible..” rafe is holding you down, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles. “you won’t hurt me—” as soon as he breaks into your walls, your shrieking at the mere girth alone, your eyes rolling back when you felt the ridges of his cock stroke the soft spot inside of you that made you see stars. hands flying out to hold onto his biceps, rafe starts thrusting into you until your whimpers turn into moans, your heels digging in his lower back so he could go deeper. “fuck, darlin’, i might have to breed you.. ‘lock this pussy down.” you clenched around him even tighter at the prospect of having him finish inside of you. “please, i want it!” you kissed his fingers, taking the digits between your lips as he smiled down at you. “yeah? have us some babies running around here?”
₊˚⊹♡ pogue!sweetheart!reader:
rafe was reeling when you told him it was your first time when he was already inside of you. “what?!” his eyes widened as you peered up at him innocently. “it’s okay!” you winced when he pulled out, his hands finding your own. “baby, why wouldn’t you tell me?” he was pressing kisses to your knuckles, concern etched all over his face. “i just didn’t want to make it a big deal..” you were whispering now, still needy for your boyfriend as he rolled on top of you. “i could understand that, but at least i’d be a bit more, you know.. gentle.” you laughed, throwing your leg over his hip so he was resting on your mound. “what if if i don’t want you to be?” rafe shuddered, the drop of your voice making his cock twitch. “those are dangerous words..” his jaw clenched as you sighed dreamily. “you could always just say no—” just as you pouted, he caged you between his arms and gave you exactly what you were asking for. of course, he still started off soft, kissing you warmly as his hips barely rocked into yours. but as soon as you were whining, begging for more force, his thrusts became brutal as he plowed into you like there was no tomorrow.
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juliettejwnewinesa · 2 months ago
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Lap Lesson
baku version hyun-tak version seongjae version yeongbin version wooyoung version beomseok version
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Pairing: Ahn Suho x Reader (Y/N) Setting: Private tutoring session, late afternoon, empty classroom Genre: Smut, Tension, Accidental Orgasm, Obsession, Teasing POV: Third person (Y/N-focused) Length: One-shot ~4,000 words
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Y/N never intended to end up in Suho's lap.
It started out simple. Just a study session. She was helping him prep for an exam. That was all. But Ahn Suho had a way of pulling people in with his silence. He wasn’t the type to flirt or tease—he didn’t need to. He looked at you once and your stomach flipped like you'd been caught doing something wrong.
And maybe she was.
Because at some point, she stopped reading from the book. Her words slowed. She leaned forward. Their knees brushed.
And he didn’t move away.
“Suho,” she said softly, “you’re not paying attention.”
His eyes met hers. Dark. Focused.
“I am now.”
Her heart skipped.
The classroom was dead silent. Outside, the sun had dipped past the windows, casting long shadows over the floor. She shifted her weight, legs swinging slightly under the desk.
Suho didn’t blink.
“You keep looking at my mouth,” she whispered.
“You keep licking your lips.”
His voice was low. Controlled. But his fingers clenched faintly at the edge of the desk.
Something inside her snapped.
“Then stop looking,” she said, standing.
He tilted his head, challenging.
She didn’t back down.
She stepped between his legs.
“Y/N,” he said, voice hoarse. “That’s not a good idea.”
“You haven’t told me to stop.”
He didn’t.
She slid onto his lap slowly. Testing.
His hands didn’t move. Not at first. But his thighs tensed beneath her. His breath caught.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he muttered.
“Then play with me.”
Their mouths met in a crash of heat.
He kissed her like he’d been waiting all year for it. Rough. Controlled. Like he knew if he let go, he'd ruin her.
She didn’t care.
Her hands tangled in his hair, lips parting with a gasp when he sucked on her bottom lip. His grip finally broke—hands sliding up her waist, palms flat against her ribs. Steady. Warm.
And then she moved.
She didn’t even mean to. Just a shift of her hips, instinctive. But the friction made them both freeze.
Her thin skirt had ridden up. His uniform pants were straining. There was barely any fabric between them.
Suho swore under his breath.
“Y/N…”
She looked at him, pupils blown wide.
“You like that?” she asked, breathless.
He didn’t answer. His hand gripped her waist tight. Not pulling her away—just holding. Like he was trying to breathe through it.
She rolled her hips again.
His head tipped back.
“Fuck… don’t—”
But she was already doing it again.
Slow, lazy grinds. Back and forth. Her panties were soaked. She could feel the heat of him through his pants, and the pressure was… addictive.
She whimpered, trying to keep quiet.
His hands slid to her hips, guiding. Not stopping.
He was breathing hard now. Eyes clenched shut. Jaw locked.
“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”
She kissed him hard.
And kept going.
She didn’t mean to.
But the rhythm, the friction, the heat of him underneath her, how his hands gripped her tighter each time she moved—it built too fast.
Her thighs trembled. She gasped his name, forehead against his.
“Y/N…?”
Then it hit her.
A wave of heat. Her whole body tightened.
She came.
Right there.
On his lap.
Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling the sound. Her body shook, grinding once more through the aftershocks before she collapsed against him, panting.
Silence.
Then:
“Holy shit,” Suho said, voice stunned.
She hid her face in his neck.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize.” His arms wrapped around her. “You have no idea how fucking hard it was not to flip the desk.”
They sat there for a moment.
Her legs still shaking. His breathing still heavy.
Then she felt something.
A hot, sticky wetness between them.
She blinked. Pulled back.
“Suho?”
He cleared his throat.
“Yeah. I came too.”
She stared at him.
“From that?”
His eyes met hers, dead serious.
“You grind on my lap and moan my name like that, what the fuck do you expect?”
She burst out laughing.
He kissed her again.
Harder this time.
@speedywizardland
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tedmustache · 3 months ago
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could you something where both dr robby and dr abbott have a crush on the reader who’s a nurse? if not it’s all good! have a good day!
n/a: Hey, thanks for the ask! I hope you like it
Triage
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Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader x Michael "Robbie" Robinavitch
Summary: Amid the nonstop pressure of a Pitt emergency room, one nurse navigates long nights, relentless crises, and two doctors who are harder to read than any medical chart.
Warnings: impliced!jealous!jack, impliced!jealous!Robbie, clueless reader
Requests are open | Main Masterlist
[...]
The ER in the heart of the Pitt never really slept. Pain didn’t follow a schedule, and neither did the people crawling in from collapsed scaffolding, gunfire, or accidents no one could quite explain. It was all smoke, rust, and adrenaline.
She moved through it with the calm of someone who’d stopped counting emergencies. Her gloves were slick with blood from a deep gash across a foreman’s arm. The man winced, but she kept working, clean and efficient.
Jack Abbott stepped inside without a word. He didn’t need to announce himself, everyone knew when he was in the room. He stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes tracking the way she sutured with confidence, like this wasn’t the tenth patient of the night.
“Need a hand?” he asked, nodding toward the man on the cot.
“Sedative’s working. He won’t move again.”
Jack didn’t say more, just grabbed a bandage and started wrapping the cleaned area once she was done, like it was something they always did together. It wasn’t. But he made it feel like it was.
Then came the flap of the curtain being shoved aside too fast.
Dr. Robby, slightly out of breath, holding a tray of meds and his beat-up tablet, scanned the room until he saw her.
“They told me you were here,” he said, offering the meds. “Penicillin. And results from that worker with the lung infection.”
“Thanks,” she said, accepting both. She didn’t miss the way Robby’s gaze flicked to Jack or the way Jack didn’t look away.
“You eat anything yet?” Robby asked.
“Didn’t get the chance.”
“I can grab something for you—”
“She’s fine,” Jack interrupted, calm but firm. “She knows how to take care of herself.”
Robby looked over at him. “I wasn’t saying she didn’t.”
Her hands paused over the tablet. She didn’t look at either of them.
“If you two want to argue,” she said, not raising her voice, “do it somewhere that’s not my triage area.”
That shut them up. Jack left first, quiet as he came. Robby hesitated for a moment, then followed without another word.
Hours later, during one of those unofficial breaks that only happen when the bleeding stops for ten minutes, she leaned against the back wall of the ER with a paper cup of water, spine aching.
Robby passed by carrying two coffees. He stopped when he saw her.
“Got an extra. In case you still haven’t eaten.”
She took it silently, nodded. It was good. Hot. Thoughtful.
A few minutes after, Jack rounded the corner with a folder of reports in one hand and a tired look on his face.
“Need someone to help review these,” he said. “You’ve got the sharpest head in this place.”
She looked at both of them, then up toward the steel-beamed sky above the ER.
Neither said anything else.
And for now, that was enough.
[...]
From the other side of the hallway, just out of view, three nurses stood near the supply cabinet pretending to organize gauze.
“She’s got no clue,” Perlah muttered, peeking around the corner with a smirk.
“She’s too focused on keeping everyone alive,” Dana said, arms crossed. “But I give it a week. Tops.”
Princess scoffed. “A week? Please. Two days. The way Jack stares at her? And Robby bringing her coffee like it’s a love language? She’s gonna figure it out.”
“And then what?” Perlah asked. “Who do you think she picks?”
The three looked at each other, and grinned like it was the best kind of drama.
No one said anything out loud, at least not yet. But the bets were on.
And the ER, for all its blood and heartbreak, suddenly had something else running through its veins: anticipation.
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