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nezuscribe · 4 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

part two of after all this time

summary: you try to make sense of everything after that night with gojo satoru, the slytherin prince, but as much as you try to run away from it, it seems to follow you more. but he has to hate you for it, right? that could be the only explanation for why he seeks you out...right?

warnings: 18+ mdni all characters are 18, gojo slight angst, messy makeout, gojo eating pussy like his life depended on it, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex

word count: 12k

note: yay! part two is done! please comment and reblog, it's really appreciated. thank you @jadeisthirsting for beta reading! <3

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

If there was one thing you grew to understand about Hogwarts, it was that the castle was entirely unpredictable.

From the moving staircases, the random ghosts that would appear out of nowhere, to the disappearing portraits that sometimes only reappeared to listen in on student gossip, you knew you had to expect the unexpected when it came to ancient school.

But never in your wildest imagination would you have thought that you would’ve kissed Gojo Satoru.

You couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t happen, despite the fact you wanted so desperately to obliviate your mind and move along with your life.

You could still feel his lips on yours, even days after it happened. You could feel his hands on your body, the way he held you to him, the way he kissed down your neck. You could still hear the way he said your name, breathless, almost desperate.

“Fuck,” he had whispered, heavy on your lips as he dipped down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he said once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips.

You tried to blink it away.

“Satoru,” he had said against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.”

Not you.

That Saturday and Sunday you refused to move from your bed, huddled under blankets as the other girls in your dorm came and went. You could hear the loud party they held after yet another win at the quidditch game, so you just cast a silencio charm around your room, feeling your mattress create a permanent dent in the fetal position you were lying in.

One of the kinder girls of your dormitory, Celeste, crouched down to where your head peeked out from your swarm of blankets, her brown brows furrowed together with worry, but you promised her it was just a stomach flu, nothing to worry about, and told her to go enjoy the party.

That next Monday morning you made sure to go to the transfiguration classroom, glad to find that skipping breakfast helped to see that nobody except for Professor McGonagall seemed to be in the room, of course, aside from that little snowy owl perched atop her desk, its wide eyes blinking slowly at you as you walked in.

You remember how Professor McGonagall looked up briefly, annoyed that a student was here before classes even started, but she did a double take when she noticed it was you, welcoming you by saying your last name with a little bit of surprise.

“How may I help you?” Her eyes looked at you over her glasses, her hands lay flat on her desk, next to the quill she was just using.

“Professor, I have a request to ask of you.”

A part of you was glad that you were such a good student, one who never asked for much and gave everything you had towards the work you did, especially for her class. McGonagall’s thin bow raised slightly, her lips pursing together as you motioned for you to continue. You swallowed thickly, pulling out the thick pieces of parchment tied together, your contribution to her essay, as you laid it down on her table.

“I would like to change my partners…if possible,” your voice was shaking, “I have my work all done here,” quickly going to show her the work that you had done, but her hand outstretched, her slender finger grasping yours as you halted your movements.

When you looked at her face, the only emotion you could trace, which was one you had never seen on the older woman, was genuine concern.

“Has Satoru done…something” She tried to find the right words, but you insistently shook your head, trying to act as if nothing was wrong aside from you.

“No, no,” you sputter out, “It’s me. He’s done nothing wrong. I just,” you sigh, trying to calm down your heart, noting that the large clock outside had struck three times and that her first-year students would be filing in any minutes, “Please, I’d do the rest of the essay alone if necessary.” You know that you were pleading with her at this point, but you couldn’t care.

McGonagall looked you over once, noting the bags under your eyes, the way you actively looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and thought for a long second before she nodded, waving you along as other students started to come in.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, a promise, and you thanked her extensively, bidding her goodbye as you ran across school to make sure you didn’t miss Lupin’s riveting defense against the dark arts lesson about warding off vampires.

And she stuck to her word.

That day you sat in your usual seat, in the back, but instead of Gojo sitting next to you was a disgruntled Charlie Reeve, his arms crossed like a petulant child, depressed to be split up with his friend despite not having any work done.

You saw his flash of white hair, stopping in confusion when he saw the Gryffindor in his seat, your eyes locking briefly as his nose flared.

“Oh, Mister Gojo, I had to rearrange some partners,” Professor McGonagall called out, motioning him to come sit up front with Benny Thompson, “Some people thought it’d be better to leave this essay until it was absolutely necessary.” She cast the two Gryffindor boys a knowing look, not necessarily a lie, and deep inside you felt grateful that she was able to find something believable.

And so, with all of your tedious efforts to make sure that you never bumped into Gojo Satoru, you went weeks without really seeing him.

Of course, it was difficult, increasingly so as it seemed that he was everywhere you went. When you went to the library, he was there, at your usual table, either reading or working on homework, which meant that you had to weasel your way into the astronomy tower to do your work.

And then he began to go to the astronomy tower, you’d see him looking over the ledge, his hair flickering in the wind, his back thankfully to the stairs as you quietly made your way down, running away to find somewhere else.

Sometimes when you were lying in bed, trying to go to sleep, unwillingly, your mind traveled back to that night. And it seemed like all your hard work was in vain because despite trying to act as if he didn’t exist, he was something that you could never forget.

Gojo acted indifferent, however, which both helped and stung a bit. Helped because you were glad he went back to forgetting that you existed, and though you wanted him to act as if he maybe had feelings for you, you knew he never would, and so you blended back into the background

But despite it all, you found that somehow October bled into the unforgiving winds of November, which slowly turned into the winter of December.

Your classes were wrapping up, and teachers no longer cared much seeing that they too were looking forward to the long-awaited and deserved break.

You found that with the workload that was slowly dying down (for you at least, seeing how you had finished up most of your exams, and all the essays and projects the professors had assigned to you months in advance were done, unlike some people who believed in the power of magic enough to leave it to the last week), you visited Hogsmeade more. It offered you some solace to take your mind off of everything.

The snow was beginning to set both on the ground and on top of all the roofs and signs, making the small village look like a wonderland you’d see inside a snow globe. A part of you couldn’t stop the happy smile that made it on your face as you walked through the cobblestone streets, looking inside every shop as if you had the money to spend.

On one of the Saturdays, you were able to give yourself a rest from the work you had to finish before the break started. You bundled up, a silver and green scarf wrapped around your neck, your old mittens (passed down from your mother, of course), and your thickest knitted sweater, went out for Hogsmade.

Hogsmeade is usually busy during December, which you like, pretending that you were somewhere far away, perhaps a little village in France, as you gently make your way around the eager students ready to buy things for their families for the holidays.

After a couple of years of visiting this place, you’ve picked up some key knowledge. Never go to Honeydukes before seven, otherwise, it’s entirely ransacked and they sometimes stock up on Saturdays at half past seven. Zonko’s is only good once in a while, otherwise, it’s too overwhelming, and Gladrags Wizardwear had something marked off if they went unnoticed for too long.

And, perhaps the best part of your visits to Hogsmeade, you had a pass from McGonagall, which let you stay an extra two hours. While most students made their way back before their ten o’clock curfew at night, you were able to get special permission from Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape to stay till midnight.

You told them that you didn’t do anything crazy and that the only reason why you longed to stay out late was really only for Saturdays because the three broomsticks sometimes brought in the wizarding jazz society, a group of witches and wizards who played live on their respective instruments. It was your favorite part of Hogsmeade, and after some negotiation, you were allowed out after ten.

But before then, you spent your time in the other shops, browsing for nothing in particular.

You found yourself admiring some of the intricately made quills outside a window that was on display. Surely expensive, but you simply looked at them, your face almost pressing up against the chilly glass to get a closer look.

There was a group of friends a couple of feet away from you, and you could hear the giggling now and then about something, but you didn’t think it’d be best if you looked over to see what was going on, mind your own business.

You walked along, moving to the next shop window when you noticed that the giggling almost seemed to be following you.

You felt yourself peeking over briefly, somehow not being shocked that it was some of the seventh-year Slytherins, the kids you had grown up with, looking over at you, the girls pointing to something near you as they laughed behind their hands.

Tough skin, you reminded yourself, trying to ignore it as you tried to look at the new cauldrons. At least, you would’ve distracted yourself had you not heard a loud, almost animated rip.

You look down, but not quickly enough to see your bag tear open, some of your knuts fell out, along with your chapstick, your tissues, and some other miscellaneous things.

It didn’t take a genius to glance over at the girls, to see one of them with their wands out as one of the other girls cackles, and while you were used to their antics, it didn’t hurt any less.

You bent down, going on your knees, trying to find some of the things that had disappeared in the snow. One of the girls, Avery McKenna, who talked loud seemed to talk even louder, as if wanting to get your attention.

“Satoru! Satoru, look!” She spoke in a whisper which was louder than your normal speaking voice, and you looked from your lashes at the mention of his name.

And you saw him as one of the other girls shuffled around, tugging at his coat sleeves to direct his attention away from whatever shop window he was looking into as she pointed a finger at you on the ground. You quickly looked back down before you made eye contact with him, your fingers growing cold from the bite of the snow.

You didn’t want to know what he looked like, what sort of smile would take over his face at the sight of you looking like this. You pick up your bag, putting it under your arms so that it won’t grow wet from the snow, inspecting the gash with a heavy heart, realizing that there’s no way to mend it. It looks like a wolf had slashed its claws through the fabric, something that no needle and thread, or even a reparo charm could fix.

You shove the coins in your pockets, holding the rest in your gloved hands as you stand up, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you feel their stares on you, the snow seeping in through your pants, causing you to shiver as you try to find a place you could into to get this sorted.

Thankfully, The Three Broomsticks was just up ahead, and so you tried to mute out all the people behind you as you turned your back, walking up the street as you heard the snow crunch under your shoes, sniffing from the cold as you walked into the familiar pub.

—-

The Three Broomsticks was a Hogsmeade staple.

Inside the pub was a roomy place, a fire always lit in the corner, the flames crackling almost all the shouts and yells and drunk laughter. Up on the stone walls were photographs of famous witches and wizards who had visited the pub, paintings of people long past that used to frequent it, and family members of those who owned it. It smelled of ale and peppermint, the atmosphere warm and welcoming, something that you always enjoyed.

It was usually full, so you count yourself lucky to find a little empty booth near the back.

You got some water seeing how the last knut you needed to buy a butterbeer got lost somewhere in all the snow, and laid out all of your things on the table, including your mauled-up bag.

You wipe at your eyes, careful that nobody sees the stray tears, and allow yourself to sit against the wooden booth, shutting your eyes for a second.

You count to ten, allow yourself to calm your breathing down, and crack your neck, moving it around to your left and right side. The sun was nearly starting to set and it was already five, so it was going to be a bit before their usual jazz band came. Although you’d been looking forward to it since last week, at this point you just wanted to go back, have some soup, and then sleep.

When you open your eyes you find yourself staring at the ceiling, breathing deeply through your nose as you look back down, a surprised gasp escaping your lips to find somebody sitting in front of you.

“I-” Gojo starts but you’ve already started collecting all of your things off the table, your heartbeat skyrocketing as you shove whatever you can in your pockets, sitting up as you try to leave.

But he’s fast, sitting up from his seat, blocking you with his tall body as you feel your heart in your throat, pounding away rapidly as you try to look away from him.

He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.

His hand is holding your elbow, he’s holding you, and he seems desperate, his eyes searching yours, begging you to just listen to him.

Why is he here? Why is he holding you?

“Can we talk?” His white brows are furrowed, his lips parted as his thumb rubs up and down on your skin, “Please?”

What does he want?

You’re looking at him, really looking at him for the first time in months, and despite not seeing him face to face for a while, you can still notice the little changes. There are bags under his eyes, he seems worn down. His eyes, the ones that you often dreamed about, were swirling with unspoken emotions. His lips looked like they were chewed raw, much like yours.

But he still looks like he did that one night in October, the way he spoke your name as if it were the only thing he could say, his hair tousled by the December winds, and his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

“I n-need to…” you swallow thickly, your mouth running dry as your eyes dart around to not look at him, “I need to go.”

But you don’t, and he knows that you don’t.

“Your water…miss,” the waitress suddenly comes around with your mug full to the brim with water, looking curiously at you and Gojo as she sets it down on the table, giving you a small smile as she walks away.

“Please,” he says one more time, and his voice is heavy, piercing through your chest and into your mind, working like a devil’s snare as it wraps itself around you until you are entrapped by everything that is him.

You look at the door of the pub, noting that none of his friends are either there or outside, and you look at him once more.

You lick at your gnawed lips, letting out a defeated sigh as you give him a single nod, watching as his face breaks into a smile, his shoulders sagging from the release of tension as he helps you back into your seat and climbs into his own, across from you, and you set all your stuff back on the table.

His eyes follow your movements, look at your bag and the contents that used to be in it and he whips out his wand, going to cast a spell before you cut him off.

“Reparo didn’t work,” you mutter, fidgeting with your fingers as you awkwardly sink into your seat, watching him intently as if he had been a painting you’d been studying that suddenly came to life.

His eyes flicker to yours and he puts his wand away sheepishly.

“I didn’t know that they were going to do that,” he finally says, breaking the silence.

You nod curtly, looking at your hands resting in your lap as you try to think of what to say. Of which emotion you should call upon to do the talking for you, which thing you had been itching to say to him ever since that night.

“It’s nothing they haven’t before,” you finally say, looking up at him with a sad smile, watching as his chest rattles with an inhale. His fingers are interlocked with each other as they rest on the table, his green sweater resting snuggly on his muscular frame as he leans in, as if he were scared you were going to disappear.

He goes to open his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again.

“Why do you care?”

His mouth shuts, his blue eyes shimmering brightly in the light of the fireplace. He doesn’t seem angry or annoyed, just shocked.

“What?”

You breathe roughly out your nose, looking away briefly as you click your tongue against your teeth, your fingers gliding across the mug, the little water droplets that slid onto the table creating a ring around the cup. You twist and turn it around by the handle, deep in thought.

“Why do you care so much? Why do you care about what happens to me?” You press, your head tilting to the side. You try to look fierce, trying to channel the anger, the pain, the hurt that you’ve been feeling not only since October but since you first stepped foot through that castle.

His lips parted as if he were going to say something, but his head dipped, his fingers playing with that gold ring on his finger, the one of his family crest.

“I…” Gojo can’t seem to finish, can’t seem to find the words. But that’s fine because you’re finding them for him.

“I’ll find a new purse and I’ll move along with my day because I’m used to this Gojo,” your voice is slowly growing, “I’m used to your friends, to you and your pureblood hierarchy. So stop acting like you’re this hero that should get rewarded with whatever it is you want from me by talking to me o-or pitying me,” you ramble, your voice dripping with venom, your eyes stinging as you try to control yourself, “Just please stop acting like you care.”

He doesn’t say anything, his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw ticking. His eyes reflect a storming sea right now, one a sailor would never return from.

“That night, when you kissed me,” your voice was loud enough to be a whisper, but he hears you, his breathing hitching as he most likely thinks back to that night, “Were you able to cross off another check mark on your list? Did you finally fulfill all the crazy things you wanted to accomplish?”

“Stop,” he seethes out through clenched teeth, his eyes daring you to continue.

You’re glad that the pub is so busy and so loud to cover the two of you.

“Did I taste different than the pureblood girls? Than Alicent? Than Eliana?” You pushing him, pushing at his buttons because this has to be it, this has to be when he finally tells you that you were some bet that he made with his friends, that kissing you was worth some extra galleons to fill his pockets as he came back gallivanting to the other Slytherin purebloods.

His eye twitches, his breathing heavy as he murmurs another stop but you just shake your head, hoping that he doesn’t see the gloss covering your eyes, the way your lips are trembling thinking of all the possibilities.

“You’re mean, Gojo,” the words fall from your lips, heavy, pointed straight at him, and you can feel a tear drop down your chin, splattering on the table, right next to all the water droplets from your mug, “A-and you don’t even realize it. Or maybe you do, I don’t know,” you shrug, “Those weeks when we were working on that essay I sent an owl to my mum and she sent one back saying how happy she was that I finally had a friend.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You can’t stand to look at his face.

You helplessly wipe at your cheeks, looking away as you heaved in a shaky breath, nodding confidently for your own sake as you stood up.

“I need to go,” you mutter, your water sat untouched as you made your way around the people standing and talking, made your way out the door, and let your tears loose.

—

The break couldn’t come by any faster.

You occupied your time and mind by doing everything possible.

You found a broom closet that was big and comfortable enough for you to do your work, and most days you found yourself there. You ate your meals alone, as always, and made sure that wherever Gojo was, you weren’t.

One of the only things you could look forward to was when the holidays came and when everybody left. It meant that only a handful of Slytherin’s stayed and that meant that you could finally have some moments of quiet to yourself.

Hogwarts was a different kind of magical during Christmas time, and you tried to take time to appreciate the dozen trees, the floating candles that had red ribbons tied around them, the little snow clouds that sometimes followed you around, and the mistletoes that some of the fifth years thought would be funny to hang up around the castle.

And when the breaks finally came around, you watched as people bid each other farewell, their bags packed sufficiently enough for the two-week break as they made their way out of the school and to the train, waving at each other until they departed.

You watched from the stairs, knowing that you too could go home, but seeing that your mom picked up more shifts around the holidays, you’d just be spending these two weeks alone rather than surrounded by strangers, which you still preferred.

The professors seemed to be in a better mood around this time as well, and it helped with distracting you from all the other thousand thoughts that were running through your mind.

The Slytherin common room was always empty around this time of year. Seeing that most of the kids went to their families, it gave you some time to actually enjoy the amenities you usually miss out on during other times of the year.

The room itself was decorated with a large Christmas tree near the large, arching window that looked out into the black lake, and stockings on the fireplace of those students that were staying.

Despite Slytherin and their hatred for the color red, the room was a nice mix between the two clashing colors.

After dinner, on the first night with everyone gone, you made your way down to the dungeons, muttering out the password as the large doors swept open, allowing you inside.

Your first thought was to sit in front of the fireplace on one of the couches and catch up on reading, but seeing that there was almost nobody here you decided to go change into something more comfortable.

Making your way up the stairs that led to the girl's dormitories you noted that most of those who were staying were relays from years before, some fourth and sixth years, a couple of first years, and rounded the corner that led to your room.

Well, that would’ve led to your room had it not been blocked.

“Sorry!” You cry out in surprise, a little shocked, and then your shock melts away as you feel like banging your head against the stone wall when you see that it is none other than Gojo.

“I need to tell you someth-”

“The train left!” You cry out, feeling like dragging him out by his hair.

“I’m aware-”

“Then why aren’t you on it?” You push past him as you go to open your door, feeling him right behind you.

You’re glad that all of your other roommates are gone because Gojo doesn’t seem to be giving it much thought as he comes in as well.

Your arms are crossed as you look around, looking for something, anything, that you could use to ward him away. He’s standing awkwardly at the doorway, wringing his fingers in a way that he never does.

He’s wearing a loose sweater, gray in color, and it seems to make his eyes even more striking. There are still bags under his eyes, but his face seems a little more flushed as if he was slowly coming back from the dead. His white hair is tousled, and you note that he hasn’t styled it in a while.

“I’ve been thinking ever since the three broomsticks,” he’s talking and you’re pacing around the room, trying to act like you don’t care that he’s here, “And I have some things I need to tell you.”

You’re rummaging around in one of your cupboards, but he knows what you’re doing, and he steps a little closer to you, shutting the door behind him as you glance up at him briefly, raising a brow.

He swallows, running a hand through his white strands as you turn your back to him, looking through your jewelry box as you begin to take off your earrings.

“I saw you, this summer.”

You stop.

Gojo continues.

“My parents had some ministry work to do, and we went to the city. I was walking around one day, trying to figure out where I was supposed to go when I saw you,” Gojo sounded nearer, his voice more desperate, “I saw you through a window. You were working… I think. You had this apron on and you were walking around this little restaurant.”

You swear you could hear your heartbeat.

“And you were smiling at something this guy said, and you just looked so…happy,” he pauses, “And pretty…you looked so pretty and I didn’t know what to do because I’ve never felt this strange feeling in my chest where…”

Where everything just stops, then starts moving in tandem as if there had been a loose screw the entire time until now.

“And I think I’ve always felt this way, you know?” He’s not stopping, and you’re scared that if you look at him you’re going to believe him, believe that he’s telling the truth and that this isn’t some sort of dream you’re forcing yourself to see, “In our fifth year, when you were telling the class about your happiest memory, you had this smile on your face. Or last year, when we were in potions and Nanami said a joke, you’d laugh and I just felt so…lost.”

He’s lying.

“N-no, no, you’re lying,” you croak out, moving past him as you keep your head down, going over to your bed as you sit at the end of it, needing something to sit down on because otherwise you’d collapse.

“I’m not,” Gojo pleads, his voice behind you, “And for so long I thought I was lying to myself because I didn’t know what I was feeling,” he takes a few steps closer, standing at your bedpost, “I’d never felt this way about anyone. A-and you’re right, you are different. You’re so different from anybody else and I love it.”

You’re shaking your head, your back to him as you sniffle.

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter, your arms wrapped around your middle as your head dips down, lashes wet with tears.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and you realize it’s because he’s moving to where you’re sitting, and you see him clearly as he crouches down on the ground, his hands moving to hold yours as he forces you to look at him.

It’s such a strange sight seeing the Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, the most stoic and composed person you’ve ever met so…vulnerable in front of you.

“I know-”

You’re shaking your head at him, lips pouting together as you blink slowly, your nose scrunched up in frustration.

“You’re lying-”

“I’m not, I’m begging you, please-”

“You’re lying, Gojo,” You say, your voice cracking as you feel your tears rolling down your, collecting on your chin before they splatter crudely on your bed sheets, “You don’t feel this way about me. You’re either lying to me o-or to yourself because…” you struggle to find the words, “Because in no world would you feel this way about me.”

His hands are warm, his thumb gentle as it rubs over your knuckles. And you don’t notice it until he pulls them away to wipe at your tears, his fingers soft and slow against your skin as you hiccup.

“But I do,” he whispers, his thumb cradling your cheek, “I do. Y-you’re so smart, and kind, and witty, and caring, and you’re so wonderfully you.”

This is too much.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you plead, wondering when he was going to give up the act and leave so you could be alone.

“You only eat your eggs if there’s a little bit of syrup on them,” Gojo says immediately, and your eyes shoot up to his, “You put an extra flick on the dots of your i’s, you like McGonagall most out of all your other professors, you never change your necklace, you-”

You push him by the shoulders, frustrated knowing that he’d never stop, changing the subject.

“If you cared about me you would’ve done something,” your voice isn't yours and you can’t recognize it as it escapes your windpipes, “I mean, you only had three years. Y-you called me a mudblood, your friends never stopped when they were doing, you - you,” deep inside, your breath is lodged inside your lungs and you choke on it.

Gojo cradles your head, pulling you into his chest, and for some reason you let him. You melt into his warmth, into the way he holds you as if you were the thinnest piece of glass, and you can’t remember the last time somebody held you like this.

His hand rubs up and down your back, and you feel your tears and snot wet his sweater, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I did,” his own voice shakes, “I did, and I…” he swallows his bile, “I wish I could go back and take it back, take all of it back. If I could trade everything I have to turn back time and change the past, I would. I’ll spend my life making it up if you’d let me. You have no idea what I would do…” for you.

You pull away from him, and he lets you.

“You’re all I’ve ever been able to think about this past year. And especially ever since that night, I couldn’t get you out of my mind,” his hands go up to hold your face, tracing your features with the most delicate touch, “Your eyes, your nose,” his finger glides down the slope of it, “Your lips, your skin, your hands.”

“But,” your hands go up to his wrists, pulling them down and he lets you rest them on your lap, hanging off your every word as if you were religion, watching you preach as he remembers every word, every syllable, every tone and inflection you have as gospel, “I’m a muggle-born,” you laugh wetly and painfully, “And you hate muggle-borns.”

And for once you see him break into a small and melancholy smile that's full of years of longing, of confusion, of wanting, and his white strands fall on his face. Unconsciously you move them out of the way so that you could see his eyes.

“My parents hate muggle-borns, and I’m their only son,” your eyes drop to that gold ring, and he notices, “I believed them, and for so long I felt so confused because you weren’t like anything they described,” his lips quivered, “I don’t hate muggle-borns, and I don’t hate you,” he raised your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them, “I could never hate you.”

You inhale shakily, your heart thumping in a strange, new rhythm.

“What about the others?” You ask shakily, “Your friends, your parents, everybody else?”

He shrugs, looking indifferent as he plays with your fingers.

“I’ll get new friends,” he shoots you a small smile, “And I can just buy new parents.”

You snort, rolling your eyes at his antics, and he brightens up seeing your change in demeanor.

“You…like…me?” You ask finally.

He lets out a little bit of air in a disbelieving chuckle.

“I like you more than the air I need to breathe,” he kisses your knuckles again and you snort, rolling your eyes as you wipe at the corners of them.

“Then how have you been breathing all this time without me?” You ask a bit teasingly, wondering how you never noticed that his eyes have little specks of green in them, or how the blush on his cheeks sometimes traveled up to his forehead.

“Horribly,” he says and you give him a small laugh, “But it feels like I just took my first breath after eighteen years.”

—

After that, Gojo could not be separated from your side.

He sat next to you during all of your meals, throwing nasty jinxes at anybody who looked at the two of you weirdly. Sure, people couldn’t stop talking, but after the first three people who left with a red ink-looking stain on their face, they learned to keep their whispers low.

When the two of you were in the common rooms he laid next to you as you read, or vice versa, pulling you into his chest as he told you stories from his childhood.

And of course, it took you a while to warm up to him, but slowly and surely you felt at ease around him, feeling like you could be as true to yourself without any fear of repercussions because he loved you wholly, and he had no cares about anything else.

“What’s that you’re reading?” He’d say sometimes, looking over your shoulders to scan whatever book it was that you were reading. Thankfully you still had a couple of days till Christmas, and another week of break after that, so the common room was empty, spare for a few stragglers.

The fireplace crackled in the background, the smell of cinnamon and cloves heavy in the air.

“Voyages with Vampire,” you reply, turning the page as you hear him groan next to you.

“Lockhart? The fraud?”

You giggle, shoving him a little bit, eyes never leaving the page as you try not to lose your spot.

“Yeah, but his books are interesting.”

And Gojo didn’t care too much, because as you got to read your book he got to be with you, which was all he’s ever wanted since he was fourteen.

Other days he’d take you to Hogsmeade, his hand holding onto yours, letting you steer him into the different shops you wanted to look at, a content smile on his face. He loved the way you looked, bundled up in your scarves and sweaters, and he loved that it was mainly just the two of you, seeing that Hogsmeade was unusually empty with everybody gone.

And sometimes he’d squeeze your hands a couple of times just to let you know that he was there, and you’d squeeze back twice, looking behind your shoulder so that you wouldn’t miss his boyish grin.

He mentally noted all the things you picked up, asking if you wanted it, but when you saw that he was beginning to pull out his wallet you shook your head sheepishly, putting it back as you began looking at other things.

“Let me just get this-”

“No!” you cried out, embarrassed as you moved away from whatever shelf it was, hearing him let out a sigh of frustration, laughing at his childish antics.

“But I can just-”

“No, Gojo,” you’d tell him, your voice a little sterner, “I don’t like you because you have money. Too much of it, might I add.”

And he’d pout, his arms circling your waist as he petulantly stays in place, resting his chin on your shoulder so that you can’t move.

“But I just so coincidentally seem to have it,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head as you tried to look at something else, trying to act like you didn’t turn to jelly in his hands, “Why won’t you take it?”

You giggled, angling your head to look back at him.

“Because I don’t need a bursting raspberry delight,” you chided him and he’d groan, pulling you even closer to his chest as he outstretched one of his long arms, picking up something in front of you, inspecting it as he showed it to you, putting it back as you shook your head, “And I don’t need cockroach clusters.”

And you smiled, feeling happy, genuinely happy as you continued to look around the store with Gojo latched onto you. You felt normal for once, felt the way you’ve been wanting to feel ever since you were eleven.

—

The days passed by and you found yourself back in the common rooms the night before Christmas, sitting on the couches, facing Gojo as you listened to him talk about all the things he’d been wanting to tell you.

The days passed by and you found yourself back in the common rooms with Gojo the night before Christmas, letting him play with your hair as you leaned up against him on the couch, reading another book.

“Did I ever tell you how Benny Thompson didn’t know what an animagus was?” Gojo says randomly and you gasp, looking over your shoulder as he nods as you lay your book down on your chest.

“You’re lying,” you say and he shakes his head, twisting and turning that ring on his hand the way he usually does when he likes to fidget.

“And he asked me if the books in the library had all been written in the actual library,” he continues and you let out a loud, shocked laugh, holding your hand over your mouth in disbelief.

You put your book on the table so that you could move up closer to him so that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much.

“Well, to be fair, I think he was just a bit disgruntled to be moved away from his partner in crime,” you move some of the hair out of his face as helmets you sit on his lap, his hands resting comfortably on your waist as you lean in to whisper, “Seeing how I saw them hooking up in one of the broom closets.”

Gojo’s lips part, eyes wide in shock as you nod slowly, a smug grin on your face.

“Makes sense,” he finally muttered and you snorted, thinking back to how the two boys literally couldn’t be away from each other for too long before they made a fuss about it.

Most of the other students had gone up to their beds, excited for the early morning they’d be having with presents and such, but you liked staying up this night, liked watching as the presents slowly appeared under the tree.

His mouth opened in a small yawn and you moved slightly, feeling guilty for keeping him up so long.

“Do you ‘wanna sleep?” You offered, twirling some of his white strands around your fingers as his eyes traced over your features.

His hands moved up and down your back, holding you close to his body.

“But the presents?” Gojo started, looking at the big Christmas tree near the fireplace as you giggled, noting how he was trying his best to control the yawns that were threatening to spill from his lips.

“I’ll just look at them tomorrow,” you promise with a giggle, swinging your legs off from him as you stand, stretching your arms above your head as you let out a tired yawn of your own, rubbing at your eyes as you bookmark the page you were at, watching as he stands up, doing a little stretch of his own.

He slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him as he presses a kiss against your forehead, letting you lead the way back to the dormitories.

“Promise to wake up early tomorrow?” You say, looking at him with a raised brow, watching as he crosses his hands across his heart.

“Swear on it,” he assures you with a little cheeky grin, his shoulder playfully knocking yours as you snort.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, your eyes taking in all the festive decorations, not noticing how he couldn’t stop looking at you. The girl's dormitories were on the left, and down the hall, you’d find the boys, which meant that you were the first to depart as you neared the top of the stairs.

You move to stand in front of your door, your book in your hands as you stare up at him, noticing the pink flush that never seemed to leave, all over his cheeks. He looked so pretty like this.

“This is me,” you say jokingly and he chuckles softly, his hands back on your waist as you feel him press a gentle kiss to your forehead. He never pressured you to kiss him back, always leaving small yet thoughtful pecks either on the crown of your head or on your face, wherever he’d find that you didn’t squeal as he tried to kiss.

He says your name quietly, looking down at you as you meet him in the middle.

“Merry Christmas Satoru,” you whisper, and you see the wide, boyish smile that breaks across his face when you say his name, loving it only when he hears it from your lips.

“Merry Christmas sweetheart,” his voice quieter than usual, kinder, and in a lovesick way that not even amortentia could replicate.

You look up for a brief second when you sense something is off, and you giggle at the little green and white plant that is forming above your head.

“Mistletoe,” you mutter.

“Hm?” He sounds confused until he looks up when he sees it growing, it’s green leaves and little white flowering buds, looking back down at you.

And again, just like that night in October, you don’t know which one of you it was that moved closer to bridge the gap, but either way, only seconds later did you feel him press his lips against yours, and you were gone.

He was gentler than the last time as if he was savoring your lips, your taste, the way you moved against him. Gojo wrapped an arm around you, tugging you to him, his other hand fumbling with the door handle as the two of you tumbled inside, his foot raising to kick it shut as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“S-satoru,” you whine, needing more of him, needing him in a way you’ve never felt, your eyes fluttering shot when he bites at your lips, his tongue prodding past your lips as you let him, your stomach fluttering delightfully, “More, need more,”

His eyes flicked open for a second, ensuring you were okay, and he grinned.

His lips resumed their movements, sucking and yours, teeth nipping as your face became of a mess of spit, moaning slightly as he nudged your jaw up with his nose, your head tilting backward as you gave him more room on your neck.

Mindlessly you reach for your wand in your back pocket, waving it near the direction of your door as you lock it and cast a muffliato charm, something you would thank yourself for greatly later.

Gojo was relentless as he pressed kisses and sucked harshly on your skin, needing to mark up what was his, needing people to see that you were his, and you could only whine as he left dark marks on your skin, soothing them with little pecks as he moved down.

His scent was all-consuming, the way he held you made you go dizzy, and if only you knew that what you felt, he felt ten-fold more. Gojo was so crazy about you, that if you told him to jump from his broomstick he’d gladly do it.

“Is this,” he sighs, trying to catch some air, “This okay? Do you want me to stop?”

And you quickly shake your head, muttering out no, no, as he chuckled darkly, moving your (his) sweater away from your shoulders so he could kiss down there too.

Your hands, which had been wrapped around his neck, fell to his chest, pushing at his sweater as you wanted to paw at the skin, wanting to feel more of him, and you heard his breathing stutter, his lips pausing momentarily at the feeling of your hands on him.

He says your name like a mantra like he’s been waiting his entire life to say it, and you catch his eyes once again like he’s asking for permission to continue, and you nod, smiling up at him as you let him.

Your fingers grasp at the hem of his sweater, tugging it upwards so that you could see his skin beneath, the muscles sitting nicely, a glimpse you sometimes saw when he was moving around too much, and your heart stumbled.

He helped you, tugging it upwards and over his head as he discarded it somewhere on the floor, and for once you feel the air get knocked from your lungs.

He’s built. Long, muscular shoulders, soft skin that shouldn’t be as daunting as it looked right now, but he wasn’t even focused on that, his nimble fingers running across your waist where your sweater had hitched upwards, and you just know that you need more of this.

You’re not even thinking as you shed it off of you, joining him on the floor, and his eyes widen, swallowing thick as he sees what he only thought he’d be able to see in the back of his mind as he dreamed.

You were stunning, and suddenly he thought back to the statues he saw in Italy when he traveled there as a child. He thought back to how those ladies looked, and how the sculptors must be twisting and turning in their graves when they could’ve had you as their muse.

“Stopp,” you whine, embarrassed, your hands going up to cover your naked skin, but he gently pushes them down, kissing your collarbone, the skin above your breasts which were still hidden with your bra as he shakes his head.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words escaping him as if his mind is working faster than any other part of his body, “So beautiful.”

He dips his head back down to kiss you, and a surprised sound escapes your lips, but you welcome it nonetheless, feeling entranced by him, by the fervor in his movements, as if he wouldn’t survive without this.

His hands worship you, slow and careful as they run against your naked skin walking you back so that your knees hit the back of your bed.

“You’re pretty good-looking too,” you try for a joke but it falls short from your lips because it’s true. You’d read stories of Aphrodite and Persephone fighting over Adonis just because he was the most gorgeous man they met, and you were worried that if the gods were real you’d have to hide him away forever.

He hums in the back of his throat, as if he didn’t believe you, and gingerly laid you down on your bed, his massive body looming over you as you smile, a gleeful smile on your face as you try to make sense of what your life was.

“What’s so funny?” Gojo teased, pressing little butterfly kisses on your cheek, the tip of your nose, your chin, and you couldn’t stop smiling, feeling ticklish when he kissed your neck again, a light giggle falling from your lips that made his ears turn pink.

“Nothing,” you said breathlessly, squealing when he bit the skin in the middle of your tits, swatting at his head as he grinned, pressing a soothing kiss to the spot.

“No, it has to be something,” he argues, kissing down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, never breaking eye contact with you as you swallow thickly, no longer laughing as you feel a heat growing in your stomach, “Is it funny when I kiss here?” He presses a kiss above your navel, “Or here?” He’s reaching the top of your jeans, pulling them down slightly to kiss your hip bone, “Or maybe here?”

And you shake your head, want and desire in your eyes and he chuckles darkly, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he slides them down your legs, his heart sputtering in his chest when he comes back up to see you all sprawled out for him.

You feel self-conscious about your choice of undergarments, both old and nearly falling apart at the seams, not matching in any sense of the word, but Gojo doesn’t seem to care. He looks at you as if you’re a painting that’s suddenly come to life, and he doesn’t know how to handle that.

You reach behind yourself to work at the old clasp of your bra, sliding it down your arms as you lie back down, looking sheepishly at him as you realize you’re far more exposed at the moment than he is.

But Gojo seems to have gone to another world, not moving from where he was as his eyes don’t leave from your chest.

“Don’t look at me like that!” You shout, trying to cover up your bare chest with your hands but he gently tugs your wrists away, his blue eyes wavering as he groans, getting closer to you before he glances up.

“Don’t hide from me then,” he’s pleading, beginning, “Please.”

And you can’t, because the way he presses gentle kisses to your bare breasts is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You’re breathing hitches, and your head falls back to your pillows as his mouth closes over on your nipples, a moan ripping from your throat.

“Oh,” you say, breathing shakily through your nose as his other hand goes to your other tit, his thumb flicking over your nipple as you feel yourself grow wetter down there, terrified that there’s going to be a pool when he looks.

He sucks, bites, marking up this territory that only he’s going to see, his pink lips switching to your other one as you whine out loud, feeling lightheaded as he presses three kisses to your hard nipple, worshiping you like you were his deity.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says with a mouthful of tit, pulling up from your chest as he kisses you briefly, kissing down your body one more time before he settles in between your legs, “And no man has been more willing to die than me.”

You whine when his hot kisses trail up from your calf to your knees, wet as they glisten in the candlelight as if he was making his path visible up to where you were burning, needing for him to meet you.

“You talk a l-lot,” you’re trying to sound steady but you can’t when he’s looking at you like that, but he just kisses the inside of your thigh for a second long, his nose nudging at your clothed cunt as you whine.

You’ve only heard about the other girls talking about sex, feeling embarrassed as they acted out what the other guys did with them. They talked about how they threw them around on the bed or how they pushed their heads down into the pillows but they never mentioned anything about this.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, “I should stop.”

And he doesn’t give you any warning as he presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear, your little gasp of surprise going straight to his dick. He hitches your legs on his shoulders, looping a finger around the waistband of your panties as he slides them down, a deep, guttural groan almost punched from his lungs at the sight of your glistening cunt.

Fuck, he thought to himself, you actually were going to be the death of him with the way he still can’t properly breathe around you.

“Perfect,” Gojo whispers, his head dipping down, “You’re perfect.”

And before you can chide him again, he dives down, his tongue licking and sucking at your pussy lips, your back arching off of the bed as your fingers grasp onto his head for support, unknowingly pushing him even further into you.

He’s fast, tasting you as he groans again, your saccharine essence bursting against his tongue, and he can’t control himself. It’s so messy and wet, and you can see your juice shining on his chin when you glance down briefly to look at him.

“O-oh,” you stutter when he pushes a slender finger inside your walls, clenching down on him as his lips find your clit, suctioning at it as you whine for him to go fast, “Oh god,”

He smiles against you, his finger slowly moving in and out, his lips kissing your clit, feeling the way you grew tight around him and didn’t stop.

When he added his middle finger you felt like you were going to die, not knowing how you’d be able to handle all of him if this was just you losing yourself on his fingers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care right now.

His fingers are long and reach deep within you, something you’ve never felt before, but knowing that you’d surely die without it if he stopped.

“S-Satoru,” you’re mewling, and he thinks he could just cum with the way you’re saying his name, “Don’t stop, please, f-faster.”

And he kisses your cunt to tell you that he hears you, his fingers positioning in and out of you, his tongue alternating from where his fingers were to going back up to your little bud, your eyes screwed shut as you feel that rope grow tighter and tighter in your stomach.

His unoccupied hand travels up your stomach to toy with your breasts, flicking your nipples back and forth, the added sensation along with everything else causing you to nearly lose whatever sanity it was that you had left.

Your toes curled, your fingers gripping onto his white strands even tighter, feeling bad for how hard you were pulling at him, but he urged you, loving that sting.

“How do you feel?” He takes a break, his voice a little muffled, his fingers not stopping as you whine helplessly, “Everything okay?”

And you can tell he’s just teasing you because when you push his head back down he goes willingly, acting as if you were his last meal on this earth and he just couldn’t wait for the sweet release of death.

“Good,” you moan, “S-so good,” and your voice is egging him on, making him go faster and faster, your toes curling as he switches between his fingers and his mouth, doing something heavenly that you never knew you could experience.

You’re growing tighter around him, your chest heaving as you feel something strange, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, coming.

“W-wait, ‘Toru, I…” and you can’t stop it, your eyes going white as he doesn’t stop either, his fingers pistoning in and out of you with no remorse, “I don’t know…fuck…coming, I…” and you’re just babbling mindlessly now, your back almost off of the bed as something snaps and you’re gushing around his fingers.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. You can’t breathe but somehow you can breathe better than you have in your life, your walls clenched around him like a vice, your thighs shaking as you cum around his fingers.

You wailed out a hopeless moan, your hands covering your mouth as if that could silence you, fat tears dotting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling and you were trying to fill your lungs back up with air as his mouth never stopped sucking at your clit until he was sure your climax was over.

When you finally calmed down and sank back onto the bed, Gojo sat up from between your thighs, his hair messy, chin and lips soaked with his spit and your release, his eyes a bright cerulean blue.

You watched as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, cleaning you off of him, moaning like a whore at the sight. He dipped back down, kissing you feverishly, letting you kiss yourself on him as you whine, feeling like a different person entirely.

When he pulls away there’s a line of spit connecting your lips, and he’s never looked happier.

“Are you feeling good?” He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hips, “Want to stop?”

You groan, swatting at his shoulders.

“You’re too attentive,” you say, and he snorts, kissing in between your brows as he pecks your lips one last time, reaching down to unbutton his pants, and throw them somewhere along with the rest of your clothes.

You watch in a love-sick haze as he tugs at his boxers, his fingers quick as he discards them too, and suddenly, the two of you are bare before each other.

He is Adonis, you finally decide when you get to get a full look at him, there’s no question.

His legs are just as toned as the rest of him, his thighs huge with pure muscle, something necessary to be quidditch captain as well as one of the best seekers Hogwarts has ever seen. The v-line that leads down to his…oh god.

He’s huge, and while you haven’t been with any other guy, you can tell that he’s big. His dick sits hard and angry against his stomach, his pretty pink tip leaking with pre, curving slightly. Your mouth waters at the veins that start at his base, his white hairs trimmed, and go upwards.

How would he fit in you?

“Don’t worry,” Gojo assures you, as if reading your mind, “I’ll go slow. Tell me at any point if it hurts, okay?”

And you nod, your mouth watering as he climbs atop of you, his hand near your head as he presses one final kiss to your hairline, wrapping your leg around his waist as his other hand goes down to finger his dick, plunging two fingers into your wet pussy, lubricating it in your wetness as he looks down at where the two of you met.

“Ready?” He asks, and you can only whine, murmuring out a needy yes as he chuckles, your legs spreading open to accommodate him, and he lines his tip up with your entrance.

You feel like the air that you had so tirelessly gulped back seconds ago was punched out of you at the feeling, and he stays true to his words, going as slow as humanly possible so that you could get used to his length.

He pushes past you gently and carefully, your walls clenching around him, memorizing every vein he has, the curve of his dick, and you watch as his hips press into yours, the way his abs tense as he tries to go slow.

It stings, but in the most delicious way possible. Your eyes dot with tears, but you need him to move, not knowing why he was taking so long.

Gojo balances himself above you, and you grow wetter and wetter the more he sinks into your warmth, your legs circling his waist to pull him in even closer, your arms tangling around his shoulder, into the hairs at his nape.

“More,” you whisper, needing him unlike anything you’ve needed before, “M-more, ‘Toru, please,”

His eyes look at you with slight apprehension.

“Are you s-”

“Yes,” you cut him off, your legs tightening around him as he groans, his dick pressing more into you, sinking into you completely until all of him was sheathed inside your cunt.

You could feel him in your stomach with the way he was pressing up into you, feel the outline of his dick against your skin, and his head dipped down so that you couldn’t see his face anymore, his breathing stuttering as he tried to regain his composure, trying his best to not pull out and slam back into you.

Gojo gives you a couple of seconds to grow used to him and tries to be as much of a gentleman as he can be, but with every other tick of that clock on the wall he thinks he’s going to go inside, not recognizing himself anymore.

Your chest heaves, and you nod.

“‘M ready,” you say finally, and his head draws back up to you, his brows furrowed together, trying to make sure that you weren’t just saying that for his sake, but you nod again, “I’m ready.”

And god, he feels like he’s finally seen the light as he pulls out of you, nearly all of his dick from your snug cunt, your juices shining in the light, and he pushes himself back in, groaning out from deep inside his chest as you clench around him.

He does it again, and again, and again, and before you know it he’s slamming his hips into yours.

“Shit,” he moans, his voice deeper and lower in pitch, “F-fuck, you’re so tight, you have’ta,” he lets out whine when you clench around him, “You have to relax, please sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

His hands are leaving bruises on your hips from how hard he’s holding onto you, your moans mixing with his as your ankles dig deep into his back, your back arching so much that your tits were pressed up against his chest, gleaming with sweat.

“Mhh, ‘Toru, oh my g-god,” you can’t even recognize your own voice, “S-so good, s’big ‘Toru,”

You watch as he drops a hand in between your two bodies, his fingers rubbing at your clit as your mouth opens in a silent scream, sweat dotting at your forehead as you bit your lip to keep in your debaucherous moans.

He bites down on your shoulder, leaving yet another mark, his nose inhaling at the last remnants of your perfume, making sure he’d never forget a single thing about tonight.

His fingers along with his dick are driving you to ruin, and you feel that same coil coming back, being pulled taunt deep within you far quicker than the first time. He’s relentless against your clit, kissing your tits gently as you cry out.

“Shit, I…” you can barely breathe, his own groans and moans filling up the room, “I can’t, I feel like…!”

“I know, I know,” he says, knowing what you’re meaning, what you’re feeling, because he’s not too far from his own release either, “Come on, let go, I’ve got you,” he muttered against your glistening skin, edging you on even more.

Your fingers tangle in his white strands once again, pulling him closer to you as your lips lock with his, the kiss messy and not even coherent but you don’t care because as his tongue mingles with yours, his hips never stopping and his fingers picking up pace, you moan out loud, lewd and wanting into his mouth as you come.

This time is even more intense than the last time, and you can’t stop clenching around him, your cum coating his dick, making it even more wet as you spasm around him, your eyes seeing stars, feeling a loud thumping in your head and chest.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t stop either, your orgasm lasting even longer as he chases his own high, his head thrown back in an instant as he pulls out to finish on you, white spurts coating your heaving chest, painting you like his own portrait.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, his white lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he looks at you, underneath him, covered in his cum, and feels something primal surge in his chest at the sight, like you’re his god and he’s finally in heaven.

Even after he pulls out you feel yourself pulsing around nothing, already missing him as you whine absentmindedly at the loss.

When you finally calm down, you crack your eyes open to see him sitting on his haunches, pushing back his sweat soaked hair away from his face as he shoots you own of his wide grins, your own face breaking into a smile as you throw and arm across face.

You feel the bed dip, and peek out to see him walking away.

“Where…?” You croak out, your voice hoarse, and he throws you a wink from over his shoulders, finding a clean towel in your little bin that you keep at the end of the room for when you and the rest of the girls need to shower.

He brings it over to you, grabbing his wand, casting a small aguamenti charm on it, only to get it slightly wet, as he comes back to where you were lying.

You silently watch as he gingerly drags it across your body, cleaning you up between your legs, wincing at the way you inhaled sharply, still feeling raw, and kissing your stomach in an apologetic manner. He then dragged it across your chest, making sure he got everything, throwing the towel in the dirty bin as he climbed up to bed with you.

“Thirsty?” He asks, and you nod meekly, graciously accepting the cup that he fills with the pitcher near your bed stand, gulping it all down as some of the water droplets fall on your chest, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you set it to the side, falling back in your bed

The bed isn’t really meant for two people, especially one with his size, so you have to cuddle close together, but you don’t mind the way he pulls you closer to his chest, pulling the blanket above so that it rests on your naked body.

“Good?” He asks simply, and you nod again, craning your neck to look up at him as you smile gleefully.

“Good.”

—

That morning, you were the first to wake.

You blink slowly, sitting up, wiping at your eyes as your mouth opens in a loud yawn.

You look over to Gojo next to you, his hands still strewn across your waist, his lips parting slightly as he sleeps gently.

You don’t want to wake him up, not used to seeing him so at ease, but you remember that it’s Christmas morning, falling back down to your mattress as your fingers tap on his bicep, watching as he cracks one blue eye open.

“Hmm?” He hums tiredly, annoyed that you had moved away from him, pulling you back to the furnace that was his chest.

“You promised you’d wake up,” you say with a whine, giggling when his eyes snap open, never wanting to break a promise he makes to you, sitting up suddenly as he looks around the empty room.

“I’m kidding,” you tease, “I don’t usually get much, come back to sleep.”

Gojo yawns, rubbing his hands across his face, and gives you a knowing look. Your brows furrow together in confusion, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” You ask, sitting up next to him as his thumb traces against your knuckles.

“Nothing,” he kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and then finally your lips, “It’s just that I think that the majority of presents under that tree are for you,” Gojo says with a grin, watching with a smile as your face breaks into the cutest grin, your eyes bright as you tug on his fingers.

“Really?” you’re already getting out of bed, the smile on your face never ending as you tug on your jeans from the floor, “Really?”

“Really,” he says, handing you your sweater as you pull that on mindlessly, your movements fast and hurried, excited for Christmas morning for the first time since you were a kid.

“Oh, and,” he holds onto your wrist, stopping you momentarily as you try to pull on a sock over your feet, “I have something I wanted to give you…in private.”

Your eyes squint together, trying to see if he was going to say a dirty joke or if he was actually serious.

When he releases your wrist, he unfolds your hands, taking your ring finger as he slides a ring across it, something that he must’ve had hidden in his hand for a good second because you never saw him get anything.

“What…?” You turn your hand around, only to see his gold ring, embellished with his family crest, shining back at you.

“‘Toru, I…” You were shaking your head, going to take it off, but he stops you, his blue eyes shimmering a light sky color, creasing upwards as he gives you one of the smiles that he only reserves for you.

“It’s yours,” he says, closing your fingers into a fist as he brings it up to his lips, kissing it softly, “And besides, it’s just a placeholder.”

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, looking at the ring once again as you glance up at him.

“Placeholder for what?”

Gojo gives you another knowing look, as if you should know the answer to this question.

“You’ll see,” he promises, and you laugh, helping him put on his own clothes, messing with his hair, pushing it back so that it wouldn’t be so messy.

“You want to be my husband?” You say teasingly, walking to the door as you cast him a glance, “Because you should know that I need to get a stable job and house and everything before I even think of marrying. Are you sure you’ll want to wait that long? After all that time?”

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

“Even after all that time,” he murmurs against your hair, “Always.”

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angelfic · 1 year ago

Text

— CALM AFTER THE STORM

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.

warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited

author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!

when he just has to be controversial

The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.

You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.

“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.

Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”

You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”

You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”

“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”

You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.

“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”

You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”

“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.

Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”

“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.

“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”

“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”

The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”

Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”

“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.

“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.

“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.

You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”

“I didn’t throw anything this time!”

2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye

Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.

You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.

Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.

The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.

“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”

She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.

“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”

Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.

“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.

Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”

“Mr Snape.”

“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”

“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”

You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.

“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”

“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”

Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.

The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.

Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.

“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.

Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”

“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”

“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”

“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”

“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”

At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”

“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.

“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.

Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”

“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”

Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.

The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.

“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”

He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”

“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”

“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”

It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.

3. when he's too good for flower crowns.

“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”

“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.

You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.

“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.

Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.

“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”

You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.

“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.

The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.

Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”

You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”

“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”

“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”

Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”

“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”

You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.

“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”

With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.

Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.

Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.

4. when he bleeds out on you.

You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.

If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.

You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.

“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.

“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”

“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.

“She was behind the sofa!”

James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”

“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”

“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”

He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”

While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.

“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.

You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.

“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.

“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”

“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”

Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”

“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”

Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”

“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.

Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”

His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”

You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.

You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t laugh at me then!”

5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!

Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.

You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.

“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”

“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”

“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”

You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”

“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.

“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”

“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”

“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”

You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”

He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”

“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”

You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.

“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”

“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”

“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”

“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”

“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”

You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.

Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.

“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.

Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”

“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”

“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”

“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”

“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”

You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.

“See?”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”

“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.

“No promises.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin ff #remus lupin fic #marauders x reader #marauders fanfic #remus x reader #remus lupin scenarios #andrew garfield x reader #remus fanfic #remus fanfiction

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lizzieolseniskinda · 2 months ago

Text

TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 3

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: 4677

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate (soulbound) & time travel au, english is not my first language, i took names of professor in harry's time (it's easier that way)

You were walking through the Hogwarts courtyard, bundled up in your robes as the wind carried a hint of the colder months that were coming. The sun filtered through the canopy of orange and red; it was a cold day without the sun. As you approached the Gryffindor common room after breakfast, you spotted Lucas—tall, with his messy black curls and easygoing grin—leaning casually against the wall.

“There you are!” he called out, pushing off the wall and strolling over to you. “I’ve been looking for you. Fancy coming with me to Hogsmeade? I’ve got some things to pick up, and I thought you could use a break from all the studying.”

You raised an eyebrow, interested. “And by ‘things,’ you mean what exactly?”

“Important stuff!” Lucas replied with mock seriousness. “Like sweets from Honeydukes and a new quill, since I keep losing mine. And, of course, we have to stop at Zonko’s - can’t leave without some supplies for our next prank on Maeve.”

You let out a laugh, feeling the tension of the past few years slip away. You figured you could use a shopping day - it was a Saturday after all; you could just study after. “Sounds like a plan, though I’m not sure if Maeve would be happy with another one of your ‘masterpieces’.”

“She’ll survive. Besides, I’ve got a new idea that’ll totally blow her mind; just wait and see,” Lucas nudged you playfully.

As you made your way down the long, winding path to Hogsmeade, a sleek black cat caught your eye. It seemed to be lingering just out of reach; you’d seen the cat a few times today, always trailing a few paces behind, watching you with its bright, curious green eyes. It had followed you from the common room to the courtyard, through the grounds, and now it was walking behind you and Lucas as though it belonged with the two of you.

“Look at that,” you murmured, glancing over your shoulder at the cat. “It’s been following me this entire day.”

Lucas turned around, narrowing his eyes slightly at the feline. “Huh, that’s a little weird, don’t you think? Cats don’t usually follow people around for no reason.”

You crouched down and extended a hand toward the cat. To your surprise, it didn’t hesitate. The cat padded forward and nuzzled your palm; its fluffy and soft fur was warm, despite the chill in the air. You smiled, scratching it behind the ears.

“I think it likes me,” you said, looking up at Lucas. “Maybe it's a stray. What do you think?”

Lucas crossed his arms and looked at the cat with a suspicious expression. “It's a little too good to be true, don’t you think? A mysterious black cat following you around Hogwarts. You know there are loads of horror stories about witches using cats as spies, right?”

“You're paranoid,” you rolled your eyes at him, but smiled.

“I’m cautious,” Lucas corrected, though there was a small teasing glint in his eyes. “But if you’re set on keeping it, we should make sure it’s not... I don’t know, an Animagus or something. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“You think someone’s been using this little thing to spy on me?”

Lucas shrugged, but he was already pulling out his wand. “Could be, perhaps. There’s a simple charm to check for such things; it won’t hurt the cat - you have my promise.”

You stood up and took a step back, “Okay, but I’m telling you, it’s just a normal cat.”

Lucas raised his wand, pointing it at the cat as he muttered the incantation under his breath. A faint blue light shimmered from the tip of his wand. It surrounded the cat for a moment before fading away.

You both stared at the cat in silence, holding your breath, waiting for whatever was about to happen. But the cat just blinked up at you, then licked its paw nonchalantly.

Lucas let out a breath, “Phew... what do you know? It’s just a regular old cat.”

“Told you,” you smirked, “looks like you’re now stuck with me and my new pet.”

The cat - as if it sensed your affectionate words - let out a soft purr and wound itself around your legs once more. You knelt down and scratched behind its ears again. A bond was already beginning to form. The only problem was the lice and many more things that were scattered across its fur.

"Alright, alright," Lucas said, laughing. "I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem.”

With the cat in tow, you and Lucas continued down the path to Hogsmeade. The bustling village was already alive with students and locals; shops were gleaming with fresh stock and festive decorations for upcoming festivities. As you entered Honeydukes, the warmth of the shop’s interior enveloped you, along with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate.

“So, what’s your go-to sweet?” Lucas asked as he grabbed a basket, eyeing the chocolate frogs with heart eyes.

“Maybe the peppermint toads?” you said with a grin, grabbing a small bag from the shelf. “They’re the perfect balance of sweet and refreshing.”

Lucas pulled a face, “You’re a maniac. It’s all about the fizzing whizzbees.”

Both of you wandered through the aisles, piling your basket high with various candies - sugar quills, licorice wands, jelly slugs. At one point, Lucas tried to sneak a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into your bag, but you caught him just in time.

“You’re not tricking me into eating vomit-flavored beans again!” you narrowed your eyes at him.

Lucas laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I'll save it for someone else.”

After stocking enough sweets to last almost a month, you and Lucas headed to Zonko’s. The shop was just as chaotic as expected, filled with exploding fireworks, laughing gas, and all manner of joke items. Lucas was in his element, darting from one display to the next with an excitement you hadn't seen since your first year at Hogwarts when you'd go shopping with the Weasleys.

It made you wonder if there was a Weasley in this timeline, or a Potter; surely there must—

“I’ve got it,” Lucas broke your trance, holding up a box of nose-biting teacups. “We’ll switch Maeve's regular tea with one of these. Can you imagine the look on her face?”

You shook your head, grinning, “You’re terrible.”

“Hey! You’re the one who agreed to come with me,” he replied, winking. “Makes you an accomplice.”

After spending almost an hour in Zonko’s, you finally dragged Lucas away before he bought the entire store. The two of you made your way back to Hogwarts, the pockets of your robes stuffed with sweets, joke items, and - in your case - also a black cat nestled happily in your arms.

“Already thought of a name?” Lucas asked as you strolled along the path.

You looked down at the cat, who had fallen asleep in your arms, still purring softly. “I’m not so sure yet; maybe something like ‘Shadow’?”

“Shadow,” Lucas mused, “hm, not bad; fits the whole ‘following you everywhere’ thing it’s got going on.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the cat’s fur against you. Despite the whirlwind of chaos that had brought you here, there was something so comforting about the small creature that had decided to be your companion.

And as you and Lucas made your way back to the castle, joking and teasing each other, you felt like things were normal, like you were just a regular student at Hogwarts, living in a time untouched by war and dark magic.

You went to sleep that day feeling better already, with the small feline curled up at the end of your bed, purring, its little collar having a little bell that you bought in a shop.

The following morning, you made your way down the main hall, the familiar hum of chatter and clicking of cutlery filling the air. It was officially your second week at Hogwarts, and though you were still getting used to the time period, you started to have a routine.

You reached the Gryffindor table and spotted your friends, already gathering around a platter of toast and eggs; some of them had pancakes. They waved you over and made space as you slipped onto the bench beside them.

“Morning, y/n!” Maeve greeted brightly, pushing a pitcher of pumpkin juice toward you. Her curly hair was a little wild this morning, as if she didn’t care. “Sleep well?”

You poured yourself a glass. “Pretty well, all things considered. I think I’m getting used to these weird ancient beds.”

Alicia snorted, her red hair falling into her eyes as she reached for a stack of pancakes. “Weird ancient beds? Try getting used to the weird ancient ghosts! I had Nearly Headless Nick hovering over my bed last night, telling some kind of story about jousting. I barely slept.”

“Better Nick than Peeves, though. That poltergeist kept chucking ink at me during Charms yesterday,” Maeve giggled, spreading jam on a piece of toast.

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest that you weren’t expecting. These girls had made everything feel… lighter. The constant worry in the back of your mind lessened. Here, in the morning sunlight with breakfast laid out before you, you almost forgot the real reason why you were here.

“Mm, speaking of Charms,” Maeve said, glancing at her timetable. “We’ve got it again this morning. Think Professor Flitwick will finally let us practice summoning spells?”

“I certainly hope so,” Lilith spoke as quietly as ever, but her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Right? I’ve been dying to try action on something bigger. Imagine being able to summon an entire plate of pastries!” Lucas exclaimed.

“As if we need more reasons for you to get distracted during class, Luca,” Alicia rolled her eyes.

They continued to chatter about the day ahead while you found your gaze wandering around. The students were busy with their own conversations; some were studying, others were yawning over cups of tea, while some were also scribbling down last-minute notes for their morning classes. Everything felt so normal.

When your eyes landed on the Slytherin table, the illusion of normalcy shattered. You’d almost forgotten about him.

Tom Riddle. He was sitting at the center, surrounded by his usual group of admirers. He was composed, elegant even, as he buttered a piece of toast, speaking quietly to a blonde male next to him.

You looked away quickly before his group—or him—could notice you staring. “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Maeve nudged you with her elbow.

“Everything alright?”

You gave a smile, hoping it didn’t look too strained. “Yeah, just thinking about today.”

“Don’t worry about it too much; it’s only the second week,” Lucas smiled. “Besides, you’re part of the group now. We’re in this together.”

“No backing out,” Lilith added, and for a second, you thought you’d melted.

You smiled, relaxing. You felt it reach your eyes; a sense of belonging wandered around in the back of your mind.

Breakfast continued, and so did the conversation to a more light-hearted topic: Alicia’s and Lilith’s excitement about the next Hogsmeade trip, Lucas’s plans for another elaborate prank on their dorm mate, and Maeve’s ongoing battle with Peeves. You listened, laughed, and chimed in the conversation whenever you could.

Maeve slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. “Come on, y/n. Let’s see if we can make it to Flitwick’s class before Luca drags us to the kitchens for more pastries.”

“I resent that,” Lucas called over his shoulder, “but I do want more pastries.”

You smiled and grabbed your bag as you followed them out of the Great Hall, trying to savour the last few minutes of peace before the day truly began.

⋆｡⋆˙⟡charms class:

When you arrived at the Charms class, it was buzzing with quiet energy as tired students filed in, quills and textbooks clutched in their hands. You took a seat next to Maeve on your left side. Behind another desk with space in between you two sat another girl—Slytherin.

“Good morning, everyone! Today, we will be practicing summoning charms—Accio!” Professor Flitwick said loudly, standing on a stack of books at the front of the class as he clapped his hands to get the attention of all the students.

An exciting murmur passed through the room. You realized how, in their fifth year, they learn about summoning spells in this timeline, while in Harry’s timeline you learned more defensive spells or memory spells. The difference was huge.

Summoning charms were pretty basic, but growing up in times like you did, you almost had no time getting used to a simple spell like Accio while you could easily Obliviate someone or use the Patronus charm.

“Partner up!” Flitwick instructed. You turned to look at Maeve, who was already grinning at you.

“I’ve been practicing this all week,” Maeve said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Let’s see if I can summon a bigger thing than a quill this time.”

“Alright, but if you summon a desk by accident, you’re responsible,” you teased her, setting your wand on your desk.

Maeve pointed her wand at one of the cushions Flitwick had left for practice. “Accio cushion!” she shouted, her wand slicing through the air.

The cushion zoomed toward her, though it wobbled slightly before landing in her arms. “Not bad, right?”

You clapped lightly. “That was impressive!”

Maeve jokingly gave a little bow to you. “Your turn!”

You focused on a cushion that was lying a few feet away, envisioning it flying smoothly into your hands. After a flick of your wand, you called out,

“Accio cushion!”

The cushion shot toward you with more speed than you expected, hitting you on your chest slightly and knocking you back slightly. You laughed, catching it just in time. Maeve burst into giggles beside you.

“Well, at least it's working,” you said with a grin. Putting the cushion down, you glanced around the room and caught sight of Tom. He was practicing at the far end of the classroom. He performed the spell flawlessly, his cushion gliding into his hands with barely a flick of his wrist. His focus was intense, almost unnerving.

You quickly turned towards Maeve again, not wanting to dwell on him.

⋆｡⋆˙⟡potions class:

The potion classroom in the dungeons was dark and cool; the only source of light was flickering. A mushy and earthy scent of ingredients filled the air as you sat down next to Alicia at one of the tables near the back.

“Right,” Alicia said, pulling out her ingredients. “I’ve got a good feeling about today’s potion. We’re supposed to make something simple, so there’s no way I can accidentally melt my cauldron like last week.”

You snickered. “Simple or not, I still think you have a way to make the easiest potions chaotic.”

Before Alicia could respond, Professor Slughorn’s jovial voice boomed across the room. “Today, my dear students, we will be brewing a calming draught. Quite useful for, uh, stressful situations.” He winked at the class. “-“I’m sure none of you feel stressed, though.”

You could feel the irony of the assignment, given how much stress you were actually under without anyone really knowing. You could probably use a calming draught or two just to get through the day.

Slughorn’s face was surrounded with enthusiasm as he demonstrated the first few steps, his eyes darting over the class with interest. You gathered the ingredients you needed and carefully measured out the valerian root, hellebore syrup, and the fluxweed oil.

“So, you think Slughorn’s going to invite you to one of his little parties?” Alicia asked as she ground some peppermint into powder.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on your cauldron as you stirred it clockwise. “Not very likely. I don’t really know what those parties are even about,” you lied. You went to one meeting with Hermione and decided to never go again. Simply a waste of time.

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Well, Slughorn kinda ‘collects’ talented students. You’re smart, plus you’re new and kind. So, I’d say you're prime Slug Club material.”

You smiled at her. “We’ll see,” you said quietly. “Plus, I think Riddle is in Slug Club,” Alicia whispered.

You almost spilled the peppermint that you were trying to add into your potion. “Sorry, what?” you gaped at her. She scoffed at you and smiled. “Don’t act dumb; I always see you looking at him.”

Your potion turned to a soft blue—that was a good sign. “What??? No, I don’t…” you mumbled and glanced over at Alicia’s cauldron, which was bubbling a little too vigorously.

“Uh, Alicia... are you sure you didn’t add too much oil?” you asked her, eyeing the bubbles. “You’re not getting out of this conversation, Y/N,”Alicia said while she kept adding oil.

“No, no, I’m serious; look at those bubbles.”

“Oh, oops,” Alicia gasped and quickly turned down the heat under her cauldron. “Well, at least it’s not melting this time.”

You laughed softly, helping her adjust the potion before it boiled over. Potions was always a mix of stress and humor with Alicia. Seems like you're not as slick as you thought you were.

⋆｡⋆˙⟡transfiguration class:

Dumbledore’s class, there was a different energy in the air. The room was spacious and bright; high arched windows were letting beams of sunlight in that illuminated against the desks. Dumbledore was standing at the front. “Today,” Dumbledore began, “we will attempt one of the more advanced transfigurations: turning inanimate objects into animals. Quite the leap from last week’s matchsticks to needles, wouldn’t you say?”

Maeve leaned over to you, whispering, “What if we give a four-legged animal six legs by mistake?”

You snickered quietly.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a stack of stones appeared on each of the students’ desks. “Your task today is to transform this stone into small creatures of your choosing: a mouse, perhaps, or a bird. Be gentle and focus.”

You pointed your wand at the stone, visualising a small bird. With clear focus, you flicked your wand, saying the incantation softly.

To your surprise, the stone started shifting, wings sprouting from its sides as it transformed into a tiny sparrow. It fluttered its wings in confusion before hopping onto your desk.

“Well, aren’t you just the star pupil,” Maeve teased with a grin. She was still poking at her half-transformed stone, which looked more like a stone with some fur on it.

From the front of the class, Dumbledore’s eyes met yours briefly, and he gave a small approving nod. You continued helping Maeve when you caught a glimpse of Tom Riddle a few rows ahead. His magic was perfect—obviously. The stone in front of him had turned into a sleek, black raven that perched on his desk with eerie calm.

You sighed, forcing yourself to focus more on Maeve and her furry rock. There would be plenty of time to think about Tom later, but the time was ticking, and you knew it

Shadow, the cat that you’d taken in, padded silently beside you as you made your way to the library. You smiled down at him; Shadow had proven to be nothing more than a sweet, lovely companion. The cat had followed you everywhere except for classes.

“You like books, don’t you?” you murmured to the cat as you entered the library, earning a few curious glances from other students. Shadow flicked his tail and trotted ahead of you, his sleek form disappearing between two towering bookshelves.

The library was quiet and warm, even after dinner. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. You loved it in the library; it felt like a sanctuary, a place where time stood still.

Wandering through the shelves, you scanned the spines of the books you passed. Every so often, you’d glance behind you to make sure Shadow was still with you. Reaching a shelf tucked in a quiet corner of the library, you found a book you'd been looking for - The Founder’s Legacy: A History of Hogwarts. It was a book you needed for your Muggle Studies.

You pulled it down and tucked it under your arm, turning to leave the aisle; but when you did, you noticed Shadow was gone. “Shadow?” you called softly, careful not to disturb the other students. The silence of the library seemed to grow louder, your eyes searching for the black fur you had grown accustomed to.

Frowning, you stepped out of the aisle, looking around for any sign of the cat. Only a few students were scattered around the tables, their heads buried in their studies. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted him.

At one of the far tables, seated in his usual spot near the back of the library, was Tom Riddle.

With Shadow.

Your breath caught in your throat. The sleek black cat had made himself comfortable on the edge of Tom’s open book, his paws kneading the pages as he purred contentedly. Tom didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. In fact, he was watching the cat with an odd expression - almost as if he was amused, though his features remained calm and composed as always.

For a second, you just stood there, contemplating all your life’s choices. Seeing Shadow so comfortable made your heart race. Tom Riddle, the person you were meant to change, was casually petting the cat you had taken in, and it made your situation feel even more surreal.

But only you couldn't keep standing there forever, staring at Tom Riddle.

So, you summoned up your courage and slowly walked over to the table, forcing yourself to remain calm even though you could feel your chest preparing for a panic attack.

“Looking for this?” His voice was soft but cold as he gestured to the cat with a slight raise of his hand. Shadow meowed happily and stretched out his paws, pushing against Tom's book as if he had claimed it for himself.

Hearing Tom’s voice changed something in you; a warm feeling spread through you.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady, trying to ignore all the feelings you were feeling at once. “I didn’t realise he’d wandered off.”

Tom’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, studying you with the same unsettling intensity you’d noticed in class. Then he looked back at the cat, one hand absently touching behind Shadow’s ear. The cat purred louder, pressing into the touch as though he had always belonged there.

“He seems to like me,” Tom observed. You had to hold back a scoff, so you forced a smile. “He’s a friendly one.”

“I can see.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You cleared your throat and stepped forward, reaching for Shadow. “Well, I should get him out of your way; he’s probably disturbing your reading. Or studying, or whatever…”

Tom didn’t move at first, and for a brief second, you thought he might not let you take back your cat. But then he pulled his hand back. Shadow, oblivious to the tension, stretched lazily before hopping off the table and rubbing against your leg.

You cradled Shadow in your arms as you tried to steady your nerves.

You felt Tom’s gaze linger on you for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to his book, his expression unreadable. “Be careful,” he said, his voice low. “Not everything that follows you is harmless.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. Was that a warning? Or something more? Before you could reply, Tom had already turned the page of his book, his focus shifting away from you as though the conversation had never happened

A chill ran down your spine as you hugged Shadow closer. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you turned around.

Tom’s cryptic words echoed in your thoughts. You were halfway to the library’s entrance when you spotted Lucas striding toward you, hands tucked in his pockets, that ever-present grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He seemed completely at ease, as though the world was just a big joke waiting to be told.

“There you are!” he called out in a low voice, somewhat mindful of the library’s strict silence policy. He walked right up to you, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face before flicking over to the spot where Tom was sitting. “I saw you over there, chatting with Riddle.”

“Yeah... Shadow wandered over to him,” you smiled slightly, still not fully calmed down, but Lucas’s presence helped a bit.

Lucas smiled. “Look, I’m just gonna say it: I’ve seen you stare at him at times, and you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Whatever he’s said to you—”

“He said something about not everything that follows you is harmless,” you interrupted him, needing to get it off your chest.

“Okay, stop. That’s freakishly creepy,” Lucas gaped, stealing a glance at Tom. “Just... try to ignore him. Riddle’s either got everyone thinking he’s the hottest thing to walk these halls, or they think he’s bloody weird.”

Your curiosity piqued. “And what do you think?”

Lucas paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the question. His grin returned. “Both.”

You chuckled at his bluntness. “Both?”

You walked out of the library, your book long forgotten on the table you were supposed to be studying at. “Yeah, he’s good looking. I mean, objectively speaking,” Lucas said. “But there’s something about him that’s off. Like, he’s too good at... well, everything. It's unnatural; people are drawn to him, but they’re also... I don’t know, scared of him. You know? Even if they don't want to admit it.”

You nodded, thinking back to how Tom had looked at you - the way his eyes seemed to see right through you. There was definitely something unnerving about him. “He’s strange. Almost like he’s always one step ahead of everyone.”

“Exactly,” Lucas agreed. “It’s like he’s playing a game no one else knows the rules to. Trust me, best to keep your distance.”

“I wasn’t planning on making friends with him,” you said, shifting Shadow in your arms. The cat blinked lazily up at you.

“Good, I’ve got enough trouble without having to rescue you from the dark and mysterious Tom Riddle,” Lucas replied, giving you a reassuring smile.

You let out a laugh. “Thanks, Lucas. I’ll be sure to tell you first if I get in over my head.”

Lucas grinned. “I’ll be there, wand at the ready.”

The two of you started to head toward the common room together, the tension that had been knotted in your chest since your encounter with Tom slowly began to ease. Lucas had a way of making things feel lighter, like no matter how complicated the situation got, he’d find a way to make it less scary.

“Anyway,” Lucas said, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked, “enough about Riddle. Did you get what you came for? Or are we heading back in for round two of ‘Tom the Cat Whisperer’?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “No more rounds with him for today, thanks. I think I’ve had my fill of mysterious brooding for the time being. But I do think I might’ve left my book in there.”

Lucas laughed again, his voice carrying through the halls. “We’ll get it first thing tomorrow. And if you do like him, just don’t go falling for that whole dark-and-mysterious thing. I won’t judge you.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Please. You know I prefer my friends a little less brooding and a little more… fun.”

“See? That’s the right attitude.” He gave you a wink, his smile warm and genuine. “Stick with me. I’m way more fun than some dark wizard-in-training.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. As strange and intense as things had become, Lucas was a constant source of light. Maybe, just maybe, he’d help keep you grounded as you navigated the dangerous path ahead.

a/n: posted a bit earlier, but umm, i was thinking of naming the cat crookshanks first - so she has a reminder of hermione, harry and ron. but idk :( alsooooo, i'll probably update on sunday for this serie (loads of homework)

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heejake-hoon · 4 months ago

Text

Milked in the Stacks

CW: Dom!Heeseung x sub!Jake x sub!afab!reader, threesome, face fucking, mxm actions, messy make out, facials, names calling (slut, whore...etc), creampie, a bit of breeding kink (if you squint) and more WC: 4,159 (of pure filth and nastiness) A.N: I had thoughts about this while being on the plane nd couldn't stop thinking about it, so enjoy. Also this is my first time writing threesome/mxm so don't have high expectations.

You shift awkwardly at your desk, the dull scribble of your pen filling the dimly lit library. It's late - too late for anyone to really be here, especially on a Friday night. But you're a diligent student, working hard towards that 4.0 GPA. Even if it means missing out on the raucous parties just a few blocks away.

The muffled thump of bass drums reach your ears, barely audible through the thick stone walls. You roll your eyes. Typical of the frat crowd to be so obnoxiously loud. Your mind wanders to the rumors about the jocks and meatheads that dominate Greek life on campus. Drunken debauchery, orgies, hazing rituals…you shudder at the thought.

A loud bang makes you jump, quill skidding across the page. Two figures stumble into the library, all tangled limbs and sloppy kisses. You quickly avert your eyes, but can't help but sneak another peek.

It's Heeseung and Jake - the hottest guys at your college. Heeseung is a senior, the quintessential frat boy stud. Rumpled peachy hair, broad shoulders tapering down to slim hips. Jake is the opposite - an unassuming sophomore from the honor society, glasses askew and baby face flushed red.

You've had a crush on the two of them for ages, despite their completely different social circles. Heeseung practically oozes effortless charisma and sex appeal. While Jake's innocent demeanor stirs a protective urge deep inside you.

Your thighs clench involuntarily as Heeseung pushes the smaller man against the bookshelves, grinding their clothed erections together. Why are they doing this here? A small, neglected part of your brain whispers hopefully that maybe, just maybe, it's for your benefit.

Jake lets out a breathy moan, quickly muffled by Heeseung's demanding mouth. They're really getting into it, completely oblivious to your wide-eyed stare. You should leave, right? Give them some privacy? But you're utterly transfixed, squirming in your seat.

Heeseung pulls back with a cocky grin. "You want it that bad, baby? Right here in the fucking library?" His voice is a low, gruff murmur, dripping with lust.

Jake whimpers, nodding eagerly. "Please, need you…"

Your panties are absolutely soaked at this point. Why do you feel like you're the one being teased instead? Heeseung's piercing gaze flits over to your corner, finally noticing your presence.

Rather than looking embarrassed, his signature smirk only grows wider. No, he looks…predatory. You freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. This can't be happening. Not to you, the innocent bookworm who wouldn't know what to do with a hot guy like that if you tried.

Except Heeseung doesn't give you a choice. In one smooth motion, he's sauntering over to your desk, chest puffed and knees swaggering. Jake quickly follows behind, smoothing his rumpled shirt and looking deliciously debauched.

"Well, well…looks like we've got an audience," Heeseung drawls, looming over your pitiful scribbles. Your throat is dry, heart pounding in your chest.

He leans in close, the crisp scent of his cologne and something muskier making your head spin. "You've been a naughty girl, watching us like a fucking pervert."

Jake's face is burning crimson beside you, seemingly conflicted between embarrassment and arousal. God, the two of them are gorgeous. You want them so bad, have fantasized about this very situation more times than you can count.

But you never imagined it would actually happen. And you're utterly paralyzed, heat pooling steadily between your legs.

"I think she liked what she saw, Jakey," Heeseung continues darkly. He grips your chin roughly, tilting your face up to meet his blown-out gaze. "Doesn't she look so pretty? All innocent and shit. Makes me wanna fuck her up. What do you think?"

Jake swallows thickly, shifting closer. You can feel the heat radiating off his body. His shy, hesitant voice sends delicious tingles down your spine.

"H-Heeseung…I don't know if we should…" But he doesn't protest any further as the older man captures your lips in a searing, demanding kiss. You're frozen in shock as Heeseung's lips move insistently against yours. His tongue sweeps along the seam of your mouth, demanding entry. You can't help but gasp, allowing the velvet muscle to delve inside and map every warm, wet crevice.

The frat boy kisses with a bruising intensity, like he's trying to devour you whole. One large hand fists in your hair, angling your head for deeper control. You moan shamelessly into his mouth, the sweet taste of beer and something darker on his tongue.

An envious groan rumbles from Jake's chest. His hand comes to rest on your knee, squeezing needily. You jump at the contact, pulse fluttering beneath his soft fingertips. Feeling emboldened, he shifts forward, peppering feather-light kisses along the column of your exposed neck and shoulder.

You whine at the sensation, lashes fluttering. Jake and Heeseung work in tandem, overwhelming your senses with their contrasting techniques. One utterly dominant and demanding, the other achingly gentle and worshipful. It's dizzying, heat rapidly pooling between your thighs.

When the need for air becomes too great, Heeseung breaks away with a carnal growl. His pupils are blown out, lips wet and kiss-swollen. An obscene string of saliva connects you briefly before snapping. You're left panting, hair mussed and no doubt blushing furiously.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let out those pretty little whimpers for us," Heeseung rasps, voice like gravel. His hands roam down your body, caressing the curves he's clearly admired from afar. You whimper again as he cups your breast brazenly through your thin shirt, thumbing the sensitive peak.

Jake whines against the side of your neck, rutting minutely against your thigh. You can feel his impressive bulge straining against the tight denim, begging for friction. Some deeply repressed part of you wants to drop to your knees and release his thick length with your mouth. But you're utterly powerless, helplessly trapped between the two devastatingly handsome men.

"Let's get these clothes off, yeah?" Heeseung tugs impatiently at your shirt, lips quirking at your deliciously dazed expression. Jake gives you a look full of unspoken questions, silently asking your consent. You bite your lip and nod, subtly arching your back to allow Heeseung to pull the fabric up and over your head.

The crisp library air raises goosebumps along your bare torso, peaked nipples hardening in anticipation. Heeseung hums appreciatively at the sight, hands splayed across the soft swell of your belly and ribs. He leans back to take you in, unashamed as his gaze roams over every dip and curve with rapacious hunger.

Jake lets out a shuddering sigh, breath fanning across the heated skin of your chest. His mouth latches on to your collarbone, sucking vibrant blooms of crimson and violet that'll surely last for days. The thought sends a thrill down your spine, claimed and marked by them both.

"You look so fucking good, pretty girl. All spread out just for us," Heeseung growls. He watches the display beside him with dark, hooded lids. A long, thick finger traces the outline of Jake's eager mouth, tugging his plump lower lip down obscenely. "Think I'll let my boy have his fun first. He was so cock hungry earlier, weren't you sweetheart?"

Jake flushes even deeper, pupils blown wide as he obediently sucks the digit into the scorching heat of his mouth. A hot flash of arousal streaks through you at the sight, your neglected pussy clenching with need. The smaller boy swirls his tongue around the offering reverently, lewd sucking noises filling the hush of the library.

You mewl softly as Jake diverts his attention back to you, trailing hot kisses across your chest and stomach before hovering over the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flick up to your face, pupils blown, silently seeking permission to continue this downward trajectory.

Heeseung chuckles darkly behind him, carelessly unfastening his own belt buckle. The metallic clink makes you jolt, nerves and arousal battling for dominance. "Go on, angel. Been waiting all night to get a taste of this pretty little pussy."

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his crude words, but you shakily nod. Jake's talented fingers make quick work of your jeans, tugging the restricting fabric down your trembling thighs and calves. You shift forward, lifting your hips to allow him to remove them fully, leaving you in just your simple cotton panties.

Heeseung groans, heavy cock straining against his boxer briefs. His large hand pumps the thick shaft slowly, smearing the pearly bead of pre-cum gathering at the flushed tip. "Fuck, look at you. Such an obedient little slut, already dripping for us."

You whine at his filthy words, undeniably turned on despite your innocent demeanor. He's right - the flimsy material between your legs is absolutely soaked through, a dark spot betraying the evidence of your arousal. The scent of your desire hangs thick and heady in the air between you.

Jake doesn't hesitate, nuzzling his flushed cheek against the damp cotton. You gasp sharply at the contact, hips bucking up for more delicious friction. He mouths hungrily at your clothed sex, the tip of his tongue teasing along the seam in a featherlight facsimile of what's to come.

"There you go, Jakey…taste how fucking sweet she is."

Heeseung fists his hand in Jake's soft, honey blonde locks, guiding his eager mouth along your aching folds. You tremble beneath his reverent ministrations, head thrown back in pleasure. A tiny, overwhelmed part of you still can't quite believe this is truly happening. That the objects of your deepest, darkest fantasies are lavishing their attention upon you in such an illicit way.

"P-please…" you beg breathlessly, fingers scrabbling against the worn wooden desk beneath you. Your back arches as the smaller boy licks a broad, luxurious stripe up your slit through the damp cotton. "Want…need…"

"Poor baby, you're so worked up," Heeseung coos mockingly, thumbing the glistening head of his impressive length. "Don't worry…we'll give you exactly what you need."

With an obscene growl, he hooks his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, tugging them to the side in one sharp motion. Your glistening, swollen folds are finally exposed to the chilly air, flushed and weeping with need. You squirm under their focused gazes, suddenly shy and self-conscious.

Jake lets out a needy whine at the sight of your exposed sex. His breath ghosts over the glistening folds in hot puffs, close enough that you squirm from the sensation.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy," he rasps, voice deep and husky with lust. You moan softly as his velvet tongue laps at your slick folds experimentally.

Heeseung crowds closer, lazily stroking his thick length just inches from your face. "That's it, baby. Get her nice and messy for me."

You keen, throwing your head back as Jake seals his mouth over your entrance, that clever tongue working you open with broad, filthy strokes. He's utterly shameless, cheeks hollowed with effort as he suckles noisily at your essence. Wet squelching noises and your breathless whines fill the air.

Your hips roll in small, desperate circles, chasing more of that delicious friction. Jake accommodates readily, plush lips stretched obscenely around your aching clit. He lavishes the swollen bud with searing attention, flicking his tongue against it insistently.

"Oh-oh god…!" you sob out, trembling on the precipice of release. The coiling pleasure is exquisite, warmth blooming across your heated skin.

Heeseung chuckles smugly. He guides the weeping head of his cock to smear your lips with sticky pre-cum. You don't hesitate before opening obediently, suckling at the salty bead on your tongue. He groans approvingly, thrusting shallowly to paint your pretty mouth with his essence.

"Dirty girl…knew you'd be so good for us," he rumbles. His free hand slides into the tresses at your nape, tilting your head back further. You gag softly as the thick cockhead catches on your soft palate, thighs clenching around Jake's frantically working mouth.

Jake mewls desperately between your thighs, greedy for your impending climax. He looks utterly wrecked, hair mussed and lips red and swollen from his efforts. Yet he refuses to let up, dutifully fucking his dexterous little tongue into your sopping channel with fervor.

The orgasm slams into you with staggering force. You wail around Heeseung's cock, body convulsing as gushing waves of bliss crest over you. Jake laps greedily at the fresh rush of your arousal, glassy eyes screwed shut in concentration.

Heeseung ruts into the tight walls of your mouth, forcing you to swallow around his impressive length. Thick rivulets of drool and precum stream down your chin, lewd choking sounds tearing from your abused throat. Your head swims from overstimulation and lack of air.

"Ah fuck…keep going slut, take it all for me," he growls, hips snapping shallowly. Your makeup is utterly ruined, mascara streaking ebony trails down your cheeks. But you've never felt more debauched, more wanted in your entire life.

Just as your vision begins to darken around the edges, he pulls out with a guttural moan. His cock slaps wetly against your cheek, leaving a smear of pearly essence behind as the veiny shaft pulses. You suck in desperate gulps of air, blinking up at the frat stud through a lusty, tear-blurred gaze.

"Christ, you look like a fucking dream," he pants, roughly thumbing your spit-slick lower lip. "All messy and used up already."

Jake finally pulls away with an obscene slurp, a dazed and thoroughly fucked-out expression painting his features. His face glistens with your arousal, lips bitten red and wet. Heeseung turns his hooded gaze on him hungrily.

"Give it to me, sweetheart," he orders gruffly. Jake scrambles to obey, crawling up your body to desperately seal their lips together. You watch, transfixed, as Heeseung thoroughly plunders the other boy's mouth, no doubt tasting every musky essence lingering on Jake's skilled tongue…

You shudder at the filthy, indecent display unfolding before your very eyes. Jake is completely pliant and submissive, whimpering eagerly as Heeseung's thick fingers tangle roughly in his honey-blond hair. The ravenous kiss goes on and on, the wet sounds of their arduous french baiting and desperate groping drowning out all other noise.

Heeseung's molten gaze pins you in place with the weight of his carnal hunger. He reaches for you, large hands gripping the backs of your thighs in a bruising hold.

"Bend those pretty little legs for me, princess. Gonna show you just how fucking good I can make you feel," he growls, voice dripping with lust. You obey mindlessly, allowing him to tug you flush against his body, feet planted on the edge of the sturdy desk.

Your breath catches as the thick length of his cock drags along your dripping folds, spreading your arousal in silken streaks. Heeseung's lips quirk into that infuriating smirk as he watches your features contort with needy desperation.

With one powerful drive of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. Your back bows off the desk, a broken mewl torn from your chest as he stretches and fills you in one deliciously obscene thrust. Stars burst across your vision, tingling shockwaves of sensation radiating through your core.

"Fucking hell…gonna ruin this greedy little cunt," Heeseung hisses, voice tight with rapture. He wastes no time, immediately pounding into you with harsh, sharp strokes that knock breathy moans from your trembling lips.

Each powerful thrust makes your breasts jiggle enticingly, nipples peaked and aching for attention. You feel utterly split open and impaled on his cock, the velvet steel length rubbing torturous friction against your slick, spongy walls. Obscene squelches and gasps fill the library with every brutal slide.

Jake watches with rapt, shamelessly hungry eyes, his plush mouth gaped open. He strokes his own weeping length eagerly, precome drooling from the flushed head. Finally, he leans in and busies his talented tongue against Heeseung's flexing bollocks, kitten licking and sucking at the heavy, musky sac in a worshipful display.

"Ah yes…fuck…there's a good boy," Heeseung moans, snapping his hips into your fluttering heat with renewed vigor. He grips Jake's hair in a brutal fist, shoving his face more insistently against his saliva-slick balls.

The sordid visual is almost too much to bear, combined with the harsh pounding of your battered core. You're utterly suspended at the precipice, teetering on the knife's edge of blissful oblivion. Frantic whines and pleas tumble from your bruised pout shamelessly.

"Shh, gonna give you my cock like a good girl," Heeseung pants, hand drifting up to palm a hefty, swollen breast roughly. His rough palm captures your turgid nipple, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peak viciously. "Want to feel your sweet little cunt squeezing me when you cum…"

With one final, brutal snap of his hips, the barrage is too much. The frayed threads of your control snap as a blinding orgasm rocks through your very being. Back bowing off the desk like a taut cord, you cry out in shuddering bliss as rapturous pulses of euphoria convulse through your overstimulated form. Heeseung fucks you through each exquisite wave, working his cock into your fluttering spasms as your slick arousal splatters obscenely between your bodies.

He finally pulls out with a groan, thick shaft slick and gleaming with your combined essence. Jake instantly latches onto the glistening cockhead, tongue chasing every musky streak hungrily. Heeseung groans, harsh and guttural, forcing the smaller man to take his length deeper into his hollowed cheeks.

With one final shuddery gasp, his entire body seems to freeze for one endless, suspended moment. Jake's eyes flutter shut as thick ropes of pearly release are painted across his upturned features, a fresh mural of debasement and desire.

The depraved scene shifts before your lust-glazed eyes before Heeseung hauls you possessively onto his thick length once more, sheathing himself to the root inside your convulsing, creamy pussy with one brutal grind of his hips. You cry out, already feeling so deliriously full and claimed by his sheer virility.

Snarling in satisfaction, Heeseung grips the mounds of your ass cheeks in a bruising grip, starting up a punishing rhythm that has you jouncing up and down his cock obscenely. Wet squelching sounds and your breathless moans fill the library as he claims what's rightfully his.

But he's not done sharing the spoils with his smaller counterpart. Heeseung beckons Jake over with a curl of one thick finger, that predatory alpha glint in his eyes. The willowy blonde immediately crawls to obey, chest heaving with arousal at the lurid display.

"Open up for me, baby," Heeseung orders lowly. "Princess here is gonna get her pretty mouth just as fucked as her greedy little cunt."

He tugs on your hair sharply to guide your head back, exposing the line of your bruised throat. Your lips part readily, tongue lolling out in a gesture of wanton submission. Jake doesn't need any further encouragement.

He shuffles upright and aligns the flushed, weeping crown of his cock with your waiting mouth. You moan thunderously as he slides between your puffy, slicked lips. He's not quite as large as Heeseung, but the taste of his pre-release still has you quivering with arousal. He's thick and heavy and deliciously musky on your tongue.

Soon, the raw, barbaric rhythm is established. Heeseung brutally jackhammers up into your slick, spasming cunt, the desk rattling beneath you. But Jake is more measured, smooth rolls of his lean hips that bury his cock to the root in the silken confines of your throat.

You're utterly sandwiched between them, moaning deliriously around Jake's shaft as Heeseung splits you open again and again with his prodigious length. Every nerve ending has been set alight, vibrating at the peak of rapturous overstimulation.

Jake keens and grips your hair tighter, picking up the pace to thoroughly skullfuck you in tandem with Heeseung's savage thrusts. His balls slap against your chin obscenely, smearing pre-release and spit into a sticky mess across your features.

"That's it…take it like the perfect little whore you are," Heeseung snarls from above, drunk on the power trip. "Gonna pump both these tight holes full of our fucking seed…"

The crude words send shockwaves through you. Your thighs are slick and trembling, orgasms fast approaching like a runaway train. Jake seems to sense your impending rapture as well. He fucks your mouth with renewed vigor, choking out your wanton whines into garbled, muffled moans around his pistoning meat.

Heeseung unexpectedly seizes your hips in an iron grip, slamming you down onto his cock with enough force to rattle your teeth. You wail incoherently as that final, brutal thrust shatters the glass ceiling of your control entirely.

Wave after breathtaking wave of orgasmic release convulses through your ravaged form. Every muscle tenses to the point of agony as electrical pulses of ecstasy short circuit your synapses. You're utterly suspended in a dissociative state of bliss, continuous gushes of slick essence sheening your thighs and Heeseung's inhumanly thick cock.

He roars with dark satisfaction, somehow fucking you even harder through the all-consuming storm of climax. Jake whimpers helplessly, face flushing crimson as hot ropes of your drool and excess saliva stream down his shaft in filthy rivulets.

The sight seems to undo him entirely. Tensing beneath you, his movements stutter and falter as a blissful rictus overtakes his pretty features. Heeseung grins savagely and yanks Jake flush against your face, growling for you to "take that fucking load, princess."

That virile command seems to be the final push Jake needs. He arches in freefall, mouth dropping open around a hitched exhalation. The first pulse of his hot seed streaks across your tongue, filling your mouth with its bitter saltiness as you struggle to swallow every tangy pulse.

He cries out in rapturous bliss, hips jerking helplessly to milk himself to completion. Your cheeks hollow with effort, determined to drain him dry like the obedient little cockslut that you are.

"Fuck…yes, take it all you greedy whore," Heeseung growls from above, hips still pistoning relentlessly as he breeds your shuddering, spasming cunt with his brutal length.

His balls slap lewdly against your ass with every punishing thrust, the twin peaks tightening in preparation for his own impending release. You whine around Jake's cock, delighted by the prospect of being thoroughly sullied by both their viscous seed.

Jake finally pulls his spend-smeared length from the debauched 'o' of your mouth with a filthy pop. He staggers back to catch his breath, abs rippling and face gone slack with a hazy, euphoric expression.

Heeseung seizes the opportunity to crash their lips together, devouring Jake's moans with a ravenous growl. He tastes you both on the smaller man's tongue, rich and musky and filthy.

You lie there, feeling utterly impaled and ruined by Heeseung's insistent pounding. Sweat sheens your bodies, which glisten obscenely with each punishing slam of his hips. The coil of your shared pleasure is rapidly reaching its crescendo, nerves alight.

"Where do you want this fucking load, princess?" he snarls against Jake's mouth, teeth nipping at the plump flesh possessively. "Tell me like the dirty girl you are."

"I-inside!" you wail without hesitation, head thrashing against the desk. "Please…please fucking breed me like a good slut!"

Something unhinged flickers across Heeseung's chiseled features. He seizes your jaw in one large palm, grip nearly bruising as he drinks in your deliriously wrecked and wanton expression hungrily.

"That's my girl," he rumbles. Punctuated by another brutal thrust, his next words rasp out in a torrid rush of crudity. "Get ready to get that messy little hole pumped full of my thick fucking seed…"

As if guided by some primal, cosmic trigger, your bodies fall into perfect alignment at long last. His hand winds into your hair while Jake latches onto your swaying tits, suckling frantically at your peaked nipples.

Gripping you in a punishing hold, Heeseung unleashes a final flurry of piston-sharp thrusts. You soar over the edge of oblivion with a guttural scream, consciousness whiting out beneath the force of your cataclysmic rapture.

His throbbing cock slams against that velvet cluster of nerves in a delicious finale, and you spiral endlessly through the white-hot vortex of climax. Your walls flutter and pulsate greedily around his retrograde pulsing length, milking him without quarter.

Heeseung shatters apart with a groan, thick, ropey strands of virile seed flooding your spasming hole to the brink. You shudder as his essence rushes to paint every twitching contour of your insides, coating your receptive walls with its potent finish.

Thick rivulets drool and drip down the cleft of your ass as he continues to pump, determined to thoroughly lay his claim. His vicious grunts eventually trail off into euphoric huffs, cock finally spent.

You both lie there twitching and heaving for breath in the aftermath of your mutual detonation. Jake presses worshipful kisses to every inch of your marked, ravaged bodies in reverent daze. You've never felt more owned, sated or deliciously defiled in your life…

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lemmesayimyourbiggestfan · 3 months ago

Text

Make me

Sirius Black x fem!reader

in which James planned you a blind date with your nemesis

requests are open!

word count: 2,1k

warnings: language, drinking

...

"I'm so tired of all the boys. I swear, there is not even one normal man here in Hogwarts." you grumbled despairingly as you landed on the couch in the common room next to James.

"Oh sweetheart, so I take it the date didn't go as planned?" he chuckled.

You covered your face with your hands and loudly exhaled.

"Well, we did go to Hogsmeade but instead of Honeydukes he took me to Scrivenshaft's quill shop. Stop laughing, this isn't even the worst part. He then kept blabbering on about some new type of rainbow ink that he, in his own words, just has to buy."

At least James tried to not laugh as much as he desired to, though you wouldn't blame him - because what the actual fuck.

"Oh, I just love hearing of your escapades, Y/N. Such a shame, though; me and Lily are desperate to find another couple to go on double dates with." he smiled while pouting his lips mockingly. You punched his arm with surprising strenght.

"Just no more guys like Mr. Rainbow Ink, please." you laughed.

James looked as if he wasthinking of something and after a moment of silence, his whole face lit up and you knew that whatever he thought of was no good.

"Just leave it to me, 'kay? I'll find the perfect guy for you and arrange a blind date."

"Fuck no." you said immediately, knowing that James would singlehandedly mess up.

"No, no, just hear me out, okay? I will take this job seriously, in my own interest. I promise not to make a joke out of it."

You rolled your eyes in answer but didn't argue further.

"Plus, I think I have the perfect candidate."

At that moment, you should've already known that something will go really, really wrong.

...

Three days later, James already had everything planned out and was nearly jumping with excitement. Well, you didn't really share that feeling. But for some reason, seeing your childhood bestfriend so invested in finding you the best match made you soften and not argue that much.

"You know that this Friday is the Celestial ball, right? So, your date will pick you up at five and please, dress nicely so he doesn’t change his mind. Yeah, that's probably all you need to know." he gave you a wicked grin.

"Why the secrecy?" you raised an eyebrow at your friend.

"Nothing, just making sure it's an unfiltered experience for you."

“At least if he turns out to be another idiot, I have an excuse to get hammered.” you grinned.

“That’s the spirit!” James bumped your shoulder excitedly and you couldn’t help but smile at his childish happiness.

But when you tried to think of even a single person with whom he would set you up, your mind went blank.

Who are you gonna be, stranger?

…

In preparation of the upcoming ball, Lily and Dorcas braided your hair into a sort of messy half-up-half-down hairstyle and you girls shared quite a laugh when they tried to get you into your very - very - tight dress.

With your black high-heels on, you examined yourself in the mirror. Your Y/H/C hair looked so sexy tied liked that and you decided to go with the same messy vibe regarding your whole look. From the smudged black kohl lining your eyes and the bold dark-red lipstick to your floor length burgundy dress with black lace adoring its edges. Oh, it might have been just a bit too slutty for such an occasion, but you didn't mind at all. You and Marlene always enjoyed wearing things just a smudge out of pocket.

You also liked shy boys stuttering when they looked at you. You hoped your escort would be one of those. You grinned at the thought and left your room with a light step.

"I see you take this date seriously." James nodded at you approvingly as he watched you approach him in front of the Great Hall.

"Yeah, yeah, dream all you want." you rolled your eyes. "Where is he?"

"Darling, getting all pretty and dressed up for me today, aren't you?" a voice purred behind you and it affected you in the same way a bucket of icy water would.

Oh no. Oh fuck no.

"Are you fucking serious?" you gritted your teeth at James and he paled when he saw the murderous look on your face. He better.

"Darling, he’s with Lily, remember? He wouldn’t be fucking me. But you, on the other hand… You know how my usual dates go."

You turned to face that ridiculously handsome face of Sirius Black. That fucker was you nemesis since the moment he saw you on the Hogwarts Express sharing a booth with James. It didn’t matter to you that James found a guy bestfriend – you were okay with sharing the same pedestal with another – but Sirius, on the other hand, just purely despised you for it. So after two yers of trying to settle this tension between you two, you gave up and started to treat him the same way he did.

And that nickname, that god-forsaken nickname; it drove you crazy and you both knew it.

”I’m not spending even a second of my time on this… existence.” You spat at James instead, wisely ignoring that egoistic shit and silencing all your witty retorts. In your fourth year, you once wrote an entire list of those retorts, spending all your nights sitting crouched over that one piece of paper with anger flowing freely in your veins.

Obsessed much? a small voice in your head whispered.

“I think that if you give this a chance-“

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Angry already, darling?” Sirius purred and your knuckles turned white from you trying so hard not to break his perfect nose.

“Wipe that smirk off of your face before I do it for you.” You have been such a fool for trusting James to do just one thing right. Now you would do anything to be here with any of the guys you were previously complaining about. But instead, you were left with the only person you truly hated. So much for an unfiltered experience.

“Oh, are you gonna kiss me, Y/N?” Sirius smiled even wider.

“This was probably not a good idea.” proclaimed Lily as she approached you three.

“Probably not.” James nervously tugged at his hair.

You and Sirius were just staring daggers at each other. And after deciding this staring contest was fucking ridiculous, you just turned on your heel and began walking back up the stairs.

“Oh, darling, leaving so soon?” Sirius shouted at you and every head in the hallway turned your way. You turned around and bared your teeth at him, not caring that you probably looked like a wild animal.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” Your voice was cold as you took the tree steps it took to reach him. Even though Sirius was towering over you, you felt as if you were looking down your nose at him.

“What, darling?” he puffed, one corner of his lips turning up. He was toying with you, you knew it. And you hated that he knew it, too.

“Yes.”

“Or what?” Sirius stepped closer and you felt the tips of your shoes touching his. With every rise of your chest you could feel the fabric of his shirt.

Before you could say anything back (which would be hard because, apparently, your mind just went blank at Sirius’ closeness), James tugged at your elbow and walked you to an alcove nearby.

“What the fuck, James?” you spat at his accusingly. He winced at your words as if you had hit him.

“I just- Well, I don’t have to justify my gut feeling to you, but I think you guys should get over your hating phase and start acknowledging the chemistry between you two,” he whisled slowly at that, “So please, hate me all you want tomorrow. But tonight, just give him a chance.”

You looked over his shoulder back to Sirius. He was talking to Lily and it wasn’t a smirk on his face but a soft smile that has not even once been aimed at you. That fact made you queasy. You knew he wasn’t always an asshole – it was only in your presence that he got so riled up. But, you thought, it would be nice to be smiled at just like that.

“Okay. But just tonight.” You were surprised by your own words. Were you an idiot for saying that? You didn’t know.

“Thanks,” James sighed, relief lacing his words. He took your elbow again and brought you back to the group.

“I’m gonna get myself a drink. Maybe two.”

Lily giggled at James’ words and grabbed onto his arm and the two of them hurriedly left. That meant you and Sirius were left alone, which was very, very dangerous. You started walking to the bar without looking back at your escort, because all you really needed at that moment was a strong ass drink.

“Firewhiskey, right?” Sirius asked you when he caught up to you. No matter how fast you tried to go, he infuriatingly and casually kept his pace next to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him. In answer, he shrugged. “I just know.”

You tried to shake off the feeling that embraced you after realizing he somehow knew your favourite hard liquor.

You also didn’t know how to react to the fact that Sirius paid for his and your drinks that some students smuggled into the party for a laughably ridiculous price.

As he handed the cold glass to you, your fingers touched, just barely. You told yourself your heartbeat was quick because of your temper, no other reasons.

“I don’t think you realize just how angry you make me.” You smirked ironically at Sirius, the alcohol already burning sweetly in your throat.

“I have that much of an effect on you? I should be flattered.” Sirius retorted. But it was not an angry answer, just…. A playful one. And you had no idea what to do with that.

“Don’t think you’re all that, Sirius.” You rolled your eyes. “Should I ckeck for a poisoned drink? Or a love potion?”

You knew you were dancing on the edge of a very sharp knife. But somehow, that made it much more fun.

“Don’t think of me so poorly, darling. As if I needed a love potion to get you on your knees and beg.”

“In your dreams, Black.”

“Yes, in my dreams, darling.”

You froze at that. Was he actually impying he dreamt about you being on your knees, begging before him? But of course he did, that arrogant prick. He always had to feel superior.

But that didn’t stop the blood from seeping into your cheeks - but you blamed your blush on the firewhiskey.

So in answer you just took another sip of your drink. Were you an idiot for flirting with him? But were all those quarells of your shared pasts actually any different from flirting? You’ve never been so confused.

“You really aren’t making this any easier.” Sirius mumbled but instead of your eyes he looked around the room. Thank Merlin the music was so loud that any awkward silences were swallowed up by it.

“As if you are?” His eyes met yours and you had to fight the instinct to fight with him, to get closer to yell at him - or get closer to kiss him?

Instead you got yourself another drink, just so you could do something with your hands.

“Slow down, tiger. Didn’t think you actually hated my presence so much you would rather get hammered.” Sirius mockingly frowned and before you could react, he snatched the glass from your hand.

“Give it back, you little fucker.” You growled and tried clawing at his raised arm. But he was a lot taller than you and to be honest, your attempts were just meaningless.

“Make me.” And maybe it was that crooked smile of his, or how good he looked in his suit or how soft his hair looked in the dim lights, that made you reach on your toes and kiss his infuriating dirty mouth that made you want to combust most of the time.

How was it possible that his lips were so intoxicating but the words that usually came out of it were so infurating?

But you forbid yourself to think of all those things. Instead you now easily reached for his hand and grasped your glass, snatching it from Sirius’ weakening grip.

“Made you.” You smiled. The bewildered look on his face was worth it. “I didn’t fluster you, did I?”

Sirius gave a startled laugh. “You clever little vicious thing.”

And he leaned into you, his nose touching yours, your breaths mingling. “Now do it again.”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black one shot #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #james potter

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swayziiwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Yours | Jude Bellingham

summary: heart racing, Jude was fresh off his EURO qualifying eager to make his girlfriend sweat and plead for his body

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

NOTE: a little something until I get my more detailed chapters out

Jude was in an outright wild state. The main sounds bouncing off the walls of your bedroom were his hips snapping into yours in a fierce speed and noisy constant cries pouring from your slobbering mouth. iIt was excessively suggestive, so salacious, and grimy that he wishes he can consume right now in his cerebrum to store and replay.

For the absence of better words, he was unable to get enough of it, so focused on how his cock fits so cozily in your throbbing walls, it seemed like he was beyond happy exclusively due to the hold your drenched pussy has on him. He was unable to try and pull away from you in the event that he needed to, just being sucked in at whatever point his hips move back. Jude was wanting to endeavor from ever eliminating himself from you in any case, he could become mixed up in this sensation forever and that is precisely the exact thing he wanted.

That wasn't even the main thing that had him in this strangle hold, his eyes couldn't quit focusing in on your lovely highlights responding to each haul of his cock, eyes screwed shut and temples scrunching in pleasure. You looked frantically entrancing under him, completely destroyed and unfit to contain your despicable groans with your nails diving into his arms. There was sweat that began to dot onto every last trace of your delicate skin hosing the sheets, that as well as your mind getting away from the truth was quite noticeable and he was going haywire from everything.

His eyes blurred over with desire at the sight and his eagerness defeated him. It lighted something so licentious in his very being that his pushes became more earnestly, sloppier, battering your inner parts determined to spill a heap to paint your walls white.

"I’m gonna-fuck!" You cry. He snorts out, blood humming when you press around him so immovably, "Jude-Jude please give it to me” you begged, arms grabbing at anything. “is that right? you'd like that wouldn’t you?” He teased, hand’s coming up to squeeze your breasts. “Make you mine huh? I think you’d like if I’d fill that pretty pussy up with my cum. He's proclaiming careless words, gasping shakily from the responsiveness, balls going tight.

"All mine." He groans, you both apparently couldn't regulate a solitary reasonable idea. just focusing on attempting to arrive at your climaxes. "yes--ah, all yours Jude only you” that was enough for him to overturn the edge, spilling his cum within you with a short of breath heave. It was so quick and abrupt that it left him stunned and puzzled.

You accomplished your own climax upon the sensation of the warm fluid spraying somewhere down in your center, you clasp down and writhe around him, draining him for everything he has. A clear white ring paints the foundation of his length when he bucks gradually to quiet down both of your highs.

Yet again he shivers at the consequential convulsions in weariness yet when he sees you totally screwed out-his cock blends, jerking and turning out to be hard once more. He flickers once. twice. Taking into account over his best course of action. You were unable to try and answer when your body moves no sweat, as though you weighed only a quill. His solid veiny hands takes tightly to your waist to put you on all fours preceding pushing your head down onto the messy bed, holding your scruff with one palm to keep you set up.

With your butt in the air, the cum begins to leak out of your pussy-spilling down to your clit. Quickly, he gets the liquid with his tip and hauls it to your opening once more, diving his full length into you to screw the cum back inside, making you kick your feet in shock. The rich pillows impeccably quieting your shouts.

"Can't waste any of it baby, need to give you more. make you brimming with it." He's not even irritated by the overstimulation consuming the fat top of his dick, you had him at your mercy without a doubt, and he was unable to be more satisfied.

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ebodebo · 3 months ago

Note

i have a benedict bridgerton idea for you queenie! okay so reader works for the bridgerton family and she and has a huge huge huge crush on benedict. so one night she goes to his room (for whatever reason you pick) and she hears him jerking off and she's like !!! and then he moans her name and she's even more like !!!

you can fill in the rest wink wink

Illicit Affairs

NSFW CONTENT

—benedict bridgerton x reader

—2.2k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

Graphite pencils, quill pens, and an inkwell lay spread across the mahogany wooden table in the corner of the drawing-room, close to the bay window that overlooked the gardens.

Several pieces of rag paper were spread across the table, and some even crumbled onto the floor, tainted by lead and ink. Judging from the messy lilacs and composition of a forest on the papers, you guessed Benedict had tried his hand at scenery drawings.

The head maid had asked you to clean up his things, and you were, but surely there was no shame in seeing what kept the man occupied seemingly all day and all night.

You brushed your hand over the sketches, taking note of each delicately drawn petal and leaf, up to the bark on trees that looked so existent you swore you could feel the harshness of the wood along your fingertips.

As you scanned the sketches, gently picking them up, your eyes dilated as you noted a familiar face before you. Surely, it couldn't be, but it was hard to succumb to that idea when it was the same face you stared at in the mirror every day, your own.

He had drawn your eyes, lips, jaw, and even minor details, which you didn't even know anyone noticed, in his precious ink. You grasped the paper by the corner, holding it in eye view, unable to comprehend what you were seeing.

"Have you yet finished, my dear?" Your mother's voice echoed off the walls as she entered the room. You jumped back slightly at her voice, turning quickly to face her, clenching the paper behind your back.

"I…um…have to deliver a particular…thing to Mr. Bridgerton," you gab as you attempt to move past her, tucking the drawing into your apron pocket, though she's quick to grab your arm.

"Dearest, tis' late. It would be best if you did not wake him," she furrows her brows before glancing at the mess still scattered on the table and giving you a disapproving look. "You have not yet done cleaning, I see."

"I must make haste, mama. I do not wish to keep him waiting any further," you urge, putting your hand over hers to pull it off. She gives you another disapproving glance. You sigh, becoming slightly orated by her disagreeable state.

"Do you really wish for me to keep a Bridgerton waiting, mama," you raise a brow, a knowing look plastered on your face.

"I suppose—" She begins before you kiss her cheek and exit the room, heading towards the grand staircase to ascend the stairs, feeling the paper burn a hole through the cloth of your apron.

Your heart pounded as you reached the end of the stairs, clammy hand slipping off the end of the railing to rest against your side. You took deliberately slow steps down the corridor, slowly inching towards Benedict's room.

You stand in front of his door, deciding to simply slip the sketch under his door so as not to wake him. As you bend down to your knees, head close to the door, you hear something curious.

Ragged breaths slip through the crack under the door and hit your ears. You lean closer so you can hear the noises more clearly. He's muttering curses and spewing prayer after prayer—a soft 'shlick,' 'shlick,' 'shlick' repeated in a synchronized pattern.

You had not a single clue what he was doing. Perhaps he needed assistance?

"Mr. Bridgerton," you tentatively question, though you receive no answer. The sounds in the room halt. You lean even closer.

"Mr. Bridgerton, are you in need of assistance?" You repeat a little more persistently. Again, no answer. Your hand moves to grip the door handle.

You tell yourself that if he fails to answer once more, you will go in to ensure he is alright.

"Are you quite well, sir?" You ask. Once again, there was no answer. You turn the knob quickly, pushing the door open to see him. Your eyes take in the view. Benedict was unclothed from his waist down, with a sketch in his hand. A sketch that looked eerily similar to you. His cock rests in his hand, his face gleaming with a light sheen of perspiration that made the front pieces of his hair stick to his skin.

Your eyes widen as you stumble back.

"Mr. Bridgerton, I—I am quite sorry. You seem quite…occupied," you avert your eyes awkwardly away from him. "Pardon my intrusion," your voice is unstable from embarrassment, and you feel your face heat as you turn on your heels towards the door. He quickly outstretches his hand to grasp at your own.

Your breath feels like it has been sucked from your diaphragm as you feel his skin on yours. You flick your eyes to him in an instant. His pupils are dilated. "You have not a thing to apologize for," he finally speaks, his voice steady. It was odd, considering you had just walked in on him pleasuring himself, and his cock was still out.

You pay no heed to the words coming from him as your eyes drift from his eyes to his hand on yours to his erect cock mere inches away from you. Your lips part slightly as you exhale a small sigh at the sight of such an intimate part of him that you should not be seeing, now or ever. Though, you couldn't help the knot that formed in your lower stomach at the view.

"Are you curious?" He asks, though his voice is low and rough this time around. You flick your widened eyes to him, mouth agape at his insinuation.

"Pardon me, Mr. Bridgerton, but you are truly mad," you laugh out, pulling your hand away from his and turning away from him.

"Am I?" He smoothly questions. You swivel your head towards him, letting out a huff.

"You are, sir," you confirm, your voice containing humor.

"No need for the formalities," he quips, the corners of his lips quirking at your perplexity. "Call me Benedict, I insist."

"I cannot," you shake your head as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Tell me," he inches closer to you, making sure to take in your body language. He raises his hand to reach for yours, pulling it from its place tucked under your forearm. "Is this formal?"

"Well, I—I suppose it is not," you stutter as he brings your hand to rest against his cheek, allowing you to feel his freshly shaven skin. His eyes are light, you notice. Lighter than you initially thought.

"Then, there is no need for the formalities," he shrugs casually.

This was preposterous. You are a mere housemaid with blasphemous conceptions about someone you work for. It was unprecedented and unacceptable. Your only job was to aid the Bridgertons when they needed help, not fantasize about one of them in a compromising position.

"I am only to help you when you need assistance," you piously say, dropping your hand from his face, though he can read through you. You considered his offer; your eyes and clammy hands said it all.

"In truth, I need your assistance greatly," he tuts.

"Oh," you raise a brow, as the corner of your lip lifts to form a soft smirk.

"You see, I am in a great deal of pain," his voice was sardonic. "Could you find it in your heart to aid in taking the ache away?"

"Pain, you say?" You bring your finger and press it on your chin, plastering a thoughtful expression. "That might constitute for my help, I suppose," you begin. "I am here to aid you in all your endeavors. Am I not?" You smile smugly, watching his eyes drift to your plush lips.

You don't know why, but the way his eyes gloss over, taking in a feature so simple makes you feel a sense of confidence. You gently raise your hand to tilt his chin slightly, making his eyes lock with yours.

"Am I not?" You repeat, slightly more assured. His eyelids lazily close over only half of his eye as his mouth opens slightly.

"You are," he murmurs out. A self-satisfied smile spreads across your face at his compliance. You find yourself placing the palms of your hands on his chest, gently nudging him to a nearby wooden chair to sit. He leans his head back to rest his neck on the back of the chair, breathing labored at your touch.

As you move to sink to your knees between his spreading legs, out of the corner of your eye, you see another loose paper lying just next to you on the floor. You turn fully to look at it, grasping the corner of it with your hand to examine it.

It was similar to the sketch of yourself you found in the drawing room. Though, this sketch's ink seemed much more messy and tainted.

"Poor man," you flip the sketch to show him, a phony frown on your face. "You were using just this?" His eyes lazily dragged over the sketch in your hands to your face right next to it.

"I am afraid so," he tuts. You push the simple sketch into his hands before you bring your hands to his soft linen shirt, slowly slipping it off until it falls somewhere off to the side—his eyes on you the entire time.

"Do you wish to look at your sketch of me or the real me?" You ask, placing your hands on either of his thighs as you see his eyes bounce from you to the sketch and back to you.

His lip quirks as he crumbles up the sketch, tossing it to his side. You let out a light chuckle, bringing your face closer to where he aches. Your lips nearly grazed his erect cock.

"Whatever will you use now?" You breathe out, hyper-aware of his cock so close to you.

"I will find you," he breathes out, bringing his hand to grip your plump cheek. You smile before sticking your tongue out to swirl around the head softly. He hisses at the contact, moving his hand to rest in your hair.

"Dear God," he groans out as you sink him further into your mouth, flattening your tongue and tilting your head back slightly so the head slides across the roof of your mouth and skims against your teeth. His hand in your hair tightens as you suck gently as he slides in and out of your mouth.

You suck for only a short minute before you pull your mouth off, replacing it with your hand carefully and slowly pumping up and down the length of his cock.

"Is this not just satirical?" You question, paying close attention to his eyes, nearly rolling to the back of his head.

"How do you deduce?" He groans, pushing his head back further and his body up more so his cock moves more in your hand.

"In normal circumstances, I am at the mercy of your family, including you," you say, licking the seam of the lips. You continue your movements, though now they are antagonizing and slow-paced. His eyes shoot back to yours as his mouth widens, releasing ragged breaths and throaty moans.

"Though," you begin, tugging him a little bit harder as he throws his head back against the chair, "in here," his eyes peer into yours, "I am singularly and wholly in control. I have you at my mercy."

"I quite like being at your mercy," he immediately says. You stroke him a little faster, satisfied with his response.

"Is that so, Benedict?" You inquire as he begins pushing himself into your hand faster, desperate for even more of your touch.

Your movements continue until his body is convulsing and his mouth hangs open, moaning as he comes all over his thighs and your hand. His head hangs low as his heart palliates and his chest heaves.

You even find your own chest heaving alongside his. He picks his head up slightly to make eye contact with you, bringing his hand to brush against your bottom lip, which unbeknownst to you, was covered in blood from sinking your teeth too deep.

"Are you alright?" He questions, taking in your perplexed look. He hopes you didn't have regrets of what had just occurred since it was taboo in nature.

"I am. Are you?" You regurgitate his question, and he nods, a small smile pulling on his lips. He reaches to the table next to him to grab tissues to clean you and himself up.

Once he wipes you clean of any remnants of himself, he instructs you to make your way back before anyone notices, but not before pressing a light kiss to your temple.

You stand and turn towards the door, reaching out to grab the door handle, but before turning it, you turn your head to face his.

"Glad I could be of assistance," you murmur, not awaiting a response before you fully turn the knob and step out the door.

It may have been unbecoming. Perhaps, unlawful and unconstitutional. And substandard in every sense.

The immorality of the situation does nothing to stop you from slipping your fingers underneath your nightgown that night in your room all by your lonesome, reminiscing of the image and sound of Benedict being subdued by you, a mere housemaid. What a glorious night, indeed.

a/n: benedict is such a bottom idc also regency dirty talk is so hilarious

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: rylea writes #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton x you #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #polin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #is the bridgerton hype over #did i miss the time frame #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton smut #fanfic #plz read

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vxnuslogy · 4 months ago

Text

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper.

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city.

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow.

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering.

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out.

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages.

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax,

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind,

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

icarus is a fool in love.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo genshin impact #albedo headcanons #albedo imagines #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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ughscara · 4 months ago

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sleepy nonsense featuring kabukimono :)

cw. none! this is a more ambiguous setting ( up to your heart to decide whether this is romantic or platonic ). i wrote this way past my bedtime so it's messy www

inazuma was always cold.

not that's anything new. it's common knowledge that inazuma's breeze, regardless of weather, always held onto the tender yet unforgiving chill of its winters. your breaths tangled with the wind, forming into cute little clouds before dissipating then making a return with each slow exhale against your hands that were entwined together for warmth.

ah, never forget the soft sand below your feet and the shore embracing your ankles briefly. they weren't as cold, but they sure weren't forgiving either. this was becoming a bit of a worry for the one walking beside you under the moonlight, noticing the subtle shades of sunset that seemed to coat your cheeks and tips of your fingers more.

“are you really okay? you look more cold...” kabukimono's gentle tone resounded in your ears, worried for you still. his gaze is hesitant to leave your figure, taking notice of your slightly tense shoulders. ‘is my veil not enough?’ he thought to himself, even with your haori on along with his thin veil; you still didn't appear comfortable with this weather.

he snapped himself out of his slowly growing panic at just the right time, hearing the good old,

“i'm alright, kabuki. it's not that cold.”

excuse you? ‘not that cold?’

no, absolutely not, he couldn't have that for a response. not this time. and you were a bit taken aback to see him knit his brows and purse his lips by the slightest bit... archons, not that face.

anything but kabukimono's displeased expression.

you directed your gaze to the faraway horizon, rendering him unable to see your defeated smile. all that reverberated in your ears was the faint sound of his thorough footsteps on the sand, standing right before you yet he still couldn't catch your attention like he often did. if there was anyone more stubborn than nagamasa, it was you. ( at least, your stubbornness acted up in more trivial settings like now )

“(name)?” the puppet called out with gentle reproach, well aware that the softer tone would prompt you to look at him again. and true to his hypothesis; you did. he wasn't able to suppress the soft smile that painted his face, unable to not pass up the opportunity of admiring the adorable shade of red adorning your cheeks, the tip of your nose and knuckles from the chilly weather.

unlike him.

nevertheless... he took in a subtle breath, along with a moment then uttered; “you don't have to lie to me, you know.” kabukimono practically embraced the reassurance you often exhibited tightly at that moment, even more so as he extended his arms for you. “come here.”

too gentle and warm of a soul as kabukimono was, not at all hesitating to give out the invitation just as you unhesitatingly accepted it. a step closer, then another, and another, until you found yourself shielded by his arms. the little things, like how the hem of his silken kimono occasionally grazed the edges of your legs, the fabric dancing to the chilly wind that was the tiniest bit warmer than his porcelain skin, all the more icy against yours.

but that could never quill the warmth that stemmed from this puppet's endearing actions. whatever the cold breeze gave to you, whatever the cold shore provided, was all but naught as you showered more in the comfort his embrace brought.

“do you feel better?” kabukimono murmured, and he was delighted to see you withdraw all the while appearing more relaxed now. though just as you were about to speak; trickles of rain began to pour down. how convenient.

whilst you smiled, his ecstatic giggle carried out the brief silence, his veil draping over both of you side by side while slowly but surely making haste to tatarasuna village. aware that one way or another, neither of you was going to make it back dry nor warm.

here's to another earful from toki.

#( ❀ ) ── signed‚ the sixth kasan.#( ❀ ) ── kabukimono's love letters.#— stellaronhvnters.#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kabukimono #kabukimono x reader

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spockiguess · 2 years ago

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Drunk On You || Peter Quill x Reader

A/N: So this is just a random, short oneshot. I really cannot explain myself.

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

God, you loved Peter’s curls. You didn’t know how, but they were so soft and bouncy under your greedy hands. Currently, you were running said hands through Peter’s hair, tugging on his copper locks as his tongue explored your dripping cunt while his thick fingers fucked your aching hole.

Because of your grabby hands, Peter moaned into your sensitive pussy, sending shockwaves throughout your live-wire body. As he lapped at you, your wetness began to drip from Peter’s chin and onto the floor in shiny puddles, but Peter didn’t mind, he loved getting messy.

So he sucked at your clit while you practically screamed his name, your fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. Peter kept going and going until he could feel your body physically vibrate from the amount of pleasure he was giving you.

Moaning, you tried to warn Peter of your incoming orgasm, but Peter didn’t even flinch. He just thrust another finger into you and pressed against your g-spot until you were seeing stars, your toes curling and thighs tightening around Peter’s head.

You came on Peter’s tongue and he lapped all of it up, he was so pussy-drunk, he didn’t know what else to do other than eat you out. So even though you were squirming beneath his hungry mouth, Peter’s strong arms held you down and kept your shaking thighs wide open for him.

“Fuck, Peter, I can’t–” You tried pushing Peter’s face away, too raw from overstimulation, but Peter just looked up at you with his big doe eyes and kissed the insides of your legs.

“C’mon, baby, just one more.” Peter’s words were so slurred, you could barely understand him, but with that single look, you obliged with a nod.

Peter dove back in immediately, pressing his fingers against your clit while he thrust his tongue into your weeping cunt. You couldn’t handle the mix of pleasure and pain, your brain literally beginning to scatter.

Still, Peter held out and fucked you silly on his tongue. The air felt so hot and cold at the same time, your body didn’t know how to react. But, once again, he was able to pull a mind-shattering orgasm from you as you bucked wildly on his face.

Coming down from your high, you noticed with an alarming speed that Peter was still eating you out, and not slowing down one bit. You screamed his name and yanked at his curls which just caused him to moan and for another set of vibrations to ripple through your body.

Your breathing quickened again and your third orgasm was steadily approaching, much faster than the other two.

Your body almost couldn’t take the stimulation, but when Peter mumbled, “You taste so fucking good, I love you so much,” against your pussy, you were done for.

A third orgasm tore through you like a tsunami, scrambling your brain and causing drool to leak from the sides of your mouth. It was too much, and finally, you pushed Peter away, whining from the overstimulation.

Peter rested his head against your thigh and looked up at you, a drunken smile spreading across his face, “Sorry, baby. I couldn’t resist.” You watched as your slick dripped from his mouth and shined under the low lighting of the Benatar.

With a heaving breath, you collapsed against the table Peter had you sitting on the edge of while Peter kept his place between your legs, just waiting until you were ready for another round.

#peter quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill fanfiction #peter quill fanfic #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #gotg #gotg3 #gotg fanfiction

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emthimofnight · 7 months ago

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Getting To Know You

AO3 Link:

Summary: Sonic knows Shadow as an enemy, a rival, and an ally—but a friend and co-parent? Hardly. With their newfound daughter fast asleep, Sonic takes the opportunity to get to know his other half a bit better.

“Well, Stellar is finally asleep.”

Sonic turned his head to follow the voice of his long time rival, Shadow, as he announced his entrance into the living room. He could read the exhaustion in Shadow's body language immediately, even from where he was currently seated on the couch. The game show Sonic had been watching on the TV faded into the background as his focus was drawn elsewhere.

“Oh, yeah?” He answered. “That's good. She took a while to settle down this time.”

Shadow shuffled over, grunting in half-hearted response as he unceremoniously collapsed into the couch beside Sonic. Sonic watched as Shadow craned his neck backwards, resting his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes. Now that he was closer, Sonic could clearly see how messy his quills were; something that was out of character for the black hedgehog.

Feeling brave, he reached out to pluck a loose quill from Shadow's head, flicking it away with a quick snap of his fingers. A few weeks ago, he would have surely been rewarded for such a breach of Shadow's personal space with a growl or a threat, but now all his rival could muster was a quick, non-threatening glare in his direction. Sonic smiled in return.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Stray quill.”

“You're lucky I'm tired,” Shadow grumbled, failing to sound intimidating.

“Oh, wow.” Sonic turned his body to face Shadow's more readily, the space between them thinning by a small margin. “The Ultimate Lifeform? Tired? Who are you?”

Shadow turned his head slightly in Sonic's direction, cracking a half smile. Sonic had noticed he'd been doing that more lately—smiling—and he couldn't shake the happy flutter of his heart at the sight. It was nice to get along with Shadow. As much as he enjoyed their fights, he had always wished the two of them could be friends, even in a minor capacity. Turns out, the push they needed to get along was co-parenting their illegal government experiment baby. Who knew?

“The only reason you are not tired is that I always do all the work,” Shadow replied quickly, sounding a smidgen annoyed with Sonic’s teasing, yes, but amused regardless.

“Hey, that's a low blow!” Sonic grinned. “You and I both know she likes you better. She never settles down for me!”

“That's because you spend more time goofing around with her than actually trying to put her to sleep.”

“I only try to tire her out! The kid has tons of energy!”

“You only succeed in riling her up,” Shadow retorted.

“Oh, c'mon, Shads. She loves you. I think she must have, like—imprinted on you when you pulled her outta that test tube. It's a miracle she doesn't cry whenever you leave the room anymore.”

Shadow made a soft, “hmm” in response. He seemed somewhat pleased by Sonic's admission.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. He almost seemed lost in thought for a moment, a pregnant pause hanging in the air. Sonic held his tongue, something that he was learning how to do more frequently as of late. It took him a bit to figure it out, but Shadow seems to speak his mind more often if he can just shut up and try to listen. Rewarding Sonic for a rare display of patience, Shadow continued, “It's so strange to have someone rely on you so completely.”

Shadow glanced his way, his eyes expectant. It seemed he was waiting for Sonic to interject.

Apparently, Shadow had him figured out, too.

“Yeah,” Sonic bobbed his head in a steady nod. “Honestly, I never really imagined being a dad. Never thought I’d make a good one.”

“Neither did I,” Shadow admitted. “I don’t even know if I can have children through… Conventional means, so to speak. I don’t think it was ever intended for me to be able to reproduce.”

Sonic bit his tongue, resisting the knee-jerk reaction to tease Shadow about “conventional means of reproduction” and what that might entail, knowing that would be a quick way to shut down their conversation if he wasn’t careful. He and Shadow had certainly gotten closer as a result of this parenting partnership, but there were still boundaries that weren’t meant to be crossed.

“Guess it doesn’t matter either way,” Sonic shrugged. “We’re here now, and we’ve gotta make the most of it.”

“Hmm,” Shadow hummed in agreement. “I guess so.”

For a moment, there was silence. Sonic found himself at a loss as to what he should say next, something that was happening to him more regularly in Shadow’s presence. Keeping the peace between the two of them meant he had to make an active effort not to antagonize the other hedgehog, but that also left him a bit confused as to how he should interact with him. This whole situation caused him to realize that he and Shadow rarely had regular, non-world-destroying contact, and now the guy was around all the time! He was so used to punches flying between them that casual conversation had him floundering awkwardly.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Shadow said suddenly, cutting through the haze of Sonic’s thoughts. It was like he could read his mind, sometimes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shadow’s tone was something he couldn’t quite recognize. Shadow rolled his wrist, gesturing in circular motions with his hand, clawing at the air as if trying to conjure his thoughts into something tangible that he could grasp. “It’s… Hard to deal with.”

Sonic blinked incredulously, his surprise apparent on his features. Shadow gave him a glare and a curl of his lip, showing the pointed tip of one of his fangs, frustration creasing his brow. For once, Shadow was filling the silence between them.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shadow growled.

“Wait—are you saying that you like when I talk?”

Shadow pinched the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t say that. I’m just used to you talking all the time. I don’t—” a sigh, “I’m not good with conversation.”

Sonic felt his quills prickle with a foreign sense of delight. It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it was close enough to one that it made him a bit giddy all the same.

Sonic chuckled. “You know what’s crazy? I’ve been trying to talk less.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, face contorting in confusion. “What? Why?”

Sonic, slightly sheepish, replied, “Well, uh… You talk more when I’m not talking, so. Been trying not to steamroll our conversations.”

Confusion still colored Shadow’s facial expression, his ruby eyes focusing on Sonic’s face. Sonic chose to admire a corner of the room instead to avoid the intensity of his stare.

“You? Trying to listen when I’m talking to you? Are you dying?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Sonic answered dryly. “Just figured if we are going to be parenting a kid together, I should probably get to know you outside of how hard you can kick me in the head.”

A snort of laughter came from Shadow, a sound that felt like a reward in its own right. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’s managed to get Shadow to laugh.

“A remarkable display of forethought for someone as impulsive as you,” Shadow teased.

“Ahh, the art of the backhanded compliment. A Shadow the Hedgehog specialty,” Sonic taunted back. “Seriously, though! Tell me your favorite color or something. For all the bad guy butt we’ve kicked together over the years, I feel like I don’t know you all that well.”

Shadow was smiling in earnest—at least, as earnest as someone like Shadow could muster. “That’s what’s top of your list? My favorite color?”

“It’s a start!” Sonic replied. “Since I know you are dying to know, mine’s red. Blue is a close second, though.”

Shadow rolled his eyes, his amusement betraying his attempt at brushing Sonic off. “Why am I not surprised…”

“C’mon, Shadow! This is what the more extroverted types call an icebreaker. Humor me?”

Shadow’s eyes were on him again, analyzing his motivations for this line of questioning silently. If there was one thing Sonic knew about Shadow, whether he decided to answer would be determined by his ego. Shadow was paused in consideration, so Sonic once again chose to wait for whatever answer Shadow would give him.

“...Green,” he said quickly, eyes drifting elsewhere as he folded his arms across his chest.

Sonic felt his pulse quicken with excitement. Shadow was actually entertaining his attempt to know more about him! He never thought he’d find the idea of knowing his rival’s favorite color so appealing.

“So you do have one! I was prepared for you to tell me you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” Shadow quickly asserted. “But,” he continued, “if I had to pick, green is probably it.”

“Cool,” Sonic said softly, the knowledge of Shadow’s favorite color finding a happy little spot to nest in his brain. “How about, uh… Weather? Do you have a favorite kind of weather?”

Shadow gave him a put-upon frown. “Are you going to keep asking me dumb questions?”

“You’re allowed to ask me dumb questions too, you know,” Sonic reminded.

“Bold of you to assume I have any.”

Sonic smirked, “I’m sure you do.”

Shadow let out a bark of dry laughter, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

In a moment of honesty, Sonic replied, “Yeah, man. I would.”

Shadow stared back in silent reply, his eyes scanning Sonic’s face for any signs of deception or trickery. He clearly hadn’t expected that answer.

“...Spring weather is nice.”

Sonic perked up. “You don’t mind the rain?”

Shadow seemed almost sheepish, suddenly. One of his ears twitched in agitation, a growl escaping his lips. If Sonic had to guess, Shadow didn’t appreciate Sonic’s prodding for a deeper explanation. Even so, he still made the choice to answer, “I… Like the flowers, I guess. Maria liked flowers.”

Ah. Maria. The main reason for a lot of the things Shadow did.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” Sonic smiled, his tone of voice gentle. “Perfect weather for a long run.”

Shadow peered at him out of the corner of his eye. “What about you?”

“A nice sunny day with a good breeze is killer,” Sonic answered. “Man, I just love the feeling of the wind in my quills, yanno?”

Shadow nodded, humming in agreement. Despite the tension in his shoulders, he did seem to soften slightly as their conversation went on. It might just be a result of his exhaustion, but he seemed less rigid than usual.

“I suppose I should ask you a question, then,” Shadow said, his voice almost sounding a bit amused. He shot Sonic a knowing look, clearly recognizing his interest would get a reaction out of him.

He wasn't wrong, Sonic couldn't manage to stifle the smile that broke out across his face.

“Yeah, feel free!” Sonic encouraged, “I'm an open book.”

Shadow was staring at him again, and for a moment Sonic wondered if he had managed to scare him off from asking his question. Shadow didn't leave him hanging for long, though.

“...Why did you agree to this?”

Sonic blinked incredulously. Leave it to Shadow to ask the hard questions.

“Like… What? This game, or…?”

“Stellar,” Shadow affirmed. “Why did you agree to help me with Stellar?”

Sonic leaned back into the couch, scratching at his chin with a gloved finger. “Hmm. Good question.”

Why did he agree to this? He'd never really wanted kids, and he certainly never imagined having them with his rival. It was a concept that was so far outside the realm of possibility that to say the whole scenario blindsided him would be an understatement.

“…Well, it’s the right thing to do, for one. I could tell that you were kind of at a loss as to what you should do with her. You so rarely ask for help—especially from me—that I had to give it a try. Besides, you and I have overcome all kinds of crazy challenges in the past, how hard could this be?”

“It's by no means easy,” Shadow thought aloud. “But… It is easier than it would be if I were doing this alone, so. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Sonic felt his heart do something funny in his chest. It reminded him of the sensation he'd get right before a roller coaster hit its first drop. He suddenly felt the urge to go on a run.

“Did you just thank me? You sure you don't have a fever or something?” Sonic teased. Even now, as he finally managed to earn genuine answers from his rival, he couldn’t stop himself from defaulting back to their usual banter.

To his surprise, Shadow didn’t growl, glare, or move to swat at him with his hand. Instead, he let out a short chuff of laughter, his gaze drifting away and up towards the ceiling.

“I must,” Shadow sighed, not sounding all that bothered. “Or maybe I’m just more tired than I thought.”

Sonic smiled, his expression softening as he observed the other hedgehog. His posture was uncharacteristically relaxed, his body succumbing to the comforts of the couch. Even the Ultimate Lifeform couldn’t fight the exhaustion that came with caring for a fussy baby day in and day out, it seemed. Granted, most baby hedgehogs weren’t capable of teleporting on a whim. Perhaps their unique circumstances were what truly crumbled Shadow’s typical unyielding resolve.

“Take it easy, then,” Sonic said gently. “Catch some Z’s while you can.”

Shadow turned his cheek slightly, peeking at Sonic suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. He was clearly looking for an ulterior motive etched into Sonic’s features.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Sonic protested. “I’m serious. I’m not going to mess with you while you sleep, and if Stellar wakes up, I can handle it!”

“I don’t trust you to handle anything,” Shadow muttered, lacking the usual bite in his words.

“Hey,” Sonic half-laughed, “you could try.”

“Hmm,” a hum of consideration. “For once, I think I might be too tired to argue with you.”

“That makes it sound like you enjoy it.”

“You’re delusional,” Shadow smirked before turning his face skyward once more, this time allowing his eyes to drift closed. “I’ll just rest my eyes for now. If you try anything, I’ll make you regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sonic replied, shifting his weight a bit to get more comfortable in his own position. “I’ll just be thinking of more questions to annoy you with while you recharge.”

When his teasing wasn’t met with a response, Sonic allowed himself to observe the other hedgehog more freely. It was easier to absorb Shadow’s features when he wasn’t sitting on the other end of his intense stare.

‘He couldn’t have fallen asleep that quickly, could he?’ Sonic pondered, peering at the remarkably relaxed face of his fellow co-parent. His breathing was slow and steady, his chest rising with every breath, making the snowy poof of hair that resided there a distraction for Sonic’s eyes. He was never able to grow any fur on his own chest—at least, not to that length—so he had always found himself a bit fascinated with the singular spot of white on the other hedgehog. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, of course.

For a brief moment, he considered what it might feel like to touch the silky-looking tufts of fur, before quickly stamping that thought right back down where it came from. Sonic might be an adrenaline junkie, sure, but he certainly didn’t have a death wish. Without thinking, though, he must have drifted a bit closer into Shadow’s space, because he was soon met with that annoyed ruby glare once more.

“What?” Shadow growled, his hostile edge returning to his voice as his suspicion in Sonic was heightened.

Sonic moved away quickly, letting out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I thought for a second you’d already fallen asleep,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was just a bit amazed, is all. Made me realize that I haven’t really seen you sleep before.”

Shadow rolled his eyes before closing them once more, shimmying his shoulders a bit to settle deeper into the couch cushions. “I’m not going to sleep at all if you keep staring at me like that. Watch your stupid show.”

Sonic blinked, turning his head back to the TV he had been watching before Shadow had entered the room. Right. He’d actually been paying attention to that before he found himself distracted with Shadow’s presence. He wasn’t actually sure what was going on with it anymore, but it was a welcome escape from his own impulses to pester Shadow. It wasn’t like he actually wanted to bother the guy, it was just hard to adjust his behavior to fit their new normal. He was so used to their relationship being full of banter and petty competitions that he didn’t know how to just exist around the guy.

He stole a quick glance in Shadow’s direction before refocusing on the television. From Shadow’s aloofness, it seemed he didn’t know how to exist around him, either.

The silence between them was filled with the sounds of mindless reality TV entertainment, and Sonic felt himself slowly starting to relax. He hadn’t really noticed before, but his own guard was up when Shadow was around, too. It might not be the same kind of hostility that Shadow displayed, but it was still there. He might have asked Shadow to trust him, but that didn’t mean he trusted Shadow.

He felt a tiny pang of guilt—what for, he wasn’t exactly sure. Yes, he’d always wished he and Shadow could get along, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the thrill of fighting with him. Being the fastest thing alive meant he was often leaving others behind, but that wasn’t the case with Shadow. Shadow was one of—if not the only—person that could keep up with him. If they became friends, did that mean Shadow would stop chasing him? Would he stop trying to surpass him? He wasn’t entirely sure he was willing to give that thrill up just yet.

A soft, unfamiliar noise pulled Sonic from the depths of his thoughts. His ear twitched, finding the sound was coming from the black hedgehog that rested beside him. Did he just—?

A rasping exhalation of breath from Shadow’s nostrils confirmed it. Shadow the Hedgehog, the Ultimate Lifeform, was snoring. Not the kind of snore that was disruptive or cacophonous, but the sort that was soft, rumbling, and endearing. Sonic almost couldn’t believe his ears.

A smile wormed its way onto his face as he observed Shadow in his slumber, a newfound fondness settling in his chest at the sight.

‘Just going to rest your eyes, huh?’ He thought to himself, amused.

Maybe he and Shadow’s relationship was going to be different from now on, but perhaps that didn’t have to be a bad thing. If the giddy feeling in his chest was any indication, there might be some thrills to find in this new alliance after all.

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