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gigiii1sblog · 1 day ago

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KISS ME LIKE A SECRET 001

Warnings: mature content, cheating, fluff, sexual content, 2 year age gap, 18 & 20 and more

Chapter One: He Was Watching

Y/N:

Nathan always had three best friends. The triplets. Nick, Matt, and Chris. I don’t remember a version of my childhood that didn’t involve them stomping through our front door, throwing open the fridge like it was theirs, collapsing onto the couch like they owned the place. And maybe, in a way, they did.

They were loud. Reckless. Intimidating and magnetic and impossible to ignore. Two years older, and the kind of boys girls wrote about in their journals except I didn’t have to write about them. They were in my house every single day.

Nick was always the easiest one to talk to. He was the only one who really saw me growing up. Kind, careful, and quietly funny, with a soft voice and big blue eyes that were always watching people a little more closely than anyone else. He told me he was gay when I was fourteen, crying under our porch like the secret was swallowing him whole. I didn’t even flinch. I just held his hand. That’s the kind of bond we had unspoken and permanent.

Matt was the quiet one. The observer. Gentle and shy and always lingering just outside the spotlight. He never said much unless he felt safe, but when he laughed really laughed it lit up the whole room. He was sweet. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who remembered your favorite candy and left it on the counter without saying a word. He liked silence, and I liked that about him.

And then there was Chris.

Chris, who asked to many questions. Chris, who smirked instead of smiled. Chris, who made fun of Matt’s awkward silences and always had a cocky comment ready for Nick’s playlists or Nate’s new haircut. Chris, who was all lean muscle and stupid swagger, with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass and blue eyes that felt like they could burn holes straight through your skin. He was loud, flirtatious, magnetic, and infuriatingly beautiful.

He also never looked at me like I mattered.

Growing up, I was just the background. Nate’s little sister. A gangly kid in oversized shirts with chipped nail polish and juice-stained lips, tucked in the corner of the room with a romance book while the triplets played Xbox and dunked on each other in the backyard. I don’t even think Chris knew my middle name. I was invisible.

But even then, even at seven, I noticed him.

I noticed the way his voice dropped when he was serious. The way he’d bite his lip when he was trying not to laugh. The way he moved like every room bent a little to make space for him. He made my stomach twist, even when I didn’t know why. He made me feel something.

He never looked at me. Not the way I wanted him to. Not until now.

Because this summer? Everything’s changed.

I turned eighteen in August. Got a job, started partying. I traded my baggy clothes for tight tops and lose but fitting pants enough to show my curves. Makeup. Drinking and even smoking. Confidence I didn’t have before. I stopped looking away when he walked in a room. I stopped being afraid of his eyes.

Now, I hold them.

I know how to talk softer when I know he’s near. How to laugh just loud enough. How to stretch in the kitchen when he’s sitting behind me, watching like he’s not supposed to. And the thing is he is watching now.

That look I used to dream about? The one where he sees me not as Nate’s little sister, not as the kid on the couch, but as a girl? It’s real. It’s in the way his eyes linger when I pass. In the way his voice goes quieter when he says my name. In the way his gaze drops to my lips before snapping away like it burns him.

And I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want that from him.

Especially not when I have Josh.

Josh is sweet. Reliable. Safe. He brings me flowers. Says “good morning” before my alarm even goes off. He calls me pretty and means it. My parents love him. Nate does too. He’s the kind of boy you bring home. The kind who always says the right thing. The kind who doesn’t watch me like I’m a secret he wants to keep.

When Josh kisses me, I smile.

When Chris looks at me, I forget how to breathe.

I know it’s wrong. I know it’s a line I’m not supposed to cross. But this summer?

It’s not about being good.

It’s about being seen.

And Chris?

He’s finally watching.

The arrival: The Pool

CHRIS:

The second we pulled into Nate’s driveway, it hit me, summer. Sticky heat, the buzz of cicadas, and that smell of chlorine and cut grass that clung to every memory from when we were kids.

I stepped out of the car, already tugging off my hoodie, and there it was home. Or close enough. Nate’s place had always been our second house, mostly because his mom treated us like we were her own. Me, Matt, and Nick spent more summers in this backyard than our own growing up.

Matt yawned behind me, sleep-mussed and quiet like usual. Nick was halfway up the porch already, calling out for Mrs. Y/L/N like he always did.

And then she walked out.

Y/N.

And everything fucking stopped.

I hadn’t seen her in almost a year. Not properly, anyway. The last time I was here, she was still that scrawny, barefoot kid with chipped nail polish and tangled hair, always curled up somewhere with a book too big for her hands.

This? This was not that.

She walked out of the back door like she owned the sun. Tight black bikini. Tan skin. Jet Black hair. Hips that swayed like she didn’t even realize. And a glittering silver belly piercing that I couldn’t stop looking at if I tried. I swear to God, my jaw clenched so hard I thought I was gonna crack a molar.

“Oh my, god” Nick muttered next to me, eyebrows lifting, “is that—?”

“Yep,” I cut him off. “That’s Y/N.”

His grin went crooked. “You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost.”

I didn’t answer. Because I wasn’t sure what the hell I saw. Just that it made my chest tight and my palms ache.

Then Nate stepped outside and yelled, “Triplets are back, bitches!”

She looked up, saw me—and smiled.

Not the kid kind. Not the hey-remember-me kind. The kind that said I see you seeing me.

I swallowed hard.

We were so fucked.

Y/N:

I heard them before I saw them, laughter spilling out of the driveway, car doors slamming, sneakers on pavement. The triplets were back. Just like every summer. And I told myself it was fine. I had a boyfriend now. I was chill. Grown. Untouchable.

But when I stepped outside and saw them standing in the sun, especially Chris, it felt like the ground tilted.

He was taller. Broader. His jaw was sharper, and his shirt was tight across his chest, and when his eyes landed on me, they stuck. For the first time in my entire life, he really saw me.

And I could feel it.

I pretended not to notice, even though my skin buzzed under his stare. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, tilted my head just enough to make my necklace slide across my collarbone, and smiled.

Then Josh came outside.

“Hey, babe.” He kissed my cheek and wrapped an arm around my waist. “These the triplets?”

Chris looked away first.

“Yeah,” I said. “Guys, this is Josh. My boyfriend.”

Nick was the first to smile, friendly as always. “Nice to meet you!”

Matt nodded, quiet and polite. “Nice to meet you, man.” eyes flickering toward me once before going right back to the ground.

Chris?

Chris just stared at Josh’s hand on my hip like it was a personal offense.

He gave a tight-lipped smile, then said, “Cool.”

That was it.

We all headed to the backyard after that. The pool was already open, the sun blazing, and I could feel the way Chris’s gaze dragged across my back when I peeled off my cover-up.

My bikini was black and small and very intentional. My mom would’ve killed me. But Chris? His jaw flexed. His eyes dipped lower than they should’ve. And when I dropped into the pool, letting the water splash up over my stomach, I made sure he saw the belly piercing catch the light.

Josh cannonballed in next to me. Chris didn’t move. Just sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, watching me like he was trying not to.

It was torture.

And God, I loved it.

CHRIS:

Matt and Nick were off grabbing drinks. Nate was busy setting up the speaker. And I was stuck on the edge of the pool, trying not to stare at her, Y/N like a pervert.

She floated on her back like she didn’t have a care in the world. Water lapping at her waist, that goddamn belly ring glinting like a dare.

Her boyfriend was splashing beside her, calling her “babe” like he owned the word. And she laughed, but it was fake. Too high-pitched. Too practiced.

I knew her laugh.

And that wasn’t it.

I watched the way her fingers dragged over the water. The way she arched her back every time she moved. I knew what she was doing.

And it was working.

Because every inch of me was screaming to touch her. To pull her under and see if she still smiled underwater like she did when she was ten. To make her forget that guy’s name.

And I couldn’t.

Because she was Nate’s sister.

Because she was eighteen.

Because she had a boyfriend.

And still, I watched.

Because this summer wasn’t about rules.

It was about everything we weren’t supposed to want.

And fuck, I wanted her.

Y/N:

Josh fit in better than I expected.

Nick instantly clicked with him, of course he did. Nick liked everyone. But Matt surprised me. He was quiet, but he actually laughed at Josh’s dumb stories. They even bonded over some obscure sci-fi show I didn’t know Matt liked. The kind of easy, golden-hour bonding that made everything feel warm and soft and… safe.

Chris sat in a lawn chair a few feet away, sunglasses on, silent and stretched out like he was bored out of his mind. But I could feel him watching. The way you feel thunder before it breaks. I saw his jaw tighten when Josh handed me my towel. When Matt offered to grab me a soda and Josh said, “I got it, man,” with a smile.

I kept pretending not to notice.

And then Chris spoke.

“You remember when Y/N used to have that imaginary boyfriend named.. what was it? Captain Bubbles?”

I froze mid-sip.

Nick burst out laughing. “Oh my God, yes. And he lived in the bathtub.”

Matt covered his mouth, shaking his head. “You used to draw him with, like, six-pack abs and gills.”

Josh grinned at me. “No way.”

My face was on fire, but I didn’t flinch. I set down my soda, leaned back, and locked eyes with Chris.

“Still better than the girls you used to sneak into Nate’s basement at thirteen. What was that one’s name? Katy? The one who cried because you couldn’t find her mouth?”

Nick choked. “No way.”

Matt actually laughed out loud.

Chris dropped his sunglasses down his nose, eyes narrow and dark. But I just smiled sweetly. “Captain Bubbles was a gentleman.”

Josh nudged me. “I like him already.”

I flipped my hair off my shoulder and didn’t look at Chris again.

But I could feel it.

The shift.

He thought he could humiliate me, reduce me back down to that little girl with imaginary boyfriends and glitter stickers on her notebooks.

But I wasn’t her anymore.

And he knew it.

⸻

CHRIS:

Okay. So maybe that wasn’t my proudest move.

Dragging out Captain Bubbles like a weapon? Low blow. But watching her laugh with Nick and Matt, and worse, Josh like she belonged there now? Like she was one of us?

It made something in me snap.

I didn’t expect her to throw it back like that. She used to blush and stammer when we teased her. Now she hit back, clean, sharp, and without blinking.

And when she smiled?

It wasn’t innocent.

It was deadly.

I sat there, sunglasses on, heart pounding like a fucking teenager.

She wasn’t Nate’s little sister anymore.

And she wasn’t scared of me.

I should’ve left it alone. But I didn’t.

Because I didn’t like watching her fit in too well.

Especially with them.

Especially when I wanted to be the one making her laugh like that.

CHRIS:

The sky was bleeding orange by the time I slipped away from the pool. The others were still out there, Nate and Nick tossing a football with Josh, Matt dozing with a book in his lap, and Y/N…

God.

She was stretched out on a towel, glowing in the gold light, laughing at something Josh said like her whole body smiled when she did. It made me feel sick. Or something close to it.

I sat on the back steps alone, beer dangling from my fingers, trying to get a grip. My skin was still warm from the sun, but I couldn’t stop the chill that sat in my chest. Watching her like this knowing it was a fucked-up kind of torture.

She was eighteen. Barely. I was twenty.

Two years.

That was nothing, right?

But when you’ve known her since she was seven, when you used to help tie her shoelaces, when she had braces and cried over Disney movies, it’s not just time. It’s history. It’s how I should see her.

But I didn’t.

Not anymore.

She moved different. Spoke different. She looked at me like she was unafraid of what she might find and that scared the hell out of me more than anything else.

I took a slow sip of the beer and closed my eyes.

And then I heard the door creak open behind me.

Nate.

He dropped down on the step beside me with a groan and stretched out his legs. We sat in silence for a minute, listening to the low hum of the music and the distant splash of someone diving into the pool.

“You good?” he finally asked.

I nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

He glanced at me sideways. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m tired.”

He snorted. “You’re never tired.”

More silence. The sky deepened into violet. A mosquito buzzed too close.

Then Nate said, “You’ve been looking at her.”

My heart stopped.

I turned, but he wasn’t even looking at me just staring straight ahead at the yard.

“Who?” I asked, even though I knew.

He raised an eyebrow. “Come on.”

I looked away. Took another sip. My fingers clenched tighter around the bottle neck.

“She grew up,” I muttered.

“Yeah. She did.” His voice was flat, unreadable. “It’s freaking me the hell out.”

I laughed, tight, hollow. “Yeah. Same.”

Another long beat.

“I know she’s not a kid anymore,” Nate said carefully. “And I’m not stupid. I saw the way she looked at you today.”

My lungs tightened.

“But she’s my sister, Chris.”

There it was.

Not a threat. Not yet.

Just a warning. A reminder. And the weight of it sat heavy on my chest.

“I know,” I said, voice low.

“I trust you,” Nate added, like that meant more than anything else.

And that? That hurt worse than anything.

Because I wasn’t trustworthy. Not when it came to her.

Not anymore.

The Bonfire:

Y/N:

The fire snapped low between us, embers glowing like tiny secrets in the dark.

I stayed behind after everyone had gone in for food or drinks or whatever excuse they’d made. I wasn’t hungry. I needed air. Space. Something that didn’t feel like pretending.

I sat back in a lawn chair, oversized hoodie swallowing my frame, his hoodie, not that he knew. My bikini bottoms clung to my hips underneath, legs tucked up beneath me, skin still warm and damp from the pool. The smell of chlorine, firewood, and sunscreen lingered in the thick summer air.

I lit the joint with steady fingers, the flame catching on the second try. I pulled in slow, feeling it fill my lungs, then exhaled toward the sky. The smoke curled upward, slow and sleepy, like it had nowhere to be.

The first hit always settled something in me. Loosened the tight grip in my chest.

I barely noticed the footsteps until they were close.

Chris.

Of course.

He didn’t speak right away just sauntered into view, hoodie pulled over his head, swim trunks slung low on his hips like he didn’t care how much skin he showed. He dropped down into the chair next to mine, stretched out like he owned the place, and glanced at the joint between my fingers.

“Didn’t think you smoked,” he said, voice thick with amusement.

I didn’t even look at him. “You don’t know me.”

Chris chuckled, low and quiet, and reached into his pocket. “No. I guess I don’t.”

He pulled out his own joint, thicker than mine, twisted neat like he knew what he was doing, and lit it without another word. The silence between us buzzed.

I took another hit.

He watched.

“I saw you with Josh earlier,” he said eventually, exhaling slow. “You guys always that… couple-y?”

I shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris smirked. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for the hand-holding, matching-shoes, golden-retriever type.”

I side-eyed him. “You don’t like him.”

He lifted a brow. “Didn’t say that. I just think it’s funny.”

“What is?”

“That you’re trying so hard to convince everyone you’re into him.”

I froze.

Chris didn’t press. Just took another drag and passed me his joint without looking. I blinked at it, then took it hands brushing briefly, heat flaring in my chest.

“You’re full of shit,” I said finally, exhaling smoke.

Chris grinned. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

The fire popped softly between us, the only sound besides the occasional chirp of crickets and the faint bass of music coming from inside.

Then he leaned back and stretched, hoodie riding up, his abs flashing in the light. “You’ve changed, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” His eyes dragged slowly over me lazy, not subtle. “You used to follow us around like a little puppy. Now you’re out here stealing my hoodie, smoking my strain.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t know it was your hoodie.”

His grin widened. “Didn’t stop you from wearing it.”

I handed his joint back, fingers grazing his again. Slower this time.

He held it between his lips, gaze fixed on mine. “Still got the crush?”

I nearly choked. “You’re insane.”

He blew smoke toward the stars. “What? You think I didn’t notice? Back then you couldn’t even talk to me without turning red.”

I stayed quiet, heat blooming behind my ears.

“I was fifteen,” he added after a beat. “You were what, like—twelve?”

“Thirteen,” I corrected, defensive. “And it was a phase.”

Chris looked at me like he didn’t believe a word of it.

Then: “If it was a phase, why are you still looking at me like that?”

I blinked.

He smirked again, like he lived for catching me off guard. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, like he hadn’t just lit me on fire from the inside out.

Before I could respond, before I could even catch my breath the back door creaked open.

Laughter. Footsteps. Voices.

Nate stepped out first, carrying drinks, Matt right behind him, quiet but smiling. Nick trailed behind, already rambling about something. And Josh, Josh was last, eyes lighting up when he saw me.

“Babe,” he said, walking over. His hand landed on my shoulder, warm and casual, fingers curling into the hoodie like it was his. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just hanging out.”

Chris didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Josh bent down and kissed my cheek. I let him. But I didn’t feel anything.

Across the fire, Matt sat down silently, eyes flicking to me and Chris, reading everything without saying a word. Nick kept the mood light, tossing another log on the fire and cracking a joke about ghost stories. Nate stood behind the chairs, sipping his drink, watching us too carefully.

And the tension? Still there.

Flickering in the smoke. Crawling beneath my skin. Settling between me and Chris like a storm cloud with no rush to pass.

This summer, I could feel everything shifting.

And Chris? He wasn’t looking away anymore.

End of the Night:

Y/N:

The fire had burned down to glowing coals, the kind that pulsed low and orange like they had a heartbeat. The air was cooler now, the kind of late summer night that clung to your skin and made your thoughts louder. Most of the group had drifted back inside Matt, Nick, Josh, Nate leaving just me and Chris.

Again.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His jaw flexed as he took another hit from the joint we’d passed back and forth like something shared and dangerous.

“I forgot you used to be quiet,” he said eventually. His voice was soft but smug, the kind that carried even through silence. “Like, really quiet. You’d sit in the living room when we were over and just… watch us.”

I didn’t respond right away.

Mostly because I did remember.

I remembered hiding behind a book I wasn’t even reading, just so I could glance at him without getting caught. I remembered the way he never looked back.

“You were loud enough for all of us,” I muttered finally, flicking ash off the side of the porch.

He smirked. “I always thought you were just shy.”

“I wasn’t shy,” I said. “I was smart.”

That made him laugh. Low and lazy. He took another drag and exhaled toward the sky.

“So… what changed?” he asked. “You’re not exactly quiet anymore.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Not without telling the truth.

That I used to stay up thinking about him. That I used to wonder if he’d ever notice me the way I noticed him. That I’d spent entire summers trying to convince myself that what I felt was just a phase.

So instead, I shrugged. “People grow up.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking over me slowly. “You definitely did.”

My breath caught, but I covered it with a laugh. “You sound surprised.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Firelight flickered in his eyes, warm and unreadable.

“I am,” he admitted. “I didn’t think you’d… turn out like this.”

“Like what?”

But he just shook his head, like saying it would cost him too much.

“You never told me,” he added suddenly, a bit quieter.

My stomach flipped. “Told you what?”

“That you had a crush on me.”

I blinked. “I never did.”

His mouth curved into something almost cruel. “You’re lying.”

I tilted my head. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

He paused, his cocky edge flickering into something almost unsure. “Maybe I thought it’d go away.”

I stared at him, heart pounding, the silence stretching between us like thread pulled too tight.

“It did,” I said quietly.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t argue.

But the corner of his mouth twitched just once. Like he knew I was lying now, too.

And that was the worst part.

He didn’t say anything after that.

Didn’t smile, didn’t laugh it off like he usually would. He just looked at me, really looked at me, and the silence between us felt like it could set something on fire.

And maybe it already had.

I stood up first, wrapping the sleeves of my hoodie around my hands to hide how cold I suddenly felt. Or maybe it wasn’t the cold at all, maybe it was just him. The way he watched me. The way he always watched me now, like he was trying to find pieces of a girl he’d ignored for years.

I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t have to.

As I walked toward the house, I could feel his stare on my back. Heavy. Reluctant. Like he wanted to stop me but didn’t know how.

Or didn’t think he should.

And maybe I wanted him to. Maybe I wanted him to say something else, anything to keep me there.

But he didn’t.

So I kept walking.

Inside, the lights were too bright, and Josh’s voice was already cutting through the kitchen. He looked up when I walked in and smiled like nothing had changed.

But it had.

Something had cracked wide open out there by the fire, and even if no one else saw it, I felt it. I felt it in the way my skin still burned. In the way my heart still raced. In the way I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Chris had said my name.

Like he’d only just learned how to say it.

And somewhere behind me, outside, he was still sitting in the dark.

Letting me go.

Even though we both knew—

He didn’t want to.

CHRIS:

She didn’t look back.

I watched her hoodie pull tighter around her frame as she disappeared into the house, smoke still curling from where we’d passed the joint back and forth like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t loaded with everything we didn’t say.

The second the door closed behind her, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My jaw was locked so tight it ached.

That should’ve gone differently.

I told myself I was just messing with her, just teasing, same as I always had. But somewhere between the way she held my gaze and the way she said “It did,” I felt something shift. Something small, but permanent. Like the slam of a lock on a door I hadn’t meant to open.

She used to follow me around like a shadow. Always quiet, always watching, like she thought I didn’t notice. But I did. I always did. And I told myself she’d grow out of it. That it wasn’t serious. That she was Nate’s kid sister and it didn’t matter.

But it mattered now.

Now she was eighteen. Grown. Smoking my weed in the hoodie I threw over her shoulders earlier that day without thinking, legs curled underneath her like she didn’t know what it did to me.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the dying fire. I could still taste the strawberry gloss on the joint. Still hear her voice when she said she never had a crush.

Bullshit.

But maybe that’s what scared me.

Because if she never told me, if she kept that secret all these years, what else was she keeping?

And why did I want to know so badly?

The screen door creaked again behind me. I thought it might be her, coming back out. Maybe to say something else. Maybe to make me say something I couldn’t.

But it was just Nate.

He stepped down the porch stairs with two beers in hand, flipping one toward me without warning. I caught it, popped the cap, nodded in thanks.

He plopped into the chair across from me with a heavy sigh, stretching his legs out and leaning back like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.

“She’s being quiet tonight, huh?” he said, nodding vaguely toward the house.

My chest tightened. “Guess so.”

He cracked a grin. “Josh probably wore her out. Kid talks more than Nick.”

I forced a chuckle and took a long drink, the beer cold enough to make my teeth ache.

“Hey, I’m glad she found someone good,” Nate added, completely oblivious. “You know how picky she is.”

I stared into the fire again.

Yeah. I knew.

Nate didn’t notice the way my knuckles had gone white around the bottle. He didn’t notice the way my knee was bouncing under the chair. He didn’t know what just happened ten minutes before he walked out here that she sat next to me, high and flushed and honest, and told me something I’d never expected to hear.

That I hadn’t been the one watching all these years.

She had.

And I missed it.

“Josh is cool,” I said finally, swallowing the burn in my throat. “He’s… nice.”

Nate laughed. “You sound so convincing, bro.”

I smirked without humor.

He stretched, cracked his neck, and yawned. “Alright, I’m gonna head back in. Nick’s already halfway into a s’mores coma. You coming?”

I shook my head. “In a sec.”

“Don’t get too sentimental out here,” he teased as he walked away.

And just like that he was gone.

I leaned back in the chair, beer bottle resting against my knee, firelight flickering against the trees.

She never told me she liked me.

And now, I wasn’t sure what was worse:

That I didn’t know back then.

Or that I did now.

ooouuu the tensionnnn is crazy.. I hope this is clear and make sense let me know if it’s hard to understand please!

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #fanfic #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #aesthetic #nate doe #nathan doe #smut #sturniol triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic

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jamdoughnutmagician · 2 days ago

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Candy Shop Order for @wolfqueenxxx - Hellfire Cinnamon Candy, Strawberry Sherbet, Bittersweet Dark Chocolate, 7

Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Angst, “I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.”

sorry if this is bad, I still don't quite know how to write angst all that well.

Requests now closed

Word Count:1,051

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics

You sat, slumped over your knees, mascara tracks down your once perfectly pink cheeks, and your perfectly styled hair now falling down around you in a loose mess. The sounds of bubblegum pop music pounds from behind closed doors. Tonight was supposed to be your dream night, the night you had thought about your entire teenage life. Your prom night. The one night of the year that you could dress up, be pretty and dance the night away with the guy of your dreams holding you tight.

Except it wasn’t the guy of your dreams holding you tight on the dance floor. No. Instead you were met with the amused scoff of your date who had only asked you as a date just to laugh you off in front of his friends, laughing at how you could possibly believe that a guy as popular as him could actually fall for a gullible girl like you.

The guy of your dreams, however pathetically sad it may seem, was your best friend, Eddie. Eddie, with his soft, kind brown eyes, shaggy brown curls, adorably boyish smile, and his devil-may-care attitude. The boy who drew you in like a magnet, and treated you with nothing but warmth and made you laugh with his silly antics and enthusiasm for everything he did and loved. The boy who slung his arm around you and hugged you at every opportunity just because he could. All those cosy late night movie marathons spent with him in his trailer. All the times you loudly and proudly cheered for him in a handful of drunk patrons in a dingy dive bar. And those summers spent together at the lakes, just being carefree until the hazy summer sun fades to a swirling pink sky.

That was the boy who you hoped would hold you on the dance floor as the pair of you twirlied under the sparkling lights of the disco ball.

You hoped that he would finally see you as something more than a friend. Longing to have that perfect moment where you would tell him exactly how you feel about him, and stupidly you hoped that maybe he would feel the same.

But he wasn’t here.

And now you were here, sitting on the cold steps outside the school’s auditorium, feeling upset and embarrassed, as your fingers fumbled with the buckles of your silver kitten heeled shoes. No point in wearing them now, anyway.

You don’t know how long you sat there feeling sorry for yourself, but it was long enough that the evening’s chill began to seep into your bones. Until all of a sudden the chill wasn’t seeping in like before. Without you really even being aware, a heavy leather jacket was placed over your shoulders, the all too familiar scent of a woodsy cologne and cigarettes clinging to the material.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you sniffle, quickly trying to wipe away the obvious black smear stains of your misery with the back of your hand.

“Henderson called me. Told me you ran off. You wanna talk about it?” he says, taking a seat on the step next to you.

You sink into yourself, not even beginning to know where to start. You want to talk, you want to tell him what happened, but the words feel stuck.

“You know, I thought it was going to be you that I got to dance with tonight.”

And suddenly being nothing more than the laugh of the week for the jocks wasn’t what you wanted to talk about. And then faster than your brain can keep up with your heart and your mouth you began to spill your closely held secret to Eddie.

“C’mon now, prom really isn’t my scene. How d’ya think people are going to look at me when I turn up in some stupid rented tux?” he laughed at himself, to lighten the mood and just to see you smile.

But smiling was the last thing you felt like doing right now.

“I waited and waited for you to ask me to prom and you never did.” your voice comes out like the softest whisper.

“How was I supposed to know you even wanted me to go to prom with you? It’s not like you even like me like that.”

Oh how wrong he was.

There’s an uncomfortable and uncommon silence that hangs in the air for longer than either of you would like.

“You don't like me, at least not like anything more than a friend.” Eddie says so assuredly that it makes you mad at how oblivious he could be.

And then all that embarrassment, anger and frustration bubbles over until you're exploding.

“I’m going to need you to stop for one second because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck.”

“You love me?” Eddie says, a shocked stutter stunting his words.

“Yeah, but it's not like it matters all that much anymore.” You say, standing up to leave.

“How was I supposed to know you had any feelings for me when you never said anything?” Eddie says defensively.

“You hold me when we're watching movies late into the night. You kiss me on the cheek like it means something more, and then you pull away so easily. You can't just do stuff like that, Eddie. You can't give me hope that you have these feelings for me when you don't.”

“But what if I did.” He says stopping you in your tracks. “What if I did feel the same about you as you did for me?”

“You don't have to pretend, Eddie. I've been the butt of everyone's joke tonight, and I really don't need you to lie to me on top of it.” You sigh.

“But-”

“-Eddie, please, you're my closest friend, and I really don't think I could handle it if you break my heart, so please spare me.”

You walk off, everything just felt like too much right now. Maybe in the light of the morning you might be able to face the consequences of your words, and find the courage to talk to Eddie, but right now you just need to be alone.

@abitchyouhate @penguinsandpringleheads @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @rebelfell @sidereustales @myherometalhead @28bohemianmoons @ali-r3n

#Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x reader angst #Eddie Munson x female reader angst #claudia's candy shop requests

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elliespotion · 11 hours ago

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More Musician!Ellie Headcanons!

i am genuinely thinking about these at 3 am

please just humor me for a second, singer!reader isn’t a theater kid but has always loved it so much but ellie? not so much. (theater kids are welcome i love you guys.)

Musician!Ellie who does not like musicals at all, she thinks they’re cheesy as hell and breaking into song is weird to her.

She wasn’t supposed to come home from a party for a while so you put on one of your favorite musical soundtracks. (maybe happy ending soundtrack for me rn.)

Musician!Ellie who comes home, annoyed as hell over some stupid guy who spilled beer over her shirt, she walks into your shared home and hears music and your soft singing.

Musician!Ellie who creepily leans against the door frame and watches you play your favorite game while listening and finds it absolutely adorable.

Your awkward ass who turns around to grab your drink and sees her, gets absolutely spooked and turns the music off.

Musician!Ellie who would literally rather lick a cheese grater than listen to a broadway soundtrack but loves how happy you look while you’re singing along.

She decides to turn the music back on, starting the album from the beginning so she can talk to you about the plot and try to understand everything that’s going on.

But boy oh boy do you have multiple bootlegs of this musical. This actress with this actor? The same actress with a different actor? She names it you basically have it.

Musician!Ellie who finds it weird but intriguing that you’re so into musicals this intensely.

Musician!Ellie who figures out that the binder in your closet isn’t full of weird, embarrassing songs but actually it’s full of playbills… (this might be a dig at me i have unfortunately spent so much money on them.)

Musician!Ellie who gets intrigued by a plot of one of the musicals and asks if you can watch one together?

Which literally leaves you wondering if you’re actually dreaming and dream Ellie is fucking with you.

But you two end up watching La La Land (a movie you’ve seen and cried to a thousand times but Ellie never wanted to watch it because who cries to musicals?)

You fall asleep but Ellie doesn’t turn it off, getting really upset about the end of the movie. (iykyk.) She goes to talk to you about it but you’re passed out at this point.

She turns off the movie and cuddles you, unfortunately for her now you have her listening and watching every musical you love.

hopefully this was alright? definitely wasn’t proofread bc i’m writing this half awake at 3 am but hey! when inspiration strikes you have to just go for it.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams headcanons

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tanjir0se · 1 year ago

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I have a hot take about Giyuu but I am. Frightened

#not that I think everyone is mischaracterizing or that I think I’m the definitive authority on Giyuu #because I haven’t even read the manga so I ASBOLUTELY am not #but I just think people (me) are so quick to like. babygirlify everything he does and make him such a cringefail little loser #that they forget he’s. kind of mean lol. he has a temper!!!!#I for one love his temper I think it’s hilarious and incredibly valid and SUPER fun to write #and I know most of it is probably either unintentional or like. a cover for his tender soft boy heart or something #but like. LET MY BOY BE A BITCH!!!! it’s FUNNY and he DESERVES IT #I have examples but idk I’m. afraid #so it’s staying in the tags for now #SOFTLAUNCHING MY GIYUU HOT TAKE #postcards from stupid town

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norrisradio · 20 days ago

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TRUE LOVE OF MINE

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "You with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes / You who bares all your teeth in every smile" - Lady Lamb, Dear Arkansas Daughter

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ᝰ WC: 5.5K ᝰ GENRE: best friends to lovers (we cheered!), reader = ex karting driver + med student, you have loved lando since the day you met etc etc etc ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: fun fact - the colors used in the title/headings on this post are actually the colors of lando's eyes from this post // this was a behemoth of a fic to write and i'm still nto entirely pleased, but the people yearn for lando norris ꨄ requested by anon!

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

The first time you see Lando Norris, he’s face-down in the mud, crying because someone called him a posh baby in the paddock, and you think he’s the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen.

There’s mud crusted on his cheek like it belongs there, curls pressed damp to his forehead, and his whole face is crumpled like paper in a storm. He’s got one sock half off and a fresh scab on his shin, and still, somehow, he looks like he belongs in a painting. The messy kind. Watercolor, probably. Something soft and bleeding at the edges, impossible to frame.

He’s eight and you’re eight and a half, which means you get to say things like “it’s okay, babies cry,” even though you don’t really mean it. He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks up at you with blotchy cheeks and kaleidoscope eyes, like someone spilled a little too much green into blue, and says, “I’m not a baby.” You believe him.

You sit next to him on the curb, knees knocking together, watching his kart like it’s some sacred thing. The sky is gray, threatening rain, and he’s all flushed skin and scraped palms and frustration.

“They’re just jealous,” you mutter. He doesn’t look at you. “Of what? That I cry like a baby?” “No,” you say. “That your eyelashes are stupid long and you drive like the kart owes you money.”

That gets a huff out of him. Half-sob, half-laugh.

You offer him your juice box. He doesn’t smile, but he bares his teeth when he takes it, all crooked and endearing and real. That’s the thing about Lando. He’s always been real.

He holds out a sticky, dirt-streaked hand.

“I’m Lando.” “I know,” you say. “Everyone knows.”

You shake his hand anyway.

A month later, you beg your parents to sign you up for the junior karting class — not because you like cars (you don’t, really), but because you like him. Or maybe just the way he lights up when he talks about apexes and engine sounds like they’re things that breathe.

You come home smelling like oil. Your knuckles blister from gripping the wheel too hard. You cry once when you spin out and hit the barriers; but he’s there, pulling your helmet off like you’re made of glass, telling you, “You looked cool, though. Like, action movie cool.”

He makes you want to win. So you start trying.

When you’re eleven, he wins a race with his hair slicked back by sweat and wind, curls flattened into chaos. He leaps from the kart like he’s weightless, helmet swinging from one hand like a trophy of its own, and the grin he throws at you — all teeth, no restraint — nearly knocks you over.

“Did you see that?” he shouts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you see?”

You did. Every lap. Every line. You saw the way his hands tightened before the last corner, the way his shoulders settled like he’d already decided to win.

You hand him his water bottle.

“You were okay.”

He gasps. “Just okay?”

“You’ll be cooler when you stop smiling like you’re showing your teeth to the dentist.”

He grins wider. Shoves you lightly with the back of his hand.

“Admit it. I looked sick.”

He did. He always does. Even like this, eyes stormy and pale all at once, flushed with the kind of joy that doesn’t need to be explained. He’s not handsome yet, not in the way the magazines will call him later. But there’s something about the way he holds a moment. The way you can’t look away when he’s in it.

Later that summer, you win.

It’s not a big race. Junior category, barely a crowd —but he’s there. Leans so far over the barrier during your final lap the marshal tells him to get down before he falls in.

You don’t hear the cheering. You don’t even feel the medal when they hang it around your neck. All you feel is Lando barreling toward you at the speed of light, helmet in one hand, arms wide, like you’re the one who gave him wings.

“You were flying,” he breathes, practically vibrating. “You were magic.”

You pretend to scoff. “Guess I’m not just here to hand you water bottles.”

He pulls you into a hug anyway. No hesitation. Just heat and sweat and the faint scent of petrol and whatever soap he uses. His heart’s pounding against your shoulder like he’s the one who just won.

Later, when you look at the photos, you don’t care about the trophy in your hands. You care about the boy behind you — curls wild, smiling so hard it looks like it hurts.

At fifteen, you start noticing the way other girls notice him.

It starts in Italy, or maybe Spain. Somewhere with sunburnt afternoons and the scent of burnt rubber curling off the asphalt like smoke. The girls linger after his heats now. They lean too close and laugh too loudly. Twisting their hair, asking if he’s going to the after-party, the lake, the whatever.

You stand beside him in the hoodie he gave you two summers ago: faded navy, sleeves chewed at the cuffs. It smells like sunscreen and old fabric and something unnameable that has always just been him. You pick at the hem while they talk, eyes on his profile.

The same boy you’ve known since he was sobbing on a curb with gravel in his socks has started to shimmer, like something just out of reach. Something made of light and speed.

His hair’s longer now, curling wild at the edges of his helmet. His smile’s the same, though. All teeth, all instinct. It still takes up half his face like he hasn’t learned how to hide anything yet.

But he doesn’t smile at them. He never does.

He looks at you. “You’re quiet,” he says, tugging at the drawstring of your hoodie. You shrug. “I’m always quiet.” “Not with me.”

He says it like a secret. Like he likes that about you — that there’s a version of yourself reserved just for him. You don’t say anything back, because you're not sure your voice would work even if you tried.

That night, you find yourselves walking the hotel parking lot, drinking vending machine soda that tastes faintly like metal and sugar. The sky's a navy bruise, and everything hums: the street lamps, the asphalt, your pulse.

“You’re kind of becoming a big deal,” you say, finally.

He laughs, low and a little shy, like you’ve caught him off-guard. “Don’t say that,” he says. “I’ll get cocky.”

“You already are.” You bump his arm with yours. It’s too dark to see his face clearly, but you know he’s smiling wide, teeth and all, like he’s baring it just for you.

And maybe he is.

Because even now, even with sponsors circling and flights booked across Europe, even with interviews and mechanics and the way his name sounds over loudspeakers, he still comes to your races.

He’ll show up between practice sessions with a baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses that don’t do much to hide him. You’ll spot him first, sitting on the pit wall like he’s always belonged there, one leg swinging like a kid with too much energy.

“Why do you still come?” you ask him once, after you’d placed second and felt like it wasn’t enough.

He shrugged. “Because I like watching you win.”

You think about that now, under the flicker of a buzzing lamp, watching the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks when he looks at you. His eyes are still that strange in-between — not quite blue, not quite grey, always shifting like skies about to storm.

Like watercolor left out in the rain.

You look away first.

You always do.

At sixteen, you run until your lungs burn. You don’t stop until your fists hit his front door, nails bitten down to nothing and eyes already stinging. He opens it in a hoodie three sizes too big, and the second he sees your face, he doesn’t ask.

He just pulls you in.

You’re crying too hard to speak at first, shoulders shaking, throat raw. He closes the door behind you and guides you to the stairs like it’s muscle memory, like this has happened before, and maybe it has, in smaller ways. Skinned knees. Lost heats. Bad days.

But this is different.

“They’re making me quit,” you finally get out. “They said— they said I have to focus on school. On real life.”

You say it like a curse. Like “real life” is something you never asked for.

Lando’s quiet for a moment. His hand curls around your wrist, thumb brushing a soothing rhythm over your pulse. His eyes — moss green in the dark — watch you without blinking. Always watching. Always knowing.

“Come on,” he says.

You frown. “Where?”

“Just— trust me.”

He doesn’t wait for you to agree. He just grabs his keys and your hand and pulls you out into the night. The wind has teeth. The sky hangs low, indigo and velvet. When you realize where you’re going, your heart breaks all over again.

The track sits behind the hill, silent and sleeping.

Lando hops the gate first, then turns and offers you his hand. You take it, fingers cold in his. He pulls you over like it’s nothing.

The lights are off, but the moon’s enough. It glints off the asphalt, pale and silver, the same way the sun used to gleam on your helmet when you’d throw it off at the end of a race, breathless and laughing. Back when your name had a number next to it and your dreams had engines.

Lando walks the edge of the track, then steps aside, gestures toward the start line like he’s offering you a crown.

“One more,” he says. “For old time’s sake.”

You laugh, watery and shaking. “There’s no kart, idiot.”

He shrugs. “Run it.”

So you do.

You take off, sneakers slapping the track, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through your ribs. Your hair whips behind you, tangled and wild, and you run like you used to race: reckless, full tilt, like the only thing that’s ever made sense is forward.

The wind hits your face and the tears dry on your cheeks and the world blurs around the edges. You run with everything you are; for every lap you’ll never finish, every podium you won’t stand on, every flame they’re trying to snuff out of you.

When you make it back to him, gasping and breathless, Lando is watching like he always does, with something quiet and fierce behind his eyes. Like he sees not just you, but the version of you the world won’t let exist anymore.

You collapse next to him, panting. He says nothing for a long time. Just sits beside you on the track, knees pulled to his chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands.

“You’ll come back to it,” he says eventually, soft like the curve of a turn. “I know you will.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He glances over, and for a moment, he looks like a boy again: the same boy with curls damp from rain, whose smile could split the sky. A boy who’s watched you win, lose, burn, rebuild. A boy who’s carried your dreams in the quiet way he carries everything.

“Besides,” he says, nudging your knee, “I’m still gonna win stuff. Someone’s gotta keep me humble.”

You laugh, finally — a real one. It cracks through the ache like sunlight through smoke.

“Always with the fast mouth,” you murmur. “And an ego the size of an engine.”

He grins. All teeth. Unashamed. Something ancient flutters in your chest, something that’s always been there but has never had the nerve to speak.

You don’t say you are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, but you think it. You don’t say I’ve loved you since I was eight and a half, but maybe he knows.

Maybe he always has.

By eighteen, Lando’s face is in magazines. He’s a headline now, a profile shot under stadium lights, a name that doesn’t need explaining anymore. He smiles with his whole face — wide and unguarded — and sometimes you see a photo that feels so much like him you have to close the tab and sit with your hands in your lap, breathing slowly.

You still see the boy who once spilled chocolate milk all down his overalls at Silverstone and sobbed so hard he hiccupped for twenty minutes. The one who used to braid daisy chains into the laces of your boots between heats. But now there are articles that say things like rising star and British darling, and he fits in their glossy pages better than he should.

He FaceTimes you after qualifying P1 for the first time. It’s late, past midnight, and you’re still in the library, alone but for the hum of the vending machine and the ache behind your eyes. You almost don’t pick up.

But then you see his name flash on the screen — 🚦LAN-DON’T CRASH🚦 — and your stomach flips like it used to before lights out.

He’s still in his race suit, curls a mess of damp ringlets, cheeks flushed like he’s been running. There’s something in his eyes, too: watercolor green, vivid and blurred around the edges, like adrenaline and disbelief have soaked into his skin.

His smile breaks the second you answer. Wide and wild and so familiar it stings.

“Did you watch?” he says, already breathless.

“Obviously,” you say, tipping your phone back so he can see the chemistry notes scattered across the desk. “Had it up on mute during organic synthesis. You’re lucky I didn’t scream when you took the final sector.”

“You think I was okay?”

“You were sick.”

He pumps a fist and flops back onto some impossibly white hotel bed, still grinning like a kid who’s snuck past curfew. The camera wobbles, then steadies on his face again: flushed and freckled, sweat still clinging to his jaw. He looks happy.

You used to know that feeling. That kind of high. The kind that only came with rubber and gasoline and the blur of corners taken clean.

Your helmet lives in the back of your closet now, tucked behind winter coats and forgotten notebooks. You’ve traded it for lab goggles and timed exams, for ink-stained hands and the quiet sort of excellence no one applauds. Your medals sit in a shoebox beneath your bed, and you haven’t opened it in over a year. You tell people you’re pre-med now. That it’s what you’ve always wanted.

Two years have dulled the ache. Sandpapered it down from a blade to something you can live with. Sometimes you still dream of the track, of the smell of rubber and the scream of engines, but you wake up and make coffee and keep studying until the want quiets again.

Lando watches you for a second. He sees things other people don’t — always has.

“You good?” he asks, voice soft now, like it used to be when he’d sneak out to meet you by the tire stacks after dark.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He raises an eyebrow, not buying it. “What are you working on?”

You sigh and flip your notebook toward the screen. “Chemical compounds. I’ve got a practical on Monday. Enantiomers, ketones, the whole gang.”

He makes a face. “Nerd.”

“National treasure,” you correct, dryly. “And future doctor, maybe.”

He lights up at that. “Sick. You can be my medic when I crash.”

You roll your eyes. “So I’ll see you, what, every weekend?”

“Exactly,” he says, smug. “We’re soulmates, remember?”

You want to say, you with the stupid grin, you with the disaster curls, you with the heartbeat I could always find in the noise.But instead, you shake your head and say, “God help your insurance.”

He laughs, throws his head back, bares every tooth like he always does. There’s a soft curve in the center of his front two that never straightened out, even after braces. You used to tell him he looked like a Labrador when he smiled like that. You still think it now, but it feels like something tender and sacred, like a memory you keep pressed between pages.

“I miss you,” he says, quieter now.

You don’t say I miss the version of me that only exists around you.You just whisper, “Yeah. I know.”

The call ends eventually. It always does. But you sit there for a while after, your notebook untouched, watching the ghost of his smile in your screen’s reflection.

You’re twenty-one and a half when Lando sneaks into your college graduation. You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy sweating in your robe, clutching your diploma like it might disappear, wondering if your cap looks stupid in photos. Your parents wave from the stands, your friends cheer, and you try to hold still long enough to soak it in — but it never lands quite right. Everything feels too big, too loud, too fast.

Until he finds you.

Until he hugs you from behind and says, low in your ear, “Told you you’d look cool in a cape.”

You twist around, and there he is, in a hoodie pulled low over those unmistakable curls, sunglasses at night like the world’s worst disguise. His smile is crooked, tired. Familiar.

“What the fuck,” you whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

He grins wider. “I skipped media day.”

Your jaw drops.

“Shhh,” he adds, holding a finger to your lips. “I’ll get yelled at later. Worth it.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or hit him. So you do both —thump his arm, then drag him into a hug, still warm from the sun and whatever it means to grow up.

He stays through the party, tucked into the background, stealing finger food and smiling like he’s always belonged. He doesn’t pull attention the way he does on track. Here, he just… exists beside you. Quietly. Constantly. Every time you turn around, he’s already looking.

Later, long after the music dies and your parents have gone to bed, the two of you end up on the grass in your front yard, barefoot, robes ditched, diplomas crumpled somewhere behind you. The stars are blurry, a little from distance, a little from everything else.

He lies flat on his back, arms spread like a kid making snow angels, and says, “I’ve got a flight in two hours.”

You hum. “FP1?”

He nods.

You both fall quiet. The silence between you has never been uncomfortable. It stretches like elastic, worn in with years of knowing — from tire stacks and afterschool karting, from night tracks and vending machines, from every version of growing up that had the other curled into its corner.

“I’m scared,” you admit, finally. “For med school.”

Lando turns his head to look at you. You’re lying close, your hair fanned out against the grass, fingers plucking gently at the blades. You don’t meet his eyes, but you feel them on you. The color of seafoam, soft in the dark. The kind that still knocks the breath out of you when you're not bracing for it.

“You’ll be great.”

You scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

There’s a rustle of denim and hoodie fabric, and then he’s sitting up, pulling something from his pocket. A worn-out square of photo paper, crumpled and soft at the edges. He presses it into your hand.

You blink. It’s a picture of the two of you, age nine, arms thrown around each other in the pit lane. His curls are messy and stuck to his forehead, flushed cheeks stretched in a grin so big you can count every tooth. You’re buried in his side, beaming up at him like he hung the sky. Lando’s holding a trophy, but even then, he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at you.

“You gave me your gummy worms right after that,” he says. “Said I earned it.”

You run your thumb over the crease down the middle. The image is faded now, but you remember the moment like it’s stitched into you.

He says it like it’s obvious. Like gravity. “Because we’re soulmates. And I feel it in my bones.”

You don’t answer right away. You can’t.

The stars above you scatter like sugar across navy velvet. Your eyes sting.

“You know,” you say after a while, voice low, “If you crash, I’ll be the one stitching you back together.”

He grins. Not his media-trained one — not the sharp, rehearsed smile he wears under paddock lights — but the real one. The one that splits across his face without warning. That bares all his teeth like he’s never learned to hold anything back. That’s lived on every page of your memory since you were old enough to chase him across a track.

“That’s hot,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “You’re a nightmare.”

“But I’m your nightmare.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

It’s always been him. Him with eyes that shift with the light, that catch everything, that still find you first.

You with your goggles and your notebooks. Him with his fireproof gloves and nowhere to land.

You, who traded circuits for classrooms.

Him, who never stopped circling back to you.

He looks at you like he always has, like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense. You think maybe you believe him.

That you’ll be okay.

Because he said so. Because he always shows up. Because he’s flying across the world in an hour, but somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

At twenty-three, he invites you to Monaco.

You’re dead on your feet when he calls. It’s nearly midnight and you’re cramming for your pathology exam, cross-eyed from the fluorescent lighting in your apartment. You don’t even remember what you said exactly; something like “med school is killing me and I swear to God I haven’t seen the sun in four days.” Laughed it off with the tired grin he knows too well.

You forgot it by morning.

He didn’t.

Now, a week later, you’re barefoot on his balcony, letting the gold-tinged air sink into your skin as the sun sets over the Riviera. The track lies sprawled beneath you like a secret. The sea beyond it glints like something ancient, something wild.

Your breath hitches without meaning to.

“I used to dream about racing this track,” you say, barely above a whisper. “When I was fifteen, I’d watch the onboard cams on my laptop and try to memorize every corner. I knew the lines like poetry.”

Beside you, Lando is quiet. But when you glance over, there’s a glint in his eye, the one that always spelled trouble. Or magic. Or both. His curls are pushed back haphazardly, like he ran a hand through them too many times on the flight, but there’s still that boyishness, untamed and familiar.

“What?” you ask warily.

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs your wrist. “C’mon.” “Lando—” “No time. Let’s go.”

You barely have time to yank on your sneakers before he’s dragging you out the door, past the sleepy concierge and down the quiet streets like he’s done it a thousand times. He takes sharp turns with muscle memory, his fingers tight around yours.

Only when the city’s noise has thinned and the streetlights spill onto the famous asphalt do you realize where you are.

“Lando,” you whisper. “We can’t—” “We’re not driving,” he grins. “Just running it. Like when we were kids, remember?" “FIA—” “Would fine me until my hair turns gray.” He pauses. “Still worth it.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs, but your legs are already moving.

You run.

Past Sainte Devote, hair flying behind you. Past the casino, your laughter ricocheting off elegant facades. You’re breathless by the tunnel, aching by the chicane, but he’s still pulling you like he did when you were kids and he insisted you could make it to the top of that hill if you just didn’t stop.

The air smells like salt and speed.

By the time you reach the harbor, your lungs are burning and your face is flushed and he’s glowing, cheeks pink, smile wide, teeth bared like he’s daring the night to find a brighter joy than this. He looks every bit like the boy you fell in love with fifteen years ago.

The one with grass stains on his overalls. The one whose curls never obeyed a comb. The one who grinned like mischief itself. The one whose eyes — not blue, not quite green — shimmered like someone had taken watercolors and washed them into something soft and stupidly beautiful.

You stop, breathless. He does too.

And for a second, it feels like everything’s still. Like the world just pressed pause.

Later, you sit at the edge of the marina, legs swinging over the water. Your shoes are abandoned on the dock. The air is heavy with the scent of engine oil and sea spray. The waves slap gently against the boats, like applause winding down after a show.

Beside you, Lando says nothing. But you feel him watching. And when you turn, he’s looking at you like he’s never seen you before.

But of course he has. He’s seen you in worse light: that post-rain haze in your old garage, your hair frizzed to hell and braces catching on your lower lip, oil on your jeans and mud on your ankles. He’s seen you bleary-eyed on FaceTime at 3AM. He’s seen you panicking over exams, crying in the paddock, snorting over bad pizza and better jokes.

Still, he looks at you now like he forgot the color of your laugh until this exact moment brought it back. His hair hangs loose over his forehead, still damp from the run, and the way his mouth twitches — almost a grin, almost not — makes your stomach turn over.

He bumps your knee with his.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “Better than okay.” “You looked happy back there.” “I was happy back there.” “Good.” He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I miss that.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“Miss what?”

“You. Like that.” He exhales, eyes trained on the moon's reflection on the water. “Laughing. Running. Being ridiculous with me.”

You don’t say anything.

He does.

“I miss you all the time,” he says, voice low. “Even when I’m with you.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re always somewhere else now. In your books. In your head. In hospitals I can’t pronounce.”

Your heart tugs at the edges. He doesn’t sound bitter. Just tired. Honest.

“I get it,” he adds. “It’s important. It matters. But sometimes I think about that summer when we were fifteen, and you stole my hoodie, and we made fake pit passes just to sneak into the garage.”

You laugh, quiet. “We were so stupid.”

“We were so happy.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s full. Like the city’s holding its breath.

You look over at him. Really look.

His lashes are darker now. His jaw’s sharper. A lock of hair curls against his temple, untamed. But he’s still him. Still the boy in the mud, the boy who taught you how to drift on your cousin’s farm, who shared his Capri-Sun at the track because you forgot yours, again. Still the one who taped your wrist when you wiped out in the rain and told you you’d make it to Monaco someday.

And here you are.

“Lando,” you murmur. “Yeah?” “I missed you too.”

He doesn’t wait this time.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting years to remember how.

And maybe he has. Maybe you both have.

The world blurs for a moment: the moon climbing higher, the boats bobbing gently below, the buzz of the city dissolving behind you, and all that’s left is him.

All sun-warmed skin and trembling fingers and eyes the color of every good memory — soft-washed, warm, like light bleeding through a window at golden hour.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I didn’t think you’d let me do that,” he whispers.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You both laugh. Just a little. Just enough.

You’re twenty-five when you catch him watching you from across a hotel room in Japan. There’s a storm outside, low thunder rolling through the glass, and Lando’s shirt is damp from the run to the lobby. His curls are still wet, clinging to his forehead in loose, chaotic swirls. He should be tired — hell, you’re tired — but he’s watching you like you’re something new.

It’s not the first time he’s looked at you like this. Not by a long shot.

He’s never been subtle about it, not when he warms your hands in his pockets on cold walks back from the paddock, not when he lights up the second your name shows up on his phone. He’s the kind of boy who leaves his heart in plain sight, who grins with his whole body, who never learned how to want quietly.

You feel his gaze before you meet it. The kind that makes your chest go a little soft, like the edges of a photograph curling with time.

“You’re staring,” you say, without looking up from your textbook.

“I’m allowed to,” he replies. “I’m in love with you.”

You blink. Not because you didn’t know — he’s never been subtle — but because of how easily he says it. No drama. No orchestra. Just him. Lando, who once stuck gum in your hair during a twelve-hour drive to Wales. Lando, who whispered you’ve got me into your hair the night your grandmother died. Lando, who still trips over his own shoes in hotel corridors and grins like a child when room service arrives.

You toss a pillow at him. “Say it prettier.”

He catches it one-handed, kaleidoscope eyes glinting in the dim light. Smirks. “You make me want to write poetry, but all I know how to do is drive.”

That shuts you up.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, a blue-green haze in the lightning glow, and he grins wider, like he knows he’s just won something. Like he’d lose a thousand races and still call this the prize.

“Told you,” he murmurs.

There are races, years, chapters.

Seasons where you barely see each other, where you wake up to hotel ceilings and unfamiliar time zones and forget what city you’re in until he kisses your shoulder and mumbles something in a sleep-heavy voice like, It’s Thursday. We’re in Austin. His curls are flattened from sleep, his voice rough at the edges, and his arms still warm from whatever dream he was having.

Sometimes he wins. Sometimes he doesn’t. You never love him any more or less.

He still gets grumpy when he’s hungry, still laughs at memes from 2014, still buys you the weird flavored gum at petrol stations because you used to love this stuff, remember? Still leans into your space like gravity’s something personal. Still has a grin that cracks through your worst moods like sunlight.

There are cameras. Headlines. Speculations. But you’ve always known who he was.

You know the versions of him that never make it to the press: the quiet frustration of a red flag, the way he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek when he’s nervous, the silence he sinks into after a loss. The way his curls flop over his forehead when he finally takes off his helmet. The way he says your name when he’s scared. The way he finds you in every crowd like it’s instinct. How his eyes — storm-colored, sometimes soft, sometimes sharp — flick to you the second anything starts to feel too loud.

And you’ve always let him. You always will.

He’s thirty-one when you find an old photo in a drawer: the two of you, muddy and grinning, barely ten years old. His curls are a mess, more fluff than form. You’re wearing his jacket, sleeves bunched up to your elbows. Neither of you have front teeth. You’re both sun-drenched and ridiculous.

“God,” you mutter, holding it up to the light. “We were a disaster.”

From the kitchen, he says, “Still are.”

You hear the clink of a spoon against ceramic. The rustle of his socks on the tile.

“You still love me?” you call, teasing, but not really.

He appears in the doorway, hoodie half-on, spoon in his mouth. He’s older now — jaw more carved, eyes a little softer around the edges — but the grin he gives you is the same one from every memory that matters. That lopsided, toothy thing like he’s always one second from bursting into laughter. A single curl falls against his temple, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell what year it is.

He swallows and says, “I’ll love you even when we’re bones.”

You believe him.

You always have.

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dismalflo · 2 months ago

Text

how it starts

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who like each other from the start ✩ 3.7k words

summary: you know Lily from a shared class, when she invites you to meets some of her friends, Sirius and Remus can't stop flirting.

cw: fluff, reader is a lil shy and insecure, the boys are very sweet, established wolfstar, pre relationship with reader

an: I really enjoyed writing this one and I think i might write a part two

You’re starting to regret agreeing to come. Lily, the sweet girl you met in an art class, had invited you out for drinks with her friends. She swore they were all lovely and that you’d fit in just fine, but the doubts are creeping in. You’re already late because of the bus, and being around new people has never been your strong suit. You try to remind yourself that the whole point of joining the art class was to make friends—backing out now would be stupid.

By the time the pub door comes into view, your hands are shaking. You’re certain you’ll need at least a week to recover from this, but despite it all, you keep pushing forward, determined not to fuck up your one chance.

Before you can even take in the atmosphere, you hear your name shouted across the room. It’s Lily, that lovely redhead you’ve been hoping would be your friend. She waves energetically, and you make your way over to her. The moment you make it over, she wraps you up in a big hug. Her warmth is a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

"I’m so glad you came!" she nearly shouts in your ear, pulling away just enough to beam at you as if you’ve given her the greatest gift.

“Me too,” you murmur, offering a shy, nervous smile. “You okay?”

“I’m great!” she exclaims, spinning toward the group in a cramped booth. “Everyone, this is Y/N, the friend I told you about.” There’s a chorus of hellos, waves, and friendly smiles.

“You remember James, right?” she asks, pointing to a curly-haired man with glasses. You do remember him. He’s the guy who picks up Lily from art class sometimes. Always nice enough to offer you a lift, but you’ve never taken him up on it. You’ve never met a couple quite as sickly sweet as Lily and James, and you can’t help but feel a little envious of how perfectly they fit together.

You nod and give him a small smile, which he returns.

Lily guides you to the edge of the booth, and the man next to you shuffles over to make room. “Thanks,” you mutter, sitting down.

Lily continues the introductions, her enthusiasm contagious as she goes around the table, pointing to each person in turn. When she gets to the two seated on your left, her grin widens mischievously.

"And this is Remus and Sirius. Don’t listen to a word Sirius says.” She says this with such affection that you can't help but be intrigued. You look up at them, and your breath catches in your throat. They’re both strikingly handsome in different ways. Remus has that soft, almost ethereal quality, like the first light of dawn. Sirius, on the other hand, is all sharp angles and devastating beauty, the kind that could stop anyone in their tracks.

You can’t help but feel like you’re staring a little too long, and you quickly look away, hoping they didn’t notice the awe you felt.

Sirius, however, seems to have noticed. "Charming, Red," he says, making a face at Lily before turning to you with a roguish smile. "Nice to meet you, gorgeous." He winks, and you flush, unsure whether to laugh or run.

Remus rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, though there's a soft fondness in his gaze as he turns to you. “Please, ignore him. Nothing good ever comes from indulging him.”

You giggle, feeling a little more at ease. “It’s nice to meet you both,” you say with a smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Sirius grins like he’s won some kind of victory despite the fact youve just said you'll try to ignore him, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "You’ll fit right in, I’m sure," he says, taking a long swig from his pint.

"Stop being a menace," Lily scolds, but her smile softens the words.

As the conversation flows around you, you begin to relax just a little. It’s easy to get caught up in the energy of the group. You find yourself laughing along, the tension in your chest easing with every passing minute.

But then, Remus leans in—just a little too close—ensuring you hear him clearly. You can’t help but feel a flutter of uncertainty with him suddenly so near, unsure how to react to the closeness.

"So, what do you do?" he asks, his expression soft with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, I work in a bookshop,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not exactly my dream job, though…” You drop your gaze, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention, avoiding the need to meet his eyes.

But Remus is persistent. He lowers his head, positioning himself so his gaze stays locked with yours. It’s impossible to look away now.

“What is it that you want to do?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“I’m not… I’m not sure yet, honestly. Still figuring it out,” you admit, shrugging as if to brush off the weight of uncertainty.

Remus mirrors your shrug, as if it’s second nature, and smiles reassuringly. “That’s okay. You’ll figure it out, smart girl.”

His words settle in your chest, a small but comforting warmth. You can’t help but smile back, grateful for his kindness.

Before you can respond, Sirius leans in, clearly unimpressed. “Stop hogging all her attention, Moony,” he says with a teasing grin. “There are other people here.”

“Leave him alone, Pads,” James adds with a playful wink. “I don’t know how you put up with him, Rem. Some bloody boyfriend.”

You're caught off guard, the teasing comment leaving you speechless. Hadn’t they both been flirting with you the entire time? You glance at Remus, your mind racing, before giving him a tentative smile.

“I didn’t realize you two were together,” you murmur, your voice too soft to carry over the buzz of the room. “You seem like a good match, though.”

Although you speak to Remus, it’s Sirius who answers, his grin wide and playful. “I’m glad you think so, gorgeous.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of light-hearted conversation, the occasional laugh from you blending into the friendly banter at the table. It feels good to be surrounded by such warm company, and you do your best to push any lingering thoughts about Remus or Sirius to the back of your mind.

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It’s a few days before you hear from Lily again. You usually only speak through text, so when you see her calling, a wave of panic washes over you. You brace yourself for the dreaded conversation, certain that she’s about to tell you her friends think you're too quiet or strange.

But when you answer, it’s not at all what you expected. “Everyone’s been asking me to invite you again,” Lily says, her voice light and reassuring. “So, I just wanted to check in—did you enjoy yourself?”

Relief floods through you. You shouldn’t be surprised by her thoughtfulness; Lily’s always been considerate of your shy nature since the moment you met. “I had a lovely time, don’t worry,” you reply, smiling even though she can’t see it. “Thank you for inviting me.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line before she speaks again, her tone slightly more hesitant. “There’s something else too… Remus and Sirius asked for your number. I told them I’d ask if you were okay with it.”

The unexpected request catches you off guard. “Oh…” You don’t know how to process it at first, your thoughts swirling.

Lily senses your hesitation and quickly reassures you, “They won’t hold a grudge if you’d rather not give it to them. It’s completely up to you.”

You take a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “No… no, it’s fine. You can give it to them. That’s alright.”

“Okay, I'll pass it along then.” you can hear the smile in her voice. “We’re all planning on going to the beach on saturday, i’d like it if you’d come?” and god is it hard to say no to Lily, so you agree right away.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

You're unsure of the hasty acceptance of her invite now, analysing the way your body looks in the one-piece swimming costume and denim shorts, laid out on the beach while everyone else is swimming. You’ve been trying to read, but you’ve been stuck on the same page for the last half hour, your eyes constantly drifting toward Remus and Sirius. Even worse, they seem to notice, locking eyes with you every time. It makes you want to sink into the sand and disappear.

Footsteps draw closer, pulling your attention up again, only to be met with the sight of Sirius, freshly emerged from the water, droplets still glistening on his skin. Your cheeks burn.

“You look lovely, doll.” He says softly, almost as though he’s trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Thank you,” you reply, your voice betraying a hint of insecurity. It feels like you’ve been caught in some strange game all day, a competition between them, each trying to outdo the other with compliments and small gestures. It’s overwhelming, but also, rather sweet.

“But I’m sure you hear that all the time, pretty thing.” You expect to see a mischievous smirk, but instead, he’s looking into the distance, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, completely unaware of the weight of his words. “Why aren’t you coming into the water with us?”

“I don’t really… like swimming?” you say, the words tentative, as if afraid they might disappoint him.

“That’s alright,” he replies, his voice soft and reassuring. “I’ll keep you company.” With that, he stretches out beside you, lying down just a bit too close, his hand brushing against the side of your thigh.

Your heart skips a beat at the proximity, and for a moment, you wonder if the warmth you feel on your skin is coming from the sun or from him. You try to focus on the book in your lap, but the words blur before your eyes. It’s difficult to concentrate when your thoughts are racing, and the rhythm of Sirius’s voice still lingers in your mind.

You glance over at him, catching the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. There’s something disarming about the way he makes himself so present, without any sign of expectation, just simply existing beside you.

Before you can muster another word, another figure approaches—this time, it's Remus. You don’t realize how tense you’ve become until you feel his presence like a shift in the air. He’s still wet from the water, though his movements are quieter, more deliberate. When his gaze finds yours, it's different from the teasing look you’ve gotten from Sirius. There’s something warmer in it.

“Mind if I join you two?” Remus asks, a slight grin playing at his lips. It’s playful, but his eyes are soft, almost knowing.

Sirius shifts, giving Remus a nod of acknowledgment, though his body remains close to yours.

“Sure, handsome,” Sirius says, turning his head to give Remus an easygoing smile. “The more the merrier.”

“What about you, dove?”

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with us both interrupting you?”

“Oh, yeah of course” you give him a soft smile that earns you a beaming one in return.

“I was just telling her how pretty she looks, Rem,” Sirius adds with a sly grin, completely unbothered by his own flirting. You however, very bothered, pitch forward and put your head in your hands, embarrassed.

Both of them laugh at your flustered reaction, amused by how easily you become shy. Once you sit up and finally meet their gazes, the words tumble out without thinking.

“You both look very pretty…” you hesitate, panic creeping in, “or handsome, whatever… you prefer.”

Sirius leans in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “I think ‘pretty’ suits us just fine, don’t you, Remus?”

Remus chuckles, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Absolutely,” he agrees, his tone light.

You feel the heat of your embarrassment creeping back, but there's something strangely comforting about the way they’re both so at ease with you. The tension in your chest seems to dissipate a little as you realize that, despite the teasing, they’re not mocking you—they’re enjoying the moment with you, in their own playful way.

Sirius shifts again, this time sitting up to stretch his legs out. His proximity doesn’t change, though, and you notice how his hand subtly finds its way to rest beside you on the towel, fingertips brushing against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it sends a shock of warmth straight to your core. You glance at him quickly, wondering if he meant to or not. But when his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there, an openness that catches you off guard.

“I meant it, you know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost serious. “You really do look beautiful.” There’s no teasing in his tone, only sincerity.

You blink, unsure of how to respond. The words feel like they’re hanging in the air between you two, heavy and vulnerable.

Remus leans forward, “It’s okay, you know,” he adds, a little more serious than before, though his smile is still gentle. “We don’t bite. Just… relax.” He says it in such a soft way that you can’t help but nod, feeling a strange sense of safety in his words. He gives a reassuring pat to your knee but his hand seems to linger for longer than necessary.

It's starting to become impossible not to feel at ease with the two of them, lingering touches passing between the three of you all afternoon.

As the sun dips below the horizon, everyone climbs back into the cars they arrived in, and you spend most of the drive lost in a daze, staring out the window from the back seat. Remus is driving, his hand resting comfortably on Sirius' thigh. The atmosphere is calm, peaceful. Before you even realize it, the car is slowing to a stop outside your flat.

“Do you… do you want to come up for a cup of tea?” you ask, hesitant but not wanting the evening to end.

“If you’re sure, then we will,” Remus replies, his tone cautious, as if unsure of whether he's overstepping.

You nod eagerly, flashing a smile, and just like that, you're inside your kitchen, preparing cups of tea for the two men lounging in your living room. From the doorway, you can just barely make out hushed, frantic whispers. Although you can’t make out the words, the uneasy energy is enough to make a knot tighten in your stomach.

As you step into the room, mugs in hand, the whispering falls silent. The stillness only deepens the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Thank you, Poppet,” Sirius says with a grin, taking a sip of his tea.

Before you can sit down, Remus calls your name softly.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice betraying the rapid beat of your heart as you turn to look at him.

“We wanted to ask you something, if that’s okay?” Remus says, his gaze gentle but serious.

You nod, your curiosity piqued, silently urging him to continue.

“Listen, we know this is a little… unconventional,” he starts, his words careful, “but we think you're lovely—”

“And gorgeous!” Sirius interrupts, his tone exuberant.

Remus gives him a pointed look before turning back to you. “Yes… and we were wondering if you’d want to—” He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully, but Sirius can't wait any longer.

“Christ… Lovely girl, will you go out on a date with us?” Sirius blurts out, his voice both impatient and hopeful.

Your jaw drops in stunned silence.

The room seems to freeze for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as you process Sirius’s words. It’s like you’ve stepped outside of your body, watching from a distance as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s just happened.

You glance at Remus, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is soft curiosity mixed with a hint of nervousness—just like you feel. You turn to Sirius, who is practically vibrating with anticipation, his eyes wide and hopeful. It’s almost as if he's holding his breath, waiting for your response.

"I... I didn’t expect that," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you instantly feel the flush creeping up your neck.

Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound that echoes in the quiet room. "Sorry, I know we’re kind of springing this on you. We just… we think you’re amazing,"

There’s an undeniable sincerity in his voice now, the playful teasing from earlier gone. Remus, too, is watching you carefully, his expression unreadable for a moment before he speaks softly.

"Take your time, okay?" he says, his voice low and reassuring. "We just wanted to know how you felt, no pressure."

You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure what to say. A thousand thoughts race through your mind—about the feelings you've started to develop for both of them, about the confusion, the surprise, the fact that both of them seem so genuinely interested in you.

It’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It's just... unexpected. You think about Remus’s quiet intensity, the way he listens to you with such care. But then Sirius, with his bold, teasing nature, somehow managed to worm his way under your skin, too, making you feel special in a way you never thought you deserved.

“Are you… are you sure?” you finally ask, feeling vulnerable but needing to know the truth.

At that, Remus rises and walks toward you, moving with quiet confidence. When he stops in front of you, he raises his hand, palm open, as if asking for permission. You remain still, and his hand gently lands on your shoulder, fingers trailing up your neck until they cup your cheek.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice firm yet tender, no hesitation to be found. His touch grounds you, the certainty in his words a balm to the fluttering nerves inside you.

You glance between them again, searching their faces, before your lips curve upward. “Then yes, I would love to,” you reply, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

Before you can even fully absorb your own answer, Sirius’s hand is in yours, his touch warm and eager, as if he can’t bear not touching you now.

Sirius grins widely, his eyes gleaming with excitement, and before you can blink, he's stepping closer. His thumb brushes against your skin, and it sends a spark straight through your chest.

"I’m glad," he says softly, voice a little huskier than before. There’s an intensity to him now, something beyond the teasing bravado. It makes your heart skip a beat.

Remus, who had been quietly watching the exchange, takes a small step toward you as well. The warmth of his presence, both of their presence, sends a calming wave through you. He’s not as brash as Sirius, but there’s something incredibly reassuring in the way he stands close, his gaze steady and gentle.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur, eyes searching yours with such care. His hand, still resting on your cheek, grounding you.

You nod, feeling your nerves slowly fade under their attention. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s as if the world tilts slightly, shifting into something new, something full of promise. The uncertainty in your chest dissolves as the two men stand in front of you, their warmth, their sincerity, and their shared attention making you feel like you’re exactly where you need to be.

Sirius leans in first, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, fleeting kiss, the gesture as tender as it is electrifying. It catches you off guard, leaving your skin tingling in the best way. When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't worry, doll," he whispers, his voice light but full of affection

You barely have time to process the warmth of his words before Remus steps forward, his gaze unwavering as he looks down at you. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice so quiet, so sincere, that it sends a shiver down your spine.

The question takes your breath away. You can’t help but nod, your heart hammering in your chest.

Remus’s smile is soft, almost shy, as he leans in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wanted. But you don’t. You want this—want him—so badly that the moment his lips meet yours, you melt into him. The kiss is gentle at first, a whisper of sensation, but it deepens as his hand shifts to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer.

The world seems to disappear, leaving only the feel of his lips against yours and the rush of emotions that swirl in your chest. When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless, eyes locked.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he presses his forehead against yours.

Before you can respond, you feel Sirius’s presence behind you again, his hand brushing against your back, warm and steady. He leans down, his lips catching yours in a kiss that’s more eager than the first, but just as careful. It’s a different kind of warmth—intense, full of promise—and when he pulls back, there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can hardly catch your breath, both Remus and Sirius’s touches lingering like a slow-burning fire against your skin. The kisses, tender yet fervent, have left you dizzy and wide-eyed, unsure of how to process everything that’s just happened. But even in the overwhelming haze of emotions, you feel something undeniably special, something that’s hard to name but impossible to ignore.

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let me know what you think of this! <3 i appreciate all feedback

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #poly!wolfstar x reader #poly!wolfstar x you #poly!wolfstar x y/n #poly!wolfstar fic #poly!wolfstar imagine #poly!wolfstar drabble #wolfstar x reader #wolfstar x you #wolfstar x y/n #poly!wolfstar #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader

2K notes · View notes

foreid · 6 months ago

Text

⊹₊ ⋆ ㅤ— “FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE . .ᐟᅟ ”

part 1 | part 2

wrd count: 1304

warnings: smut, fem!reader x josh, dry-humping, drinking, josh is a pervert, semi-plot, make out, drunk reader, smutty indications, aggressive teasing

a/n : my bi-monthly drop!!!! wrote this for my dear friend adri, and me :3 but also because i just finished until dawn and this sexy man is EVERYWHERE… will be writing more of him soon. stay tuned ! ;)

you knew your limits when it came to alcohol, what you could handle and what you couldn’t.

but joshua washington had to be the world's best sweet talker. because you’d convinced everyone at the lodge you’d be the most sober.

now you were the only one slurring out a random song with an empty bottle of expensive vodka wrapped around your perfectly jeweled up and manicured hand.

“jooooosssshhhhh…” you slurred to him, clinging onto his bicep that felt oddly larger than usual. all he could do was give that signature sexy laugh and shake his head at you.

he was gentle with you, still obviously teasing but not to an extent.

the boy knew you weren’t 100% yourself when you got this drunk.

“mhm, that’s my name.” he said to you, the two of you weren’t necessarily separated from the group, but you weren’t close enough to be in their conversations.

that was always the case when the two of you were together.

but to him, close was never close enough.

you were rubbing your face all on his flannel, cheek chubbying up and only looking up at him through your eyelids.

eyes big and full of drunken content.

to him, you were just so pretty vulnerable.

the way he was looking down at you was almost straight out of a cheap porno.

his wide eyes, now low and full of an extreme emotion that your weak brain couldn’t understand.

but you had an idea that it was what you were wearing, not to toot your own horn.

soft layers: a tight white tank top stacked with a hot pink zip-up that had fur on the hood and graphics on the back, your tight denim shorts and fleece tights that were meant to keep you warm, but anyone with a right mind knew they were just for show.

technically… you had packed more outfits like this for the trip, but that’s because you weren’t expecting the cabin to be so bitterly cold.

so it wasn’t really even your fault.

in reality, you were dressing this way on purpose.

okay maybe you were dressed like this because you loved the attention.

the peering looks he gave you anytime you walked by, the snarky comments that left his perfect mouth.

who were you to blame? look at that man.

“feelin’ clingy tonight, huh?” he taunted, laughing in your face at the way you were holding onto him and gawking.

“me—? clingy? y’r funny, washington…” all you could do was stutter and stumble on your words.

he made you nervous and you were so intoxicated you could barely think before speaking.

holding him like this made you imagine all the possibilities. all the things you could be doing to each other right now.

and it almost felt like he was thinking the same, like you were always riding on the same wavelength.

you know something else you could ride on.

it was stupid to imagine but there’s always been a tension between you two, so thick and palpable that it left you knees-weak every time he flirted with you.

“let’s just cut the bullshit. c’mon.” before you could even process that he was talking to you, a rough set of calluses were wrapped around your forearm, tugging you somewhere in the lodge that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the second you heard a door close behind you two, you realized you were in the master bedroom,

only knowing this due to the sudden change of temperature in the room compared to the living room.

“wha- aren’t they gonna n— notice that we’re gone?” you were confused, but you trusted him.

despite the evident look of hunger and lust in his eyes. you trusted yourself in his hands.

“i don’t care. i just needed to get you alone.” his mouth made its way to your ear, slowly, as his warm breath came to touch with your skin,

your body froze up at the sudden attention, making you feel warm. “y/n. almost years i’ve been fantasizing about you, ever since we met,” he paused and cautiously reached for your hips.

his hands were warm and you felt safe, once you processed his words you became putty in them.

“huh?”

was all you could mutter out, keeping yourself in place by grabbing onto his triceps, looking up at him through your full and wispy eyelashes.

“i’m sayin’ i wanna fuck you, pornstar. your skin is so soft and warm. i wanna know,” he paused to straighten himself up and look at you.

“i wanna know what it feels like inside that pussy of yours.”

drunk, he was drunk this had to be the drinks talking. there was no way this was real.

even if he was intoxicated, that didn’t stop his words from going straight in between your legs. arousal pooling onto your lacy panties.

could’ve sworn your eyes started to roll back at the dirty talk, he was so good at it too.

“y’don’t mean that—“ he quickly cut you off, pulling you in nice and personal and grabbing at the plush skin that was covered by tight denim. “i do. with every fiber in me, i swear i do.”

the physical attention was overwhelming, and the verbal one was even more intense. you didn’t know what else to do but to give in to something you’ve been praying for for so long.

you couldn’t even suck in a breath before he was crashing his lips onto yours.

it was a kiss that made you dizzy, you melted into it though, wrapping yourself onto him.

he led you backwards, kissing you still while he was walking, pressing your back against whatever wall was close; stabilizing you with his knee between your legs.

you were holding onto the hair on the back of his head for dear life, loving the hot and messy kiss so much that it turned you on.

all the sexual frustration of not getting any in almost a year turned you into some horn dog.

your head was spinning, you could barely make out a thought. josh’s hand began to unzip your jacket, sliding it off your body while his lips started roaming down your neck.

“i ca— can’t take it,” a whine slipped out of your lips, head turned to face away from him to hide away your embarrassment.

this didn’t stop him though, you felt him smile against your skin and only itch on more.

rutting your hips for you against his clothed leg while he started sucking ravishingly against your neck, josh himself could barely keep himself from grinning at how much he’s won.

josh was the type for messy and quick sex. but when he thinks of having it with you, he wants it hard and slow.

painfully slow. so he can make you take in everything, make you feel everything all at once.

his fingers started sliding off the straps of your tight shirt, lips starting to make contact with the plush skin of your breasts.

“so fuckin’ sexy. just like i imagined. you g’nna let me give it to you? hm?” he was teasing, words muffled by the way he had his lips wrapped around your nipple.

“god i can’t wait to fill you up. gonna tell chris how good this pussy is.” josh snickered, grinning at the mess he was making of you.

and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

he brought himself up to bite on your ear, hands teasing your breasts as your hips (which had minds of their own) kept grinding on his knee, the friction making your brain go into mush.

your mind was completely blown, blank and empty.

fingers were digging and wrinkling up his flannel as your mouth was agape.

you were all hot and bothered, needing and yearning for more.

if you felt this good only from foreplay, imagine how good being so full of his dick was gonna be.

you couldn’t wait.

you were letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make,

and he was barely getting started.

#lilachvn #fan fiction #until dawn #josh washington #josh until dawn #joshua washington #josh washington x reader #until dawn fanfics #reader x joshua washington #smut fanfiction #josh washington smut #writing

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dearmini · 1 month ago

Text

𐔌 승민 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ keep the change, and my heart ꩜

KIM SEUNGMIN! ⓘ slowly falling in love with the barista at your favorite and usual cafe.

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏arista!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 31ss. ⎯⎯ Yᗩᑎi's ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. food, bantering , weird jokes. ┆ ☁️ ⋮ smau .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ kim seungmin !!!!!! finally able to post this !!!!!! tumblr has been silencing me on my main.. dpmo. obviously, it's terrible so here's my debut on my backup? oh well >< it has been a while since i posted about ksm.. anyway, happy reading <3

the honeybean café smelled like burnt sugar and roasted espresso beans; sweet, warm, a little bit chaotic. like always.

the place was quieter now. the late shift had melted into slow jazz playing through the speakers, and felix was somewhere in the back arguing with pink frosting. outside, the streetlights flickered, soft and golden, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. inside, you were still seated at your usual spot—the window seat with the tiny chip on the corner of the table and a view of nothing in particular.

you watched seungmin walk over. no apron this time. just a navy knit sweater, sleeves rolled up slightly, exposing pale wrists and that stupid silver ring he wore on his thumb. his hair was fluffed up a little, like he’d tried to fix it before walking over, but got nervous halfway through and gave up.

you tried not to smile. you failed.

he stood across from you, hands stuffed in his pockets, pretending he didn’t see felix lurking in the background like a nosy raccoon. “so,” seungmin said, voice low and casual, “you come here often?”

you snorted. “don’t open with a pickup line. it’s embarrassing for both of us.”

“i’m just trying to set the tone,” he shrugged, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “romantic. classic. café romance.”

“you were literally just texting me from across the room.”

“and you liked it,” he countered, pulling the chair out and sitting across from you. “admit it.”

you pretended to think. “i liked the part where you wrote ‘you still write about me?’ on my cup like a wattpad boy.”

he blinked. “wow. i’m gonna take that as a yes.”

“you do that.”

the silence between you wasn’t awkward. it was comfortable, warm—like a mug held between both hands. he was watching you now, a little quieter, a little softer. the sharp edge in his eyes dulled by the dim café lights and whatever the hell was playing on the speaker now (probably jazz with a trumpet solo too long to exist).

“i was gonna wait,” he said eventually. “you know. to ask.”

“to ask what?”

he rolled his eyes. “don’t make me say it.”

you leaned forward. “say it.”

his mouth twitched like he was holding in a sigh—or a laugh. “fine.”

he tapped the table once. “you. me. dinner. a real one. no barista apron. no duck cakes. just... us.”

you blinked.

he shrugged. “unless your next poem’s gonna be about someone else.”

you scoffed, but your stomach was doing cartwheels. “who said i’d say yes?”

“i didn’t,” he said, standing up again. “but i’m willing to bet on it.”

as he turned to walk back toward the counter, you spotted something scribbled in thick marker on your cup. a new message.

“if this is a date, write something about my eyes next.”

you picked up the cup. still warm. like him.

you took a sip. smiled.

maybe you’d write about his smile too.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 — fill out this form to be added !! 𝑘𝑠𝑚 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @met30rc1ty

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3

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braindeadjaidyn · 6 months ago

Note

Rafe following his babysitter into the bathroom

Fucking her against the door, holding her mouth closed with his hand

His family just outside in the living room, while he is fing her as hard as he can

BABYSITTERS CLUB!

summary:..-> reader and rafe always had a thing for each other. everything changes once she picks up a babysitting job, babysitting the one and only kook king.

warnings:..-> smut, p n v, bad dirty words, wards a douche, rough sex, rushed sex, both cum quick:(, sex that could’ve got them caught?? EVERYONE IS OF AGE!!!

word count:..-> 2700.

a/n:..-> hello pookie and pookies! okay so don’t be mad….i know I didn’t do the bathroom but I hope this okay! i got tunnel vision and didn’t even realize! im sorry if i edged yall with the constant build up. yall writing sex is HARD. anyway requests are open bye love u. AND BE NICE.

It was almost laughable that Rafe fucking Cameron, kook king needed a babysitter. It WAS laughable. Ward Cameron had contacted you through Facebook knowing of the fact you babysit. Yeah, you did, but not 20-year-old frat guys.

Ward Cameron: Hello Y/n! Your father told me you do babysitting and I’m looking to hire one for tonight! It would be for my son and daughter, it may seem a little odd. My apologies. I will be having some important meetings with a large group, and I don’t trust either to be on their best behavior. Please contact me back so we can discuss further! I’ll pay 500$ for 3 hours.

The message sent you into a fit of cackles, screenshotting the text and sending it to all your friends. The idea was so tempting. So fucking tempting. 500$ for 3 hours was a literal steal…Yet you were going to be in the presence of the insufferable Rafe Cameron. You hadn’t had many interactions with Rafe, he usually just teased you for being the ‘prude good girl’ every time you told him no to hook up. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about letting him fuck the shit out of you, hell you almost did. Every time you’d open your mouth to try and agree he’d open his spewing his bullshit, immediately forcing you to shut your own.

You bit at the soft flesh on your bottom lip, tapping the phone with your eyes trained on the text. Fuck it. 500$ for keeping the cocky frat boy in line sounded so good, so so fucking good. You agreed, and your thumbs moved quickly over the screen. Your lip was still tucked firmly between your teeth as you waited for his father’s reply.

Y/n L/n: That sounds good! Thank you so much Mr. Cameron! I’ll be there. When should I be there and can I have the address?

Ward Cameron: Of course Y/n! My meeting is in about 40 minutes, I would like you here as soon as possible. I will be here the whole time so I’ll give you a rundown of responsibilities and such when you arrive. *address*.

This soon? You immediately scrambled to your feet, throwing on some more appropriate clothes than your lounge ones. You were so quick you thought your heels were on fire.

Soon enough here you were on the Camerons porch knocking on the front door. Jesus, why did you agree to this? Fuck. The only time you ever interacted with Rafe was when you were fucked up, now here you were sober about to babysit the grown-ass man. This is ridiculous. The door swung open, of fucking course Rafe Cameron was the one to answer it. Sporting his stupid handsome smirk and backward cap. “You’re the one who’s keepin’ me on a leash tonight girl?” He drawled, flashing you his teeth.

Goddamn, his fucking fine ass. You tongued the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his comment. With a tilt of your head and a soft huff, you finally met his gaze. “Just shut up and let me in Cameron,” With that Rafe chuckled, shaking his head as he moved from the door opening it further. You could feel his sharp stare as you walked past him and into the house. You were a little in awe at the niceness but quickly masked it, tucking your face back into its resting expression. Rafe didn’t miss it as he sidestepped around you, his smirk only growing.

“You never been in a house this nice princess?,” Rafe taunted, his smirk replaced with a smug smile.”Come on, my dad’s in here,” He led you further into the home, and you lagged behind. Cursing him internally at his snarky comments. Why was this dude such a diva? You followed aimlessly looking around at the different decor, this was so different from your own house.

Ward Cameron sat on the sofa, his attention on the laptop resting on the marble coffee table, his fingers working against the keys. He just looked like a dick, great….Rafe cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. You picked up his sudden change in demeanor, his once arrogant self replaced with a look that looked like a kicked puppy. It was sad, actually very sad. But you shrugged off your sympathy as Ward glanced up his face lighting up in foe friendliness. “Y/n my dear. Thank you for coming,” Ward greeted, closing the distance between the three. “Right well, I'm having a large meeting this evening. Lots of colleagues and other investors are joining me today. We will be using the living room, my office would be far too cramped. I’m just asking you to keep an eye on everyone and out of the living room.”

This man just screamed condescending. You nodded, sending him a soft smile. Once again you fought the urge to roll your eyes, how did he expect his grown son to listen to her? He was Rafe Cameron. It was widely known he doesn’t listen to anyone. “Yes sir, I can do that.” You spoke softly and sweetly, it was an act yet you wanted that 500$. Rafe sent you another smirk before he licked his lips to keep his dirty comment to himself. Ward nodded, reaching out to softly pat your shoulder. He quickly pulled away, and you fought the urge to jerk away. “Great! Well, Rafe behave. You’re 20 years old. It’s ridiculous that I had to even hire her.” Ward shot his son a pointed look, which made Rafe emotionally cower. Rafe just firmly nodded, his arms folded over his chest. You had to divert your gaze, your cheeks heating as you noticed how his shirt sleeves were straining against his muscles. Fuck.

A firm rushed knock at the front door thankfully interrupted your sinful thoughts. Ward immediately jerked his head to the noise, moving past the young adults. “Right, that's my meeting. So see you both later.” Ward called as he barely bothered looking over his shoulder at the two. He disappeared out of the living, and you could feel Rafe's eyes on you. Jesus Christ, does he have an off button? You met his gaze, surprised to see it was blank. “What?” You questioned, your face slightly twisted and your eyebrow arched.

Rafe just sighed deeply, running his hand over his cap. “Let’s get upstairs before he throws a bitch fit,” Rafe muttered, his body already moving toward and up the stairs. You followed, your heart beating wildly. It felt weird how domestic? No. Casual. Yeah, how casual this was. His long legs ate away at the distance of the stairs, you lagged behind feeling a little awkward by everything. I mean you’re fucking babysitting Rafe Cameron and his little sister, it was weird. You made your way to the top of the steps, glancing at him awkwardly for his next move. You could already hear the chatter from the men downstairs.

“Quit actin’ all fuckin shy girl, Les’ go Sarah’s in here,” Rafe smirked his head cocking over to a door, his hand pulling the door open. “How’s it hangin’ Sar?,” You were now standing in the doorway of what you assumed was a movie room, you knew they were rich but they were richhh. Sarah barely glanced up from her phone at the duo, shrugging her shoulders in response. Rafe plopped down on one of the sofas, legs spread open as he looked you over. “Sooo, are you always this weird when you're sober princess?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words. He was so damn cocky and for what? You scowled at him, your pretty face twisting. “Do you always need a babysitter at your grown age?” You snarked, your hands crossing over your chest and you shifted your weight to your hip. Rafe took notice of that and eyed your hip for a moment, chuckling as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

“Real cute baby, don’t be throwin’ that up in my face.” Rafe rasped, his eyes looking over you cocking his brow at the fact you were still standing in the doorway. He patted the cushion next to him, a smirk on his lips. “Don’t be shy princess, I won't bite.”

You thought for a moment before begrudgingly plopping yourself down next to him. It was a small couch, so small you were brushing thighs with him. You averted your gaze as you felt your cheeks flush at the contact. You knew he was planning something, you could feel it in his stares. Rafe was planning something, more so just thinking about fucking you stupid over the armrest of the couch. He was going to hell for what he was about to ask, especially with Sarah in the room. He leaned forward, bracing his hand on the top of the couch. Rafe's chest was flush against your shoulder, his head ducked down by your ear fanning his breath down your neck. “Why won’t you let me fuck you princess?”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, his breath sending your mind into overdrive. You bit your lip, adjusting your skirt to try and compose yourself. You were bright red and you could feel it, you could also feel the ache between your legs at his tone. You had to remind yourself Sarah was in the room. You looked over at him and felt like you could melt when you met his smug gaze. “I mean..I-I would-,“ Your voice was low and quiet, careful for Sarah's listening ears, but before you could finish Sarah's dramatically loud groan and the thump of her phone cut you off. You were so down bad.

“The fuc- The wifi just went out, ugh. Rafe fix it,” Sarah whined, looking at her older brother with pleading eyes. The only issue was the router was in the living room. Rafe sighed deeply at the interruption, glancing over at Sarah with narrowed eyes.

Rafe definitely couldn’t go down there and fuck with the router with his dad having a meeting. It was the whole point why Y/n was there. But he could get her downstairs and alone…So tempting in his pervy brain and worth a shot. “Fine. Come on Y/n. Be my cover.”

Seriously? He was going to go down there, practically asking for a meltdown from his dad. Before you could protest he had you by the forearm and dragged you out of the movie room. “Rafe-“ You went to speak but he cut you off as he pressed his finger to his lips, silently shushing you as the two of you crept down the stairs. You both met at the bottom of the stairs, the living room just around the corner, a wall protecting the view of the duo. The laughs and voices of multiple men were slightly muffled from the distance.

You crept forward, keeping close to the wall not without shooting Rafe a pointed look. You were falling right into his dirty trap, just like he wanted. His mind only focused on fucking that cunt and your interrupted words. Before you could peek over the corner he pressed your back flush against the wall, his body eliminating the distance as he pressed his front to yours. He smirked down at you, his eyes roving over you like you were prey. “Finish your sentence, pretty girl.” He commanded, his voice low, careful to not attract anyone’s attention.

Your mouth opened to speak but the words were lost in your throat. Your mind was spinning at the closeness, your pussy was practically pleading. You could only hold his intense stare, his hand snaking around to grip the back of your thigh. “Say it. Tell me you want this dick baby.” Rafe cooed his mouth coming to your ear, his lips brushing the skin. Fuck this. You were already soaked from his touch, his words only increased the throb. You couldn’t believe what you were about to do, but it was Rafe fucking Cameron…

You nodded weakly, hands fisting his shirt as you lifted the thigh he grasped. “I want it, please.” You wanted to smack yourself for the desperation in your tone, but you never wanted to get fucked like you did now. Rafe pounced, his lips immediately crashing into yours. It was sloppy and full of need. God, he kissed like a fucking whore. You couldn’t help but mewl against his lips, your body felt like it was on fire. His hands were everywhere, leaning his body against yours as his hands grabbed the flesh of your ass from under your skirt. Which earned him another soft mewl, yet it was muffled by his soft lips. He rutted himself against you, god this was so nasty. So down bad. But you were fucking loving it. So was Rafe.

He pulled away, his chest heaving with heavy deep breaths. His lips were wet, and he looked sinful. You moved your hands to the waistband of his shorts, working away the button and zipper. You couldn't help it truly. Rafe liked your eagerness, his ego inflated as well as his dick. “Needy fuckin’ girl.” Rafe tsked lowly, assisting you as he tugged away down his shorts, his hands moving to the waistband of his boxers, he couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction to the tent in his boxers. Your eyes were wide, pretty lips parted in need. He freed himself from the boxers, fisting his cock as he looked you over. Fuck. He was so hot. You took this as your cue, you moved your panties to the side. This wasn’t the best spot to get caught fully exposed…

“Rafe…What if someone- fuck- mph-“ You whispered, cut off by Rafe thrusting his cock into you his hand clamping over your mouth. He kept his other hand on the back of your thigh, as he pounded into you. His cock was moving in your slick walls at a relentless pace, his fat tip brushing areas you never knew existed.

Rafe had his lips parted, his head hung back as your pussy clenched tightly around him. He kept his hand firmly clasped around your mouth, he smooshed the side of your face into the wall, his cock fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. The sound of your pelvis’s kissing was sinful. “Take it, take this fat dick,” Rafe growled lowly, his eyes glancing to the corner of the wall as he heard a couple of men speak louder.

You couldn’t even muster a response, let alone voice it due to his harsh grip around your mouth. You could only pathetically whine and cry against his palm, as his cock brushed that spongy spot deep into you. Your teeth grazed the flesh of his hand as he repositioned his thrusts, fucking you upwards against the wall. You clawed at his arms, your cunt squeezing tightly around his cock. God, you couldn’t believe how close he had gotten you so quickly. Your lower stomach burned with need, your core aching for release. You could tell Rafe was close, his brows knitted and his lip tucked between his teeth. His cock twitched in your velvety walls, he dropped his hand from your thigh moving his fingers to firmly rub your clit. You bit at the flesh of his hand, hoping to muffle your screams as you crashed over the edge. Your body trembling, eyes rolled back as you made a mess on his fat cock. You clamped down on his cock as Rafe let out a deep groan, planting his cock deep into you as he painted your womb with his warm cum. Your chest heaved with fast shaky breaths, you just let Rafe Cameron fuck you against a wall, while his father and however many men were on the other side.

Rafe pulled out of you, a sly smile on his lips. He pulled your panties back to the side and tucked himself back into his boxers with a chuckle. He held your wide blown-out gaze as he pulled his shorts up. “You’re a shit babysitter princess.”

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leriexoxo · 11 days ago

Text

Rumor Has It…

Bully! Jeongin x Fem Reader

Genre: Bully AU, Rivals to Lovers, College AU

Tags: Smut, Angst, Fluff, bullying themes, toxic behavior, jealousy, possessive behavior, rough kisses, emotionally confusing situations, mutual obsession, protected sex, soft aftercare

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: You had a crush on the golden boy junior everyone loved. Jeongin noticed—and didn’t take it well. Now you’re his favorite target, his sharpest insult, his worst-kept secret. The tension between you two builds until it breaks… or explodes.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

A/N: This was a request from an anon. (Next time, ask with your account so i can tag you and also be sure you’re not a minor 😩 I only wrote this cos I actually loved the idea) Hope you enjoy it!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t mean to draw attention to yourself.

Especially not his.

College was supposed to be your quiet reset. New campus, new people, no more high school drama or cafeteria hierarchy. You weren’t aiming for popularity, just a peaceful freshman year with decent grades and enough coffee to survive it.

And for a while, that’s what you had.

Until Jeongin.

Jeongin was a junior—untouchable in every sense. Smart, smooth-talking, always surrounded by people who hung onto his every word. Girls giggled louder when he passed by. Guys looked up to him like he ran the place. Professors loved him. The kind of person who could talk his way out of anything and charm his way into everything.

You noticed him early on—how could you not?

The way his hoodie always hung loose off one shoulder, the curve of his grin when he was teasing someone, the casual way he leaned against doorframes like they were made for him. He was so far out of your league it was laughable. But you still found yourself watching.

A crush. That’s all it was. Harmless.

Until that seminar.

The class was small—thirty students tops—and you’d arrived late that day, flustered and sleep-deprived. The only seat left was next to him. You hesitated, but the professor had already called your name.

So you sat beside Yang Jeongin.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge you. Not at first.

You didn’t mean to answer the question out loud. You really didn’t. But the professor had asked something you’d actually studied, and your hand went up before you could think twice.

And Jeongin looked at you.

A slow turn of his head. Just a glance. But it lingered. And when he smiled—sharp and unreadable—it felt like the floor dropped beneath your chair.

“Freshman’s got opinions,” he said, not even bothering to whisper it.

The class laughed. You shrank.

He didn’t stop there.

After that day, something shifted. He started showing up next to you more often—always with some offhanded comment.

“Didn’t know they were letting high schoolers audit this course.”

“You sure you’re not lost? Cafeteria’s two buildings down.”

“Careful. That bag looks heavy. Don’t hurt your baby arms.”

It was constant. Subtle enough that no one really called him out, but pointed enough that you felt it. Always you. You’d seen him joke around with his friends before, but this was different. He wasn’t laughing with you—he was smirking at you.

You stopped sitting near him. Stopped speaking up in class.

But it didn’t matter. He always found you.

One time, you heard him tell someone you were “the new campus kitten—jumpy, clueless, probably still using Apple Notes to write essays.”

You hated him. You hated him.

And still, your stupid heart stuttered whenever he leaned too close.

Still, your eyes searched for him in the crowd.

You wished you could stop noticing him. Wished his cologne didn’t stick in your lungs after he brushed past. Wished he wasn’t so effortlessly hot when he was being awful.

Wished he didn’t make you feel so small and seen all at once.

And he had no idea.

He didn’t know you ever liked him. Didn’t know you still kind of did.

Didn’t know that even when you clenched your fists and scowled in his direction, your throat tightened whenever he said your name.

And you swore to yourself, if he pushed you one more time—just once more—you’d snap.

You tried to avoid him.

Switched lecture sections. Ate lunch in the library. Took the long way around campus if you so much as sensed him nearby.

But Jeongin was like smoke—always finding its way into your lungs, no matter how tightly you sealed the windows. And once he’d gotten a taste for your discomfort, it was like he couldn’t get enough.

He started showing up in places you knew he didn’t belong. The student lounge outside your psych class. The library’s third floor where you studied every Wednesday. Once, he even joined your shared elective’s group chat and volunteered for your project team—just so he could be across from you during meetings, watching you squirm.

And yet, he never touched you. Never raised his voice. Just words. Looks. Quiet mockery, sugarcoated in charm.

Golden boy, they called him.

But he was especially cruel when it came to you.

“You always this jumpy?” he asked once, sliding into the seat beside you without warning. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned closer. “Unless you want me to.”

You’d swallowed hard, gritting your teeth through the heat crawling up your neck. “Do you enjoy this?” you muttered under your breath. “Being a dick?”

He chuckled. “Only when it works.”

You hated that you flushed. Hated that your mouth went dry and your pulse picked up. Hated that he could reduce you to that with a look.

So you buried it. You ignored him. You let him win.

Until the party.

You hadn’t even planned on going. But your roommate begged you, and honestly, you needed the distraction. Music, noise, new people. Anything that wasn’t Jeongin’s smirk or his voice in your ear.

You didn’t expect him to be there. It wasn’t even his crowd.

But of course, he was.

And he noticed you immediately.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say anything. Just stood across the room—red cup in hand, dark eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting for you to walk in.

You turned away.

Which was probably why you ended up talking to the guy by the drinks table. He was nice. Funny. A little nerdy, but in a charming way. He made you laugh. And it felt good—so good—to be seen without malice.

But then something shifted.

You felt it before you saw it. A weight. A pull.

And when you turned your head, Jeongin was watching again—this time with his jaw tight and eyes sharp, like he was trying not to feel something.

You brushed it off.

Until the next week—when whispers started following you around campus.

Heard she’s easy.

Thirsty freshman.

Already trying to climb.

You froze when you heard it. Your hands shook when you opened your phone and saw the vague, biting posts floating around socials. No names, of course. Just cruel implications.

But you knew. Everyone else might not—but you knew.

And so you stopped avoiding him.

You found him.

He was outside the dining hall, laughing with a few people you didn’t recognize. Sunglasses on. Perfect smile. Still untouchable.

You didn’t wait. You walked right up to him, heart pounding, fists clenched.

His smile faltered when he saw you. “Well, well. Campus kitten found her claws.”

You didn’t blink. “Did you start it?”

He tilted his head. “Start what?”

“The rumors.”

Silence.

Then: “Why? Upset someone finally saw through the act?”

That was it.

You stepped forward, shoving at his chest—harder than you meant to.

He caught your wrist before it could fall. His fingers closed, warm and sure, his grip firm—but not rough. Not quite.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re not built for war.”

Your breath hitched. His face was close. Too close.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered.

“And you,” he said low, eyes flickering to your lips, “should stop looking at me like that if you really hate me.”

And just like that, you weren’t sure if you were about to slap him… or kiss him.

Your wrist slipped from his grip.

And you didn’t hold back this time.

“You’re a fucking coward,” you snapped, voice louder than intended. “That’s what you are. You act like you’re too cool to care, but you’re the one hiding behind whispers and petty rumors. What—scared people might think the golden boy actually gives a shit about someone like me?”

It was the first time you’d ever seen Jeongin freeze.

His smile dropped.

His jaw clenched.

And you didn’t wait to see what came next.

You turned on your heel and left.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid.

Your hands were still shaking as you pushed open the dorm stairwell door, taking the stairs two at a time just to get away from the weight in your chest. You didn’t know what hurt more—how badly you’d wanted him to say something real, or how stupid it was to expect anything from someone like him.

You barely made it to your floor when the door slammed open behind you.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

You spun around.

Jeongin stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes blazing, chest heaving like he’d sprinted the whole way.

“I said you’re a coward,” you bit out, “and a dick. And I hate you.”

He was in front of you before you could blink, cornering you against the wall at the end of the hall. Not touching. Not yet. Just close—his breath ghosting across your cheek, his expression unreadable.

“You hate me?” he echoed, voice low.

You nodded, stubborn. “With every fiber of my being.”

“Funny,” he muttered, “you didn’t look at me like you hated me the other night at the party. When you were smiley and giggly for that guy by the punch bowl.”

Your stomach twisted. “So you did start the rumors.”

“Maybe” he said flatly. “After I saw you with him.”

You blinked, thrown off. “What—?”

“Because I didn’t like it,” he said, voice sharp now, as if he hated admitting it. “I didn’t like watching you laugh with him. I didn’t like how close he stood. I didn’t like that you smiled like that for someone who wasn’t me.”

The air thickened. His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I don’t like any of this,” he whispered. “And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

And then he moved even closer—just enough to skim your cheek, his lips barely brushing the corner of your mouth. A heartbeat. A single breath between contact and restraint.

“I’m not the only one lying here,” he murmured. “You say you hate me, but your body doesn’t know how to fake it.”

You hated how your breath hitched. How the heat between you tightened into something unbearable.

“Say it again,” he challenged. “Look me in the eye and say you hate me.”

You swallowed.

But you didn’t say a word.

Because you couldn’t.

And he knew it.

“You’re a sick asshole, you know that?” you spat, cornered between the stairwell wall and the weight of his body again.

Jeongin didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked satisfied. Like he wanted you mad.

“Because I didn’t like seeing you with someone else?” he asked, dark eyes narrowing. “Because I made sure no one else would touch you after that?”

Your pulse jumped.

“You spread a rumor that I sleep around,” you hissed, throat tight. “You called me easy, Jeongin.”

“I didn’t say your name,” he said coolly. “They just knew who to talk about.”

Your chest heaved.

“You ruined my reputation just because I talked to someone who wasn’t you?”

His jaw clenched, and this time, he didn’t hide it.

“Yeah. I did,” he said.

Simple. Sharp. No excuses.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who made me do it.”

You shoved him, hard.

He didn’t budge.

“Get away from me,” you said, though your voice cracked on the last word.

“Say you didn’t like it,” he muttered, dipping his head lower. “Say you didn’t like knowing I cared that much.”

Your mouth opened—to scream, to curse, to spit in his face—but the only thing that came out was a weak, shaky breath as your back hit the wall harder than before. He didn’t touch you, but his words slid across your skin like hands.

“You want me to apologize for it?” he said, tone mock-soft. “Or do you just want to know if I’d do it again?”

You swallowed hard.

Because you should slap him. Scream at him. Run.

But instead, your thighs pressed tighter together, heat crawling traitorously up your neck.

And Jeongin saw it.

His lips curled into something dangerous.

“You hate me,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “But you still want me.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Your heart thundered.

You hated him.

You hated him so much.

And if he leaned in just a little closer, you were going to do something really fucking silly.

You shoved your hand against his chest, breathing hard, trying to steady your voice through the fire crawling up your spine.

“Say you’re sorry.”

Jeongin blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you snapped. “Say. You’re. Sorry.”

He stared at you, eyes flicking between your lips and the frustration trembling through your body. You didn’t think he’d do it—he wasn’t the type. But then something in him cracked.

His hand curled behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair, the tension in his jaw cutting like glass.

“I’m sorry.”

You froze.

His voice was low, but not mocking. Not cold.

Real.

“I’m sorry for the rumor. For the way I talk to you. For being a complete fucking asshole.”

Your breath caught. Your heart stuttered. And before you could react—

He kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t sweet or slow, not at first—it was messy, wild, weeks of sharp words and stolen glances crashing together in one devastating second. His lips crashed against yours like he was trying to make you forget every insult, every time he looked at you like you were nothing—and you kissed him back like you knew he was lying every damn time.

His hands slipped down, palms flattening against your waist, dragging you closer. Your fingers fisted in his shirt like you were trying to keep from drowning.

He broke the kiss first, barely.

“I meant it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “I’m sorry.”

Your hand cupped his jaw. “Then shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And this time, it was slower. Deeper. A different kind of desperate—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your mouth, like he’d waited too long to do it right.

You hated him.

But God, you wanted him.

—

It had been three weeks since Jeongin kissed you in that stairwell.

Three weeks since he muttered an apology against your lips, like it physically pained him to admit he’d been wrong. Three weeks with your heart in your throat and your mouth still tingling from the way he kissed you like it meant everything.

And in those three weeks, Jeongin hadn’t touched you once.

But he texted you.

God, he texted you.

At first, it was random.

[1:47 AM] Jeongin:

can’t sleep

You didn’t answer. The next morning, he texted again.

[9:04 AM] Jeongin:

ignore me like that again and I’ll kiss you harder next time

Then it was constant.

He started sitting behind you in lecture. Not beside you—behind you. Close enough for you to hear his breath shift when you adjusted in your seat. Close enough to drop texts mid-class.

[11:12 AM] Jeongin:

stop playing with your pen like that unless you want me to take it away and put your mouth to better use

You nearly choked in the middle of econ. Your professor shot you a look. And Jeongin? He just smirked when you glanced over your shoulder.

You tried to pretend it didn’t happen. The kiss. The texts. The fact that now, every time he passed you in the hall, your chest got tight and your thighs pressed together instinctively.

And he pretended too.

On campus, he was the same cocky golden boy—loud with his friends, always joking, always charming.

But when you caught him watching you—really watching—you felt it.

All of it.

The tension. The hunger. The subtle claim of ownership buzzing in the air.

Because he wasn’t just watching. He was waiting.

And you were starting to want to give in.

⸻

You didn’t dress up for him.

You told yourself that over and over as you checked your reflection in the bathroom mirror before class.

But the skirt was short—barely thigh length when you stood still. The top? Cropped just enough to tease, especially when you leaned forward. And your lip gloss shimmered in a way that would catch the light—and his eyes—without even trying.

You didn’t dress for him.

But when you passed him in the hallway and caught the way his gaze snapped to your legs, lingered, then dragged up your body like he was physically starving—you didn’t look away.

Not even when he pulled his phone out with a clenched jaw.

You were halfway through your next lecture when your phone buzzed. Then again. And again.

[1:13 PM] Jeongin:

you wore that on purpose

don’t lie to me

[1:14 PM] Jeongin:

I can’t fucking focus

all I can think about is bending you over the desk and making you forget everyone else is in the classroom.

[1:15 PM] Jeongin:

i’m not even expecting a reply

i just needed you to know what you’re doing to me

You stared at the screen, heat crawling down your neck.

For weeks, he’d been needling you—softly, slyly, like he was waiting to see how far he could push before you snapped.

And today? You’d pushed him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Your heart thundered in your throat.

And then you typed—slowly. Just one sentence.

[1:16 PM] You:

Then why don’t you do something about it?

Three dots.

Then nothing.

You smiled to yourself and tucked your phone away.

Class hadn’t even ended yet when your screen lit up again.

[1:27 PM] Jeongin:

be at my dorm in 20

door’ll be unlocked

You stared at his message until your vision blurred.

be at my dorm in 20

He didn’t even ask. He just knew you’d come.

And the worst part?

He was right.

Your knee bounced under the desk as the professor droned on about behavioral economics. You weren’t hearing a single word. Not when your body was buzzing, not when your thoughts were stuck on that stairwell—the taste of his mouth, the way his hand gripped your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You hated him.

God, you hated him.

But then why did your fingers burn remembering how soft his voice went when he whispered sorry against your lips? Why did your stomach flip every time your screen lit up with his name? Why did every guy on campus seem suddenly, painfully uninteresting?

And why—why—couldn’t you stop thinking about what it would feel like if he kissed you again?

You exhaled sharply as you stood and left class early, ignoring the stares.

Your dorm was in the other direction.

But your feet didn’t take you there.

You weren’t even sure what your plan was—if you’d knock and leave, if you’d tell him off, if you’d kiss him senseless or slap him across the face. Maybe all of it. Maybe neither.

But you found yourself standing in front of his door anyway, pulse thudding at your throat, your hand frozen mid-air.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed the door open.

And there he was—sitting on the edge of his bed like he’d been waiting the whole time, elbows on his knees, head tilted.

Jeongin looked up. Smirked.

But his eyes… His eyes burned.

His room was warm. Too warm. Or maybe it was just you, standing there like your skin was one breath away from catching fire.

Jeongin didn’t move. He just watched you.

Like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Like he felt the chaos in your chest because it mirrored his own.

“You really came,” he said, low and casual—like you hadn’t been losing your mind over him for weeks. Like he hadn’t humiliated you, kissed you, texted you filthy things between lectures and then acted like none of it mattered.

You crossed your arms, stepping in but not too far. Not close enough to fall.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jeongin’s smirk faltered. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up.

“But you did.”

You hated that he was right.

“I should go,” you mumbled, even as your feet stayed planted. “This was stupid.”

“You think I didn’t mean what I said?”

“That’s the problem, Jeongin,” you snapped, voice sharp to cover the tremble. “You always mean it. Until you don’t. You kiss me, then you treat me like—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing slowly. “Don’t do that.”

You flinched as he stepped closer, crowding your space. He didn’t touch you—but the heat of his body was magnetic, unbearable.

“I do mean it. I meant the kiss. I meant the texts, the apologies. I mean this.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging, throat tight.

“I hate you,” you whispered, chest heaving.

He took one step closer, gaze fixed to yours.

“No,” he said softly, “you don’t.”

His fingers brushed your wrist. Not forcefully. Not demanding.

Just asking.

Your breath caught.

And for a second—just a second—you leaned in.

Not enough to kiss. Just enough to want it.

The air between you buzzed, full of heat and panic and everything unsaid.

He stared at your mouth like it was the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t answer with words.

Just leaned in, slow and steady, until your nose brushed his. Until your lips ghosted over his—soft, deliberate, electric.

And when he didn’t move?

You kissed him.

Deep. Slow.

A kiss that said I heard you. A kiss that said I’m still mad, but I want this too. A kiss that let him in.

Jeongin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

His hands came up, featherlight at first—one cradling your cheek, the other finding your waist, fingertips curling into your hoodie like he couldn’t believe you were real. The kiss deepened, his lips parting, tongue brushing yours with cautious reverence.

But the caution didn’t last long.

Because the second you whimpered—barely audible, barely there—he broke.

A low, strangled groan vibrated in his chest as he backed you against the wall, lips still locked to yours like he’d die if he let go. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping just a little tighter, guiding you flush against him.

You could feel it—all of him.

Thick, hard, throbbing through the denim he probably didn’t even realize he was grinding into you.

Still, his voice cracked when he pulled back enough to breathe.

“Let me make it up to you,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, his mouth swollen and trembling. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me touch you.”

You shivered, fingers fisting in his shirt.

“Jeongin—”

“I’ll be good,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin as he kissed down your jaw, your neck. “I’ll take my time. I’ll make you feel so good, just, please—please—let me show you.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You grabbed his wrist, turned toward his bed, and pulled.

And the way he followed you—obedient, breathless, burning—it was almost needy.

The second your back hit the mattress, he was on you. Not rough. Not greedy. Just everywhere at once.

He kissed you like he owed you every apology he never said. Like he was trying to etch I’m sorry into your skin with every slow drag of his tongue against your throat, every trembling grip of your thigh.

He took his time undressing you.

Lifted your hoodie like it was sacred. Pressed soft, reverent kisses to your stomach as he pulled it over your head.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, eyes hungry, hands gentle. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

Your breath caught when he dipped his head and kissed down your chest, your ribs, your hips.

But when he knelt between your legs and looked up at you?

His voice broke.

“Please let me taste you.”

And when you nodded?

He moaned. Not quiet. Not controlled.

Desperate.

And then his mouth was on you—tongue slow, deep, greedy. Like he wanted to drown in you. Like he needed to.

You’d never felt anything like it.

The way he licked. Sucked. Worshipped.

And when your hips started to tremble, when your thighs squeezed around his head, when your hands clawed at the sheets and you tried to push him away from overstimulation?

He didn’t move.

Just growled into your core and held you still.

“You’re not running from me,” he murmured, voice slick with praise. “Not when I’m making you feel this good.”

And fuck—he was right.

Because you came for him, hard.

And he didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and your voice was wrecked and all you could say was his name.

Over and over and over again.

You were still gasping when he kissed his way back up your body—wet mouth trailing fire across your skin, up your stomach, your chest, your throat. His lips met yours again, soft but needy, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as he murmured against your mouth.

“So sweet,” he whispered. “Could stay down there forever.”

His voice was cracked wide open now—low, breathy, almost reverent. His hands cradled your face like you were something breakable. Sacred. Untouchable—except you’d just let him touch you everywhere.

And he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He kissed you again. Slower. Deeper.

Then his fingers curled around your hips and turned you over—gently, guiding you onto your stomach with a press so tender it made your spine arch without thinking.

You shivered.

He leaned over you, chest brushing your back, breath hot at your ear.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips grazed your shoulder. “Still want this?”

Your answer came out like a gasp. “Yes.”

He groaned—quiet, strained, like the word physically affected him.

And then he reached into his back pocket.

You heard the foil tear, the soft rustle of denim and the shift of his weight as he got ready.

Still, he paused—one hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades, the other gripping your hip like an anchor.

“Can I fuck you now?” he asked, barely audible.

Like he couldn’t believe he was really asking. Like he needed to hear it from you, one last time.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

And that was it.

He lined up behind you—slow, careful, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing until you whimpered, pushing just enough to make you ache.

Then he sank in.

Deep.

You choked on a moan.

He cursed softly, both hands bracing on your hips now. “Fuck—baby—you feel so good…”

He moved slow at first. Long, shallow strokes that stretched and dragged and made your body melt beneath him. His fingers tightened around your waist, but not to hold you down—just to stay grounded. Like he needed the contact. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Every inch. Every sound.

And the second he found the right angle—that spot—he grunted low in his throat, hips rolling deeper, slower, like he was trying to fuck an apology straight into your soul.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, leaning over you again, lips pressed to your shoulder. “No more games. Just this. Just us.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he begged. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I’m yours.”

His breath caught.

Then he fucked you harder.

You couldn’t hold back the moans anymore.

Not when he was fucking you like this—slow and deep, every stroke dragging a whimper from your throat, every grind of his hips sending sparks up your spine.

“God, Jeongin,” you gasped, gripping the sheets. “You feel so fucking good.”

He cursed under his breath, hands tightening on your hips. “Yeah? You like that?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes— fuck!” you confessed, hips pushing back into him. “Give me more.”

That wrecked him.

You felt it—the way his rhythm faltered for a second, the way his grip trembled.

Then he growled.

Deep in his chest.

He pulled out and flipped you over in one quick, effortless motion, pressing you into the mattress with his body before sliding back in deeper.

This time you could see him—his cheeks flushed, blown-out eyes, lips parted as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

And you did.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands gripping his back like you needed to hold on or lose your mind entirely.

Every thrust punched little gasps out of you, soft and high and needy.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

“I won’t,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Not until you come all over me. Not until I feel it.”

You kissed him then—fierce, messy, hot—and he groaned into your mouth, hips grinding deep as you rocked up to meet him.

But you wanted more.

You needed control.

So you pushed at his chest until he got the message.

He let you flip him—only because he wanted to see what you’d do.

And you didn’t disappoint.

You straddled him, slick and flushed and trembling, and sank back down onto his cock with a moan that echoed off the fucking walls.

Jeongin’s hands flew to your thighs, head tipping back against the pillow.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped. “Look at you—fuck, baby—ride me.”

And you did.

You moved like you were trying to make him lose his mind.

Grinding down slow, bouncing just enough to tease, clenching around him until he was a mess beneath you.

He tried to thrust up into you but your hands pinned his chest, keeping him down.

“I’m in charge now,” you whispered, breath hot against his jaw. “You want to make it up to me?”

He nodded, frantic.

“Then take it.”

You started to move faster.

Harder.

And he broke.

Whimpering your name, begging for release, hands bruising your thighs as he tried to hold on.

“You gonna come for me?” you asked, biting his lip.

“Y-Yeah—fuck—gonna come so hard, baby—please—don’t stop—”

You leaned down, moaning into his mouth, and let your hips roll just right.

And that was it.

He came with a shout, deep inside you, fingers digging into your skin, body shaking beneath you.

You followed a second later—head thrown back, spine arching, vision blurring as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You collapsed on his chest, both of you breathing like you’d just run a marathon.

And then—He laughed.

Quiet. Breathless. Disbelieving.

“Holy fuck.”

He didn’t let you move. Not at first.

He just wrapped both arms around you and held you like you might vanish—his face buried in your hair, heart pounding so hard beneath your cheek it echoed in your ears.

“Jeongin,” you whispered.

“Mhm?”

You pressed a slow kiss to his collarbone. “You okay?”

He nodded against you, but didn’t speak. His arms stayed locked around your waist, one hand drifting up and down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine like your skin grounded him. Like if he let go, the moment would disappear.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to meet your eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said, voice low. “You were perfect.”

A shaky breath left him—half a laugh, half a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he muttered, brushing your hair away from your face. Then, he exhaled hard, eyes flicking down to your mouth before settling back on yours.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “No more rumors. No more games. I want this to be real.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, like the words scared him. “I want you to be mine. For real. Like—actual dates, hand holding, annoying you on purpose just so you’ll kiss me to shut me up. All of it.”

Your heart skipped.

You stared at him for a beat too long—just long enough for panic to flicker behind his eyes.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Certain.

His whole body softened beneath you, arms tightening again as he melted into your mouth.

“I’ll go on one condition,” you whispered when you pulled back.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “You have to stop bullying me in school.”

He groaned, hiding his face in your neck. “Fuck, no promises.”

“Jeongin—”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But only because I like you. So much it makes me stupid.”

You grinned, curling into him as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

And for once, he didn’t have a single sarcastic thing to say.

He just held you.

Like he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hey baby girls! Soooooo yeah like i said earlier, requests are open but i wont be taking any from anons, (cos i need to know i’m not feeding minors tbh 😩) feel free to send in requests, i’ll write the ones i can relate to!

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luv-lock · 23 days ago

Text

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤADDICTIONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Roy Harper x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t start pretty. It starts with you pissing him off.

You were a little too mouthy for his taste, too unimpressed by his sharp aim and cocky grin. He didn’t like the way you looked right through him, past the sarcasm, past the good-ol’-boy act. You saw something in him — the anger, the brokenness, the bleeding parts he covered with jokes. And you didn’t flinch.

That’s what did it.

You didn’t flinch.

Roy is used to flinching. People either pity him or write him off, tired of his rehab records and near-death decisions. But you? You looked him in the eye and told him to shut up when he was being annoying. You called him out when he was hiding behind jokes. You treated him like he mattered — not because he was Arsenal, not because he was a hero — just because he was Roy.

He’s not used to being seen.

At first, he tells himself he just likes being around you. That’s all. Normal stuff. You make him laugh. You keep him grounded. You don’t try to fix him, and that feels better than any rehab or therapy ever has.

But then he starts thinking about you too much.

Your voice gets stuck in his head like a song. He catches himself texting you dumb memes just to make you smile. Starts checking your social media at 3am when he can’t sleep. Starts memorizing the way you talk, the things you like, the stupid brands of candy you eat.

He’s already obsessed, but he doesn’t admit it yet.

Until someone flirts with you.

That’s when the mask cracks.

He’s not calm. He’s not cool. He’s not normal about it. He gets snappy, territorial. Not in front of you — he respects you too much for that — but the guy who flirted with you? Roy breaks three of his ribs during sparring and calls it an accident. No one believes him.

When he finally realizes he’s in deep, it scares him.

He’s been through hell. Lost people. Made mistakes. Done things he can’t take back. He doesn’t deserve something soft and kind like you. But that doesn’t stop the obsession from growing.

He starts doing things behind your back. Quiet things. Dangerous things.

He finds out where you live — not in a creepy way, he tells himself — just in case you ever need him. He follows you home a few times, watches from rooftops just to make sure you’re safe. No one sees him. He’s too good for that.

He tracks the people in your life. Your coworkers. Your friends. That ex you never talk about? Roy knows everything now. And if any of them ever hurt you — they won’t even know it was him.

He loves you quietly, violently.

He keeps little pieces of you. Things you leave behind. A pen you forgot. A coffee cup you tossed. You never notice they’re missing. He keeps them in a drawer, like trophies. He knows it’s not healthy. He doesn’t care.

He starts writing texts he never sends. “I miss you.” “I want you.” “I love you.” Then deletes them. You’re too good. Too normal. You’d run if you knew how deep it went.

But God, when you smile at him like you mean it? When you touch his arm, or lean your head on his shoulder after a long day?

It makes him feel real.

So he waits. Watches. Obsesses. Protects.

And the day you say, “Roy, I think I love you,” his whole world shifts.

Because now it’s not just obsession. It’s permission.

And he’s never letting you go.

It’s different now that you love him.

Now he doesn’t have to hide the way his eyes linger too long. Now he can trace your jaw with his fingers and call it affection, not fixation. Now he can sleep in your bed and press his face into your neck like he’s trying to inhale you. And he does. He does.

But obsession doesn’t get softer when it’s fed. It gets louder. Hungrier.

At first, he tries to be normal. Dates. Sleepovers. Stupid inside jokes. He gets you flowers — steals them from a villain’s estate, but hey, they’re still pretty. You make him laugh. He makes you feel safe.

But that voice in his head — the one that says you’re his, only his — never shuts up.

You don’t notice how he starts pulling you closer whenever other guys are around. How his hand finds your waist just a little too tightly when someone looks at you wrong. How his eyes go dead-cold when someone makes you laugh in a way he thinks only he should.

He tells himself he trusts you. And he does.

It’s everyone else he doesn’t trust.

You go out with friends? He hacks traffic cams to make sure you get home okay. You text someone at midnight? He finds out who it is in five minutes flat. You talk about an old friend a little too fondly? He looks up their location, just in case he needs to pay them a quiet, final visit.

Roy doesn’t threaten people. He doesn’t have to.

One look — that look — and people back the hell off. They know.

He’d bleed for you. Burn cities for you.

But here’s the twist: around you, he’s soft.

He’s the Roy you adore — grinning, rough-around-the-edges, all charm and chaos. He kisses you like he’s starving. Carries your stuff even when you say no. Keeps a stash of your favorite snacks in his bag during missions.

He gets nightmares sometimes — ugly ones. Stuff from his past. And when he wakes up shaking, you’re there. You hold his hand. He doesn’t tell you he dreams about losing you. About your body cold in his arms. About reaching you too late.

That’s his greatest fear. That he’ll fail you like he failed everyone else.

So he prepares.

He trains harder. Stockpiles weapons. Sets traps around your apartment you don’t even notice. Encrypts your phone so no one can track you. Puts a tracker in your necklace — the one he bought you for your birthday — just in case.

You’re his world. His second chance. His religion.

And the thing about Roy is this:

Once he loves you, he loves you with everything — the good, the broken, the violent.

So if anyone hurts you, even once?

They’re not disappearing.

They’re never being found.

You try to pull away.

It’s subtle at first. A hesitation before you kiss him goodnight. A pause before you answer his texts. You tell him you’re just tired, that work’s been rough, that you need space.

And Roy? He nods. Smiles. Says he understands.

He doesn’t.

Because love isn’t supposed to feel like this. Like slipping through fingers. Like drowning with your mouth still open. You’re his everything. His only anchor. And now you’re pulling away like you don’t know what you mean to him.

You have no idea what that does to a man like Roy.

He’s not someone who can let go. He never learned how. Everyone in his life either left or died. And if you leave—

No. He won’t survive it.

So he starts clinging harder. Calling more. Showing up unannounced. You say you're busy, and he just laughs it off. "Busy with what? Need help?" His tone is light, joking — but his eyes don’t blink. They watch.

You say you’re going out with friends, and ten minutes later, there’s a red motorcycle parked across the street from the bar. You never see him. He’s not here to ruin your night.

He’s here to protect what’s his.

You belong to him.

You just… forgot for a second.

Maybe someone told you you deserve better. Someone said he’s intense, possessive, obsessive. Maybe you believed them. But he’s already rewriting the narrative in his head.

They’re manipulating you.

They’re trying to take you from him.

And he won’t let that happen.

You wake up one morning and your phone’s wiped clean. A “random glitch,” your carrier says. You lose contact with half the people you were just starting to reconnect with. Friends disappear. Exes block you.

Roy’s arms are warm when he holds you through it. “People are shitty sometimes,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

He means it.

Even if you scream. Even if you run. Even if you beg.

Because if you try to leave — really leave — he’s not above burning the bridges behind you. You can hate him. You can cry. You can throw things. But you will still be in his bed, still wearing the chain around your neck with the tiny GPS inside, still breathing because he keeps you safe.

He kisses your forehead one night, right after you told him, “I need space.”

His voice is soft, barely a whisper:

“You just need me.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

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twovialsofamortentia · 1 month ago

Text

a woman, not a wife. 💍

a/n: when i’m in a yearning competition and my opponent is james potter. this WRECKED me to write i was giggling kicking my legs screaming.

🎧 midnight rain - taylor swift, haunted- beyonce

warnings: smut, mdni, everyone is 18+, unprotected sex, breeding IM SORRY IT JUST HAPPENED, james is the giver (he gets the job done), mentions of james’ mental health being poor, mentions of not eating (nothing ED related)

You loved spring. Being born in late March would do that to you. You loved your birthday- well, you had done. Your whole life. Now, everyone was always weird to you about it, because it was the day before James’.

You had tried and failed at not thinking about James. Reminding yourself that you had broken up and that he definitely didn’t care anymore was usually enough for you. Sometimes it wasn’t, though, and you found him worming his way back into your head before you could stop it.

You shook your head to physically derail your train of thought, gazing out into the courtyard, perched in one of the sills that separated it from the busy corridor. You could hear people passing behind you, but you were focused on the grass just mere feet away from you. How it was constantly growing, getting better. Moving on from being cut. Even when the wind blew so forcefully that the flowers didn’t survive, the grass remained, secure in itself. You cursed yourself for envying grass.

While you were wishing you were a plant in the courtyard, James had been watching you gaze out of the window for a minute or so. He was meant to be on his way to potions, a lesson you were both supposed to be in, but was taking a short detour.

“You go,” he told the boys, who sighed at him and looked between one another, knowing it was no use.

“Hopeless twat.” Sirius told him sympathetically, but the three boys left anyway.

James was lost in thought about you. His mind was going over every memory he had of you, the sound of your laugh, the way you always had a story to tell, the way you just knew him. And how he now missed it all, which annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

Once you had finished moping about the grass being less of a sappy idiot than you were, you turned around to stand up. Your eyes were on your feet, at first, because it would be just your luck if you tripped and laddered your new tights, and you were clumsy.

When your gaze came up from the ground, they landed on James, who was looking at you. Every so often, since you had gone your separate ways, he would catch your eye and you’d forget, at first. You’d go instinctively to smile at him, or to reach out and push the stray hairs from his face, then remember it wasn’t your place anymore.

You stood still, fingers tightening around your bag so you didn’t drop it and make yourself feel even more stupid, and swallowed deeply.

James felt a pang in his chest every time you caught eyes now. A reminder that you were no longer his- that the two of you weren’t what you had been so sure would last forever. He hated it.

James shoved his hands into his pockets, for fear that if he didn’t he would reach out for you, take you by the hips and pull you flush against him so he could lean down and press a kiss to your forehead.

Instead, he opted to smile at you. It wasn’t a conscious choice to do it, but James told himself that was all he was allowed to do. Not one of his cocky, playful grins, though. A soft one, one like he used to give you when you’d tell him off for kissing you in a room full of people, or when you’d roll onto your front in the morning, prop yourself up on your elbows and stare down at him with tired eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” you replied, stunned. You were unsure of whether it was the sun beating down on your back that was making you clammy, or the fact that James was stood in front of you, like he had a million times, and neither one of you was moving to touch the other. To be closer, never close enough.

He couldn’t tell if the feeling in his gut was desire or frustration, because James wanted nothing more than to touch you, but he couldn’t. He elected it something so, so much worse- unrequited love.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Are you-“ you tried, but the words died in your throat, because they weren’t even close to what you wanted to say. “Are you alright?”

The same question you would ask James every time he’d turned up to your dorm, sat on the edge of your bed, staring at his hands while you rubbed small circles into his back and encouraged him to talk about it. Every time you caught him pushing a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots, an indicator he was stressed. Every time you’d prefaced the words with ‘oh, darling.’ as you pulled him into your embrace, running your hands soothingly up and down his arms.

“Yeah.” he said finally. “You?”

You nodded, because if you had spoken your answer, it would have been a dead giveaway that you were lying.

Your heart hammered as you stared back at James, because you knew that if he didn’t say something mean to you, you’d start getting ahead of yourself again, and convince yourself it was all just a horrible dream- that you wanted the same thing, that nothing had changed, and the three weeks you’d been apart never happened.

A part of James hated himself for making you nod, instead of hearing that you were fine in your voice. Your voice, because if there was one thing of yours that he couldn’t get enough of, it was your voice. Soft and melodic, always laced with a touch of sarcasm, even when you had just woken up and were trying to blink the sleep from your eyes.

But he couldn’t afford himself that luxury anymore. So he stood where he was, watching you carefully, almost as though he was searching for something in your eyes.

“Did you have a good birthday? Last week?” James asked, because he really did want to know. He’d spent the whole day minding his own business, not causing any trouble or drawing any attention to him, so that you could have it the way you wanted it, somewhat normal in the midst of all this mess.

“Yeah.” you smiled faintly, looking at the floor for a second. Your birthday was an odd occasion, because the girls tried to make it extra special for you. As if one day of being back around everyone else would make you forget that you had ruined every a fortnight before. That the next day, you’d wake up at a sensible time, instead of at the crack of dawn to sneak into James’ dorm and vow to make the whole day about him.

“Did you?”

James remembered those days, when you dragged him out of bed before anyone else was awake, with your fingers wrapped gently around his wrists and a sleepy smile on your face as you climbed onto his bed.

‘Get up now if you want to eat your birthday cake for breakfast.’ you would say, taking his face in your hands.

“Yeah, it was alright.” James said dismissively, but he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile at the memory of you. “Didn’t eat my cake at the crack of dawn, though.”

“Why not?” you let a smile spread across your own lips, now, as you let go of your bag, dropping it onto the floor with a quiet thud- a giveaway that you were relaxing, finally.

“Because I didn’t have you waking me up at five o’clock.” James said, and it came out slightly more poignantly than he had intended at first. “I thought about it, though.”

“You should have,” you shrugged, still smiling softly. “I actually thought about waking you up, but- didn’t want it to be… weird.”

“You should have.” James echoed your words. Should have seemed to be the dominant theme, at the moment, and James found himself cursing every should have- every time he walked past you and should have said hello; every time you asked him if he was alright and he should have said no, this is torture, please come back to me.

You giggled shyly, looking away from James for a second, feeling the need to focus your gaze somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn’t a six foot tall reminder of the worst loss you’d ever suffered.

“Okay.” was all you said, smiling. “Are you going to class?”

James caught the quick glance you had spared at the floor, and wanted nothing more than to reach out and lift your chin up with his fingers, to force you into looking at him again.

He just shook his head at your question instead.

“I have to see Poppy.” James replied, suddenly feeling more embarrassed than he ever had to admit something to you. “You know-”

“Yes. I know.” you smiled sympathetically. James frequented the hospital wing almost as much as Remus did. He’d always been candid with you about his mood, because sometimes you worked under Madame Pomfrey at the weekends, since you wanted to pursue a career in healing.

Depressive, she called him, but you thought that made James sound a bit more mopey than he was. Apparently that was the proper term for it.

You were worried about James as of late, not knowing the toll that breaking up would’ve had on him. It was a habit of yours to ask him frequently how things were, because you didn’t quite understand, at first, but you wanted to.

“How are you coping?”

“Like complete shit.” he laughed, but there was no humour in it at all. James ran a hand through his hair again, looking down at you.

“No-” he started, biting the inside of his cheek. “No, it’s been-”

He felt a lump forming in his throat, because James had never struggled to talk to you before, and now he was struggling to get a single sentence out.

“Oh, James.” you replied, trying and failing to drop the sadness from your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” he murmured, because he didn’t want you to blame yourself. “I understand, it’s- we want different things.” James took a deep breath, but it didn’t do much to calm his racing heart, especially not when you were looking at him like that- like you still loved him.

“Yeah.” your gaze drifted to the floor as you said it.

Three weeks ago, when you sat on James’ bed crying your eyes out, you both came to the conclusion that maybe you just wanted to go different ways with your lives. James wanted it all, a massive wedding, a house like his parents’, a football team of kids.

You wanted life: travel; a career; love that grows and strengthens over time, instead of exploding like a firework- pretty at first, but sure to fizzle out eventually.

It had never occurred to either of you when you sat there in the middle of the night- bed curtains closed, window curtains open, wiping each other’s tears away- that maybe you could have had both. Since then, because all you had done was think about James, the thought had crossed your mind a few times, but you pushed it out, because you had missed your chance. The deal was done.

As much as he wanted to spend forever staring into your eyes, James knew that if he did, he might say something he regretted.

So James stayed silent for a couple of moments, his gaze focused on you. He took in the way you chewed lightly on your lip, how you rubbed your palms against your skirt- all things you did when you were nervous.

“There was a party- on my birthday.” he said finally, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You should have been there.”

“I was.”

James looked at you like you’d just stabbed him.

“I spent the whole night miserable in the windowsill.” you laughed dryly. “You looked like you had fun. That was all I wanted, just to make sure- make sure you were okay. And you were.”

James nodded, and it was his turn to shift his gaze to the floor. Okay was the general consensus at the moment, but okay didn’t mean good, or happy, or coping well, it just meant not completely coming apart at the seams.

Even then, okay felt like a bit of a stretch for James. He was good at putting it on, coming off as confident when he didn’t feel it.

“I was pretending.” he admitted, rocking back and forth on his heels, gaze still on the floor.

You nodded, reaching down to grab your bag from where you’d dropped it by your feet.

“I know.”

James just watched you as you picked your bag back up, a mix of irritation and despair rising rapidly in his chest. He didn’t want you to leave, he wanted you to yell at him, to kiss him, to just do something.

“Where are you going?” he ended up asking.

“Common room.” you replied, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I have a free. I’ll see you, James.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and nodded at your response. Then, just as you started to walk away, he suddenly said, “Wait, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” you turned on your heels, hair fanning out around you as you did.

James took a deep, shuddery breath as soon as he saw you standing there, before deciding that the best course of action was to swallow his pride and just say it.

“I still love you.” he admitted, hands shoving into his pockets.

“I still love you.” you answered, the remnants of a smile on your face. You answered casually, as you used to when James would kiss you goodbye, and tell you I love you, my girl. The words were different, sure. They were evidence of change, of the loss you’d both suffered, but they were said in the same way. Time might have passed, but the love stayed. You knew it wasn’t dissipating any time soon.

“Bye.” you told him, smiling, and then you walked away.

You didn’t see James again until after you had skipped dinner that evening. All of the girls were still down in the hall, so you were alone in the dorm.

The intention had been to put some soft music on and get some homework done, but, as it usually panned out lately, you found yourself laying out on the bed, blasting the record, and thinking about how much you missed James.

Before today, it seemed nonsensical to you to go back to James and tell him you still loved him. That you’d been moping for weeks, a ghost of a girl, desperate to wake up in the morning having dreamed it all.

You had broken up, agreed to go your separate ways, so that was that, whether or not it was the worst decision you’d ever made.

Wait, one more thing.

You felt like an idiot. To be frank, you felt exactly the same way you did when you first got together with James, and Sirius and Remus shoved him through the door of your dorm and slammed it behind them, with a chaste, synchronised “James has something to tell you!”

I still love you.

You didn’t know why you expected James to move on. You could never have possibly pictured him, James Potter, still being hung up on someone three weeks after agreeing to split up. You just assumed that he would stay the way he was, sunshine in a bottle, and you would change enough for the both of you.

But fuck, James was hung up on you.

He loved you so dearly, with everything he had because it was all he had, and he still never felt like it was enough. James loved hard. He loved everyone hard. That was just his way. But you, you were his whole world. His Earth; bringing him in and making him feel grounded. You felt like home because you were his home. You were everything. The whole world. An angel. His angel.

Everything James thought, he showed you. He’d whisper it in your ear in the middle of the night, he’d tell you he thought you were beautiful in front of his friends, he’d grab you and kiss you after winning a Quidditch game, he’d grab you and kiss you after losing a Quidditch game.

Now, though, James had no one to tell it to. Before- when it was okay to love you- he’d have no problem shouting it from the rooftops, but now James wasn’t supposed to love you. He was supposed to leave you, to not look at you and feel as if he were going to burst. James was never one for doing as he was told.

His legs brought him up the stairs before his mind had registered it, and he stopped in front of the door. This time, there was no one to pound on it, to wrench it open and shove James through it, then slam it shut behind him and hold it closed in case he tried to escape.

James was younger- shorter, too, and more naïve- the first time he stood, nervous about whether or not you’d want him to be in love with you. He’d never thought it would happen again.

You sighed when you heard the door, closing your eyes. Your peace had finally been disturbed. It was most likely to be one of the girls, knocking so that they didn’t disturb you if you were crying.

They tried to get you to come down for dinner, but you couldn’t be told. It wasn’t that you weren’t wanting to eat like Lily worried about- Lily was always nervous that her friends weren’t eating well- but because you didn’t have the effort in you to go all the way down and back up. Marlene vowed to sneak you up something good, anyway.

“Come in!” you called, and secretly, you had hoped it was Marlene. There was something about her that was just so comforting when you were upset, even though she was far from it on the surface. The other girls were always soothing and condescending, Marlene only did it when she had to.

When he heard your voice, James sighed. He’d never been particularly nervous to see you before, which is the reason he took a few more moments to open the door, pushing it open, and letting it fall closed behind him, the small click making it sound rather final as it shut.

He was met with the sight of you lying on the bed, hair splayed out around your head as a record blared softly in the background. The way you looked up at the door as it opened made you look so innocent that it broke James’ heart when it was quickly replaced by a look of shock.

“James.” you sat up abruptly, reaching out to twist the dial of your record player, turning it down. It was Lily’s really, but you girls shared everything.

You blinked a few times, trying to establish if this was some sick and twisted candlelight hallucination you were having. As you sat up, you realised it wasn’t, and you felt as if you had been in this situation before.

James stood up straight, shoving his hands into his pockets. He felt stupid and embarrassed, because he suddenly felt like he did a few years ago- terrified of saying the wrong thing and losing his chance.

“Um, I just-” he began, but immediately wanted to kick himself for it not being a witty first sentence.

Concern clouded over your face, and you swung your legs off of the bed so you could stand up. You didn’t cross the room, but you took a few steps away from your bed, stopping a few feet away from James.

“Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, fine.” he nodded, swallowing. “Listen..”

James had never struggled quite like this before. He’d been confident in his entire life- in everything he’d done, and everyone he’d met. His mouth had always run away with him, which was often the butt of a joke from the other marauders, but right now, right here, he felt like a small child. Words were failing him, and James never had trouble with words.

“I’m listening.” you told him gently, nodding softly as you caught his eye. “I’m listening.”

As confident and as cocky as James outwardly appeared to everyone else, the people closest to him knew that every now and then, James needed reassuring. He got in his own head when his feelings were too big to squash down; and sometimes he just needed to talk about it. He didn’t even really care if anyone understood, just as long as they listened.

James took a breath, and you noticed the shake in it as he inhaled. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but he couldn’t do it. It was getting increasingly harder to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to love you, not when you were looking at him like you did.

“I know we want different things,” he began suddenly, the words blurting out before he could stop them. “I get that, love, I do. But this is torture.”

You swallowed, dropping your gaze to the floor. It was a while since you’d had the conversation, the I’m not just a wife, I’m a woman, conversation, and it wasn’t one you’d wanted to have again.

“Okay...” you said at first, because James looked like he was gearing up to say a bit more.

James folded his arms, trying to stop himself from fidgeting. He was worried that if he didn’t stop, he’d have to do something more embarrassing than fidgeting, like run and hug you.

“I miss you.” he said, and his voice broke halfway through the simple sentence, the words coming out more desperate than he had planned. “I want a future with you. I- We can make it work. The future I want, and the one you want, we can make them go together.”

“I don’t know.” you sighed, your own voice shaky. “I don’t want to take away your idea of a life because I want something different, that’s not fair. You deserve someone who wants the same thing you do.”

“I know that’s what we said, and I thought it too.” James replied, pushing a hand through his hair and tugging unconsciously at it, a nervous habit of his. “But I’ve gone three weeks without you, love, and it’s been the worst three weeks of my life. You might be absolutely fine, in which case I’ll sound like a complete twat, but I just- you should know. I really love you still.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t quite muster up any words yet, because there was nothing you could say to disagree with James.

“If you say no, I’ll drop it,” James rushed to say. “I swear.” he added, knowing that was a very unlikely outcome. “But..”

You sighed, because it really, really, really annoyed you when James was right. When he read you so accurately that you just couldn’t deny him, you wanted to smack him upside the head. Make him as dumb as he pretended to be.

“I mean, I’m not- I’m not fine,” you began. “But I’m serious about my future. I’ve never been a wife, you know that.”

“I know,” James said softly. He’d been fully aware of the fact that you never wanted to be a housewife, and he’d never expected you to. It was something he loved about you; that you always knew what you wanted and didn’t let anyone sway you. “Darling, I don’t want you to be a wife, just my wife, I just- I wanna be with you. Whatever that looks like.”

The massive bang of the butterfly-cannon went boomf in your stomach, and you closed your eyes, sighing at the feeling. After three weeks of nothingness, loneliness, and moping, you had missed the James Potter Effect like you’d never missed anything before.

It was also very difficult for you to hide the smile that was spreading across your face. You thanked the world it was dark, because it meant James couldn’t see you flushing.

“James-” you began, and the smile just kept growing, as hard as you tried not to let it.

There was a certain pride that came with watching you falter, in a way. James couldn’t help the smirk that spread onto his lips, because he knew- there it was, he’d been the reason for your smile, and the blush that was definitely more obvious than you thought. He had you now.

“I love you.” he said quickly, trying to keep the smile on your face for as long as possible.

“You’re good.” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll hand it to you, you’re good.”

“I know that.” he said, the smile on his face widening at the sound of your laugh. It felt like it had been years since he’d even heard it.

James was filled with a new confidence, now that he knew he’d got you listening. “C’mere.”

You had never been given an instruction that was easier to follow. You stepped forward, dropping your head onto James’ shoulder, still smiling like a schoolgirl, and getting a weird sense of deja vu.

You wrapped your arms around James, and you just laughed against him in disbelief. “I love you.”

“I love you.” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head, and bringing his arms up to wrap around your waist.

James was immediately filled with a sense of relief, a feeling like he could finally breathe again, because there you were, in his arms. He had you back.

You didn’t know how he did it. You didn’t know how he did it the first time round, when he stood rooted to the same spot and asked you if he could give you a hug.

You also didn’t know how he did it just then, but there was just something about James that was so impossible to stay away from. You don’t know why you ever tried.

You just grinned as you let James squeeze you, but then he mumbled something you couldn’t quite hear.

“Hm?”

“Promise me we’ll be smart about this.” James said, pulling his head up so he could look you in the eye. “Promise me we’ll talk about everything, and we won’t avoid stuff, just to save the other person’s feelings, alright?”

“Course.” you smiled, gazing up at him.

“I missed your smile,” he told you, bringing a hand up to cup your face. He brushed his finger over your bottom lip, pulling it lightly towards him slightly. That had been another thing he missed about you- he hated going to sleep without you, that was bad enough, but it had been downright torture not being able to kiss those pretty lips goodnight.

How did he keep doing it?! You felt yourself twitch as James stared longingly down at you, and his words made you laugh quietly and shake your head.

“You are too smooth for your own good.”

“Mm, am I?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, and tilting his head to the side. He hadn’t broken eye contact once, drinking in all the pretty details of your face. He was sure he’d die if you didn’t kiss him soon.

And you were sure that your knees were going to buckle if James kept talking to you like that, so to stop yourself from hitting the deck, you leaned up onto your tiptoes, kissing him sweetly.

James made the sweetest sound as he felt your lips on his, and he decided he actually didn’t ever want to move again. He’d have been happy to stay that way forever. He pressed soft kisses on your lips, over and over, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Love you,” you grinned against James’ lips. “Missed you. Love you.”

“Fuck, fuck, I missed you.” James breathed, trying to take in the feeling of having you close to him after the time you spent apart. “Don’t- Don’t ever make me go that long again.”

“No, of course not, never.” you told him, running your fingers through his hair as you leaned in to kiss him again- a little more feverishly this time.

James hummed lovingly against your lips, and he could feel his brain stop functioning. It gradually stopped whirring with thoughts, slowing down more and more, and when he reached out to snake his arms around your waist and tug you closer by splaying his palms out across the small of your back, James felt his brain shut off completely.

You weren't far off of total shutdown, and although you could feel the unspilled tears stinging your eyes, and it still felt like there was a catch in your lungs, you relaxed. Instead of running through his hair, your fingers travelled down to fiddle absently with the collar of James' shirt, just tracing over it.

You supposed that you were making up for three weeks of lost time. That was how it felt for James, anyway, who was holding you as if you were planning on slipping away and darting out of the door at any given moment. He was just relieved that he had you back, given that forcing himself up to your dorm to talk to you was him throwing a final Hail Mary at a life with you. James told himself that if it missed, he'd walk away, and that would be you out of his life forever.

He took a moment to thank the stars that it landed. Especially when your hands slid a little further down and started unclasping his buttons.

“Love,” he began, tilting your chin up. “You sure?”

“I missed you very much.” you replied, looking James in the eye with certainty. “I’m sure if you are.”

James couldn’t argue with that, so a smile spread across his face and he reached down to kiss you again, a little bit deeper this time. He pushed his hands under your shirt and spread them out across your waist, tugging you closer.

You took two steps back, hitting the edge of your bed and collapsing onto the mattress with James on top of you.

Your legs parted so that James’ hips could fall into place between them, and you let out a soft sigh of relief at the feeling, after going without it for what felt like years.

James had a strange relationship with sex. Before you, he’d had enough sex to know what he was doing, and for fuck’s sake, he was a teenaged boy, so it felt good. Any time someone breathed in the general direction of his dick, it felt good.

But even though sex for James felt good, and he understood well enough how to do it, it wasn’t until you that he understood why. Why someone might possibly sacrifice their own pleasure for the sole purpose of giving it to somebody else. Why someone might crave the feeling of being so close, so intimate with someone else, and crave it so deeply that it drives them mad.

You do it for love.

Until you, James wasn’t in the habit of doing it for love. But the way that you gazed up at him when he slotted himself above you, the way you pleaded for him to make you feel good not because you wanted to feel good, but because you needed him to be the one doing it, and no one else? That was doing it for love.

“James,” you called softly, snapping James right out of his thoughts as you sat up slightly, reaching behind you to unhook your bra. You leaned up to kiss him, just a chaste peck to his jaw. “Are you okay?”

James just laughed to himself, nodding down at you as he watched you shrug off your bra and toss it onto the floor. He had never been more okay.

“I was just thinking about you.” he admitted, running his hands up under your skirt to hook into your underwear. “How much I missed you.”

You gasped when James slid your underwear all the way off of your legs, and you gasped even louder when he leaned down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

You tasted every bit as sweet as he remembered, but even then, James swore it was better this time. His hands roamed over your thighs, gripping and digging into your skin as his tongue swirled over your core.

You dropped your head back and shoved a hand into James’ hair, a filthy, almost pornographic moan escaping from your lips.

“Fuck!”

James almost found himself smirking against you as he heard the sound coming out of you, and he tightened his grip on you to keep you still as his tongue worked against your clit, because it had been far, far too long since he’d had you like this.

The first time James ever went down on you was the first time he had ever been down on anyone. When he told you that afterwards, you laughed, because you thought he was joking. That was enough explanation as to how good James was at giving head. He was just naturally a giver.

Your thighs threatened to crush his head as James flattened his tongue against you and began to drag it slowly over your clit, just the way he knew you liked it, almost immediately.

“James- oh, fuck,” you cried, dragging your hips away from his mouth and then bucking them up again, almost fucking yourself against his tongue.

James took this as a challenge, and pressed the palms of his hands to your waist to hold you down stop you from doing it again, and instead, he began sucking on your clit, desperate to hear you whine.

You gasped, hips snapping upwards at the feeling, but you weren’t given ample time to react to it, because you were then ambushed with two fingers sinking into and curling sharply upwards, hitting the right spot inside of you instantly.

“Fucking hell!” you gasped loudly, your back arching off of the bed.

“Yeah?” James smiled against your core, laughing teasingly and sending vibrations rocketing up through you at lightning speed, which made you moan noisily again. With the hand that wasn’t pumping two fingers in and out of you, James reached under your thigh to hook it over his shoulder so that he could press himself even closer up against you.

He elected to sacrifice being able to breathe properly. Really doing it for love.

“Yeah!” You clenched your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling short, sharp breaths through your teeth. Your chest started to heave up and down quicker, and you could feel the need to tense up growing stronger. You sounded like an angel, and James had never heard a sweeter noise in his life.

His free hand pushed its way up your skirt, and you could feel his hand flatten against your stomach, holding you down gently. You knew what was coming, and you babbled incessantly, trying to get yourself ready for it.

As soon as James pressed down on your stomach, it was like he was flicking a switch. Your vision blurred, and you came, hard, hips juddering upwards, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you all-but screamed, clamping a hand over your mouth as you realised there was no silencing charm on the dorm.

“Fuck-” James hummed against your skin, and he slowly worked you through your orgasm with his fingers, until he pulled them out, bringing them up to his mouth.

Your jaw dropped, your eyes widened, and you forgot all about the fact that you had just came. The sight of James, topless, leaning over you, sucking the taste of you from his fingers? That was enough to soak you straight through all over again.

“Fuck me.” you begged, but it was more of a breathy command than a plea.

James smirked wider, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand, still hovering above you on the bed.

“S’that what you want?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Course not, angel.” James told you, dipping down to run his tongue, his fucking filthy tongue, over your nipple, making you hiss when the cold air hit your wet skin as he pulled back.

James’ dick was straining furiously against his clothes, so while he was leaving a trail of wet, red marks across your chest, he was popping open the button on his trousers and shoving his boxers down off of his legs.

You closed your eyes, dropping your head back and wondering how you could ever have gotten yourself into a situation so dirty.

Then James rested one hand on your face and slid all the way into you, and you remembered.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” James murmured, as he started to drive his hips against yours. Slowly, at first, knowing you’d most likely be sensitive. “I’ve missed you, angel, so much-”

You moaned, nodding gently as you caught James’ lips in another kiss, humming lowly as you felt him start to fuck slightly faster into you.

“So pretty, my girl, so fucking pretty,” he huffed against your skin, one hand holding himself up and the other dragging slowly over one of your tits, palming it gently. “Missed you so much, never letting you go again.”

James pushed your legs up, bending your knees and leaning over you so that he was fucking you even deeper, all to hear the sound of you underneath him, whimpering because it felt so good.

The record scratched in the corner of the room, next to your bed, and you caught a glimpse of it flipping itself, a spell that you had spent ages trying to master. You still couldn’t get the needle to lift without scratching.

In the few seconds before the record set itself back down on the turntable, and the needle lowered, the only noises in the room were James’ laboured breaths and your rapid, whiny moans.

James barely noticed the record. He hadn’t really noticed much of anything but the feeling of you around him, under him, grabbing hold of him. You were everything.

“Fuck, James,” you gasped. “Love you-“

“Love you- fuck-!” James groaned, driving his hips down against yours once more. “Don’t stop, angel, just- nngh, fuck, keep talking like that-”

“I love you, I love you.” you let the words spill from your lips more times than you think they ever had before, mixed in with desperate mutterings of James’ name, until the words felt funny in your mouth.

“Oh, angel- So good, so pretty-” James gasped after a few more moments, dropping his face into your neck and sucking hard on the skin of your collarbone, because he was starting to feel that familiar tug deep in his stomach- the one that meant that he was getting close.

With the hand that wasn’t keeping himself from collapsing on top of you (which was growing weaker by the second), James pressed his fingers back up against your core, his mouth falling open in sync with yours as he grazed the sensitive area, making you cry out.

It didn’t hurt- well, it did, but it hurt in the way that made you want it more- the way that lets you know that just beyond the pain is a whole new wave of pleasure, one that’s worth the sacrifice. You had crossed the line from overstimulated to purely masochistic, and you moaned loud and rough at the sensation.

“You love me?” James asked, his chest heaving as he gazed down at you.

“Yes, yeah, I love you!”

“You ever gonna leave me again?”

“No, James- fuck! Never. I love you!”

James nodded, leaning back on his knees and hooking his now free hand over your thigh to pull you deeper onto him, his hips driving into you harder every time.

“My girl,” he huffed, staring lovingly down at you through his glasses. Those fucking glasses. They were enough to do it for you alone. “My girl, gonna make you mine forever, gonna come in you, angel.”

Your jaw dropped. All you could do was nod, breaths shallowing even more as James’ fingers starting moving more quickly over your clit, and you felt the same feeling as you had moments ago, but amplified- slightly more tense, slightly harder to chase, but so much better.

A string of moans escaped your pretty lips, and James’ eyes locked onto them, his gaze glued to your mouth as he rubbed at your core.

“You want it, angel?”

“Yes- yes! Fuck, James-!” you gasped, barely able to get the words out as you came for the second time, hips stuttering harder than before, feeling the aftershock hit you sooner than it had the first time round.

James couldn’t have held on any longer if he tried. Not when he felt you clenching around his dick, and crying his name as you came for the second time that day because of him.

“Oh- oh, fuck- ah!” James whined, fucking into you a final time and falling forward as he did, shoving his face back into your neck, breath hot on the skin behind your ear.

You felt the rush of warmth shoot up into you, and it only added to your own high, making it burn from the inside out, warm, and strong.

“Fuck,” James groaned, his head dropping onto your chest, still buried inside of you as he caught his breath.

“Yeah.” you sighed, trying to find your own breath. The only problem you had was the fact that everything that James had just fucked into you was now leaking out, which felt fucking good, but you were also conscious of the fact it was making a mess. “Fuck- hang on, it’s- mmph, getting on the bed.”

James nodded, pushing himself up slightly so he could pull out of you with a soft hiss, flopping down onto his back next to you. He pushed his glasses up, rubbing at his face.

You glanced over at James when he wasn’t looking, and you thank whatever celestial beings had sent him your way. Not just because he was so determined to fuck you right, but because he needed you to know how much he loved you, cared for you, and wanted you. Whilst he was fucking you right.

He was panting slightly, still slightly out of breath, but the smirk on his face showed that he was happy, satisfied. He turned his head, locking eyes with you.

James was just thrilled to bits to have you back in his arms. Just for you to be his again. He wanted to be allowed to come near you without things being awkward, to snake a hand around your waist as he came up behind you in the hallway, to run straight to you with news, or a prank idea, or just to tell you he loved you.

“Still got it.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

James laughed at his own stupid joke, nodding. He pushed some of the hair from your face, and you felt the familiar feeling in your stomach that would arise every time James smiled at you. It was like a strange sort of fluttering, an embarrassingly juvenile feeling, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

#james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter smut #marauders #dead wizards from the 70s #marauders era #harry potter #dead gay wizards from the 70s #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #marlene mckinnon #lily evans #the marauders

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piastriprincess · 25 days ago

Text

soak my scrapes and sleep tight ⸻ oscar piastri x reader .

featuring oscar piastri , established relationship , oscar is the sweetest boy in the entire world tw blood (pretty minimal but wanted to warn yall) word count 1.9k author’s note requested by @princesspiastri007 aka my username twin ! i loved , loved , loved writing this request . also ... imagine my surprise when i found out plasters were bandaids . i’m sorry i’m a stupid american !! anyway i was planning on making this a drabble but it got away from me a lil because there is something sooooooo boyfriend coded about oscar , i’m obsessed . i need to wife him up . i hope you like this , as always please come tell me what you think or send me a request ! title is from acolyte by slaughter beach , dog .

23: princess plasters and iodine .

It’s Oscar’s week off before he has to fly to Miami, and you were planning on a relaxing few days. You’d circled the dates on your calendar weeks ago in thick red Sharpie: no races, no briefings, no media. Just the two of you, together. You’ve packed a bag for the whole weekend, so you don’t have to leave your boyfriend’s company for a single second.

Your grand plan lasts approximately thirty-seven minutes. You’re just settling in at Oscar’s when your sister calls you in a panic: her job is sending her on a last-minute site visit, and could you please watch Lucy for the weekend? You say yes, of course — how could you not? You love your niece, a precocious, rambunctious little four-year-old, and you love being the cool aunt. You’re sad to lose your weekend with Oscar, but you’re sure he’ll understand.

“Bad news.” You’re already half-apologizing, forehead scrunched as you hang up the phone and walk back into Oscar’s living room. He’s lying on the couch, engrossed in a Sally Rooney book he stole off your bookshelf a few months ago. “I have to postpone our weekend. My sister needs me to watch Lucy.”

He dog-ears his page, setting the book carefully on the coffee table and looking up at you with that soft smile he reserves just for you. “Sounds fun. I’m excited to meet her,” he says nonchalantly, and your breath catches in your throat.

You’re not sure what you expected Oscar to say. Certainly not that he’d give up his first weekend off in a month to help you babysit a kid he’s never met. But if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s not the first time he’s stepped into the hurricane that is your life like it’s second nature — quiet, calm, already carrying half the weight without you even asking. He grounds you. It’s one of the things you like best about him.

You perch carefully on the couch next to him, running your fingers through his hair. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Osc, she’s four. She’s a ball of energy, and this is supposed to be your weekend off. I don’t wanna ruin it,” you reply reluctantly. He’s shaking his head before you even finish talking, looking up at you with those big brown eyes, gaze steady and sure. “Baby. What would ruin my weekend is not getting to spend it with you.” Something unfurls in your chest at that, soft and tender. He presses up on his elbows, already getting to his feet and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Now come on. Get your bag, I’ll drive.”

—

An hour later, Oscar pulls into your sister’s driveway, slinging both of your weekend bags over his shoulder like they’re feather-light and taking your hand in his as you walk up to her front stoop. She must have seen you coming (to be fair, his cherry-red McLaren isn’t exactly subtle), because she’s already halfway out the door. You barely have time for her to give you a frantic thank you and tell Oscar it’s lovely to see him again. A quick kiss on the cheek and just like that, she’s disappearing into the Uber that’s been idling by the curb, the driver peeling away to the airport like he’s P1 on the starting grid.

“Last chance to back out,” you say wryly to Oscar.

He gives your hand a little squeeze, palm warm and comforting in yours, and you can feel the tension in your shoulders ease. “I’m staying right here.”

You open the door to a blur of light-up sneakers and Lucy throwing her arms around your legs in an enthusiastic hug. She looks the same as always: hair pulled into messy pigtails, tiara headband set just slightly askew, sparkly nail polish on her tiny fingers, and her ratty old unicorn blankie tucked under her arm. She’s beaming at you so hard her cheeks stretch, but the smile fades when she sees Oscar.

“Who’s that?” she demands, hands on her hips.

You smile at her, crouching so you’re on her level. “Lucy, this is Oscar. Can you say hi?”

She ignores you completely. “Are you her boyfriend?” she asks, wide, suspicious eyes trained directly on his face.

Oscar’s neck flushes, the way it always does when he’s nervous. He wants her to like him, you realize, and your heart does an unfamiliar little swoop in your chest. He clears his throat. “I am, Your Highness,” he replies, smiling softly at her. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Lucy purses her lips slightly, like she’s sizing him up. Oscar’s eyes flick to you worriedly, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear he was holding his breath. Then she smiles at him. “You too. Do you want to have a tea party with me?”

“It would be my honor,” he nods seriously at her. She grabs his hand - his fingers, really, since his hand is too big for her to hold onto - and pulls him into the living room, leaving you behind with the bags in the entryway.

Thirty seconds of Oscar, and it’s like you don’t even exist to Lucy anymore. You’d be upset, if it wasn’t so understandable. After all, you fell in love with Oscar the moment you met him too.

—

You swear it only takes you a minute to put your bags upstairs in the guest room, but when you get back you’re in for an absolute sight. Your boyfriend is sitting next to the Ikea stuffed bear you bought Lucy for her birthday last year, legs criss-crossed neatly beneath him. The silvery tiara he’s wearing glints under the overhead lights, his face peeking out from atop a fluffy pink-feather boa. He’s holding a plastic teacup in his hand delicately, listening to Lucy’s narration of her fairytale kingdom’s dynamics with the kind of focus you’ve seen him use for team briefings. Your chest feels tight suddenly as you watch him from the doorway, a strange, sweet ache blooming underneath your skin.

“Hi, baby,” he smiles at you when he sees you, those honey-brown eyes crinkling at the edges. Oh, you’re a goner. You move towards him on instinct, dropping gracefully to your knees beside him. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you slot into his side like you were made to be there. You let yourself enjoy the quiet warmth of his body, solid and strong beside you as Lucy chatters away about stuffed animal etiquette in the late afternoon light. Suddenly, it’s like you can see it — the echo of future quiet afternoons, grocery lists on the fridge, a life built of small, perfect moments with him. You wonder, just for a moment, if he feels it too.

“Wait!” Lucy brings you back to the present as she interrupts herself, her tiny brows knitting together. “You can’t come to the tea party without a tiara. Princesses have to have tiaras.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you reply, playing along, though your cheeks are still flushed. “How silly of me. I’ll go get one.”

You’re about to stand when Oscar’s fingers curl around your wrist gently. “I got it,” he says softly, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles before all five feet, ten inches of him extend to full height. He moves just a little too fast, you try to stop him just a little too late, and when he stands up he smacks his head hard into the sloping ceiling. You wince at the dull crack, the way the tiara shatters into shiny plastic shards, one cutting a jagged gash into his pale skin.

“Ow,” Oscar says mildly, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Lucy gawks at him, openmouthed. “Oh no, Princess Oscar!”

—

“It’s really not that bad,” Oscar says, and you know he’s trying to reassure you, to soothe the way your pulse is stuttering erratically beneath your skin. As always, he’s the picture of calm, sitting patiently on the closed toilet lid while you rummage through the first aid kit your sister keeps under the bathroom sink. The wad of toilet paper you made him hold to the cut is starting to stain crimson-red.

“You can’t even see it,” you reply, your fingers closing around the bottle of iodine as you emerge from the cabinet triumphantly. “It's awful. Zak’s going to fine me for scratching up his driver.”

“You’ve done worse before,” he smirks cheesily at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat as you swat at his arm playfully. His legs are too long for the small room; you have to crawl over them to get to a spot where you can clean him up. You place a hand on his thigh as you move, to stabilize yourself, and he goes pink up to his ears. Now there’s your Oscar, you think to yourself as you pour the iodine onto a cotton pad.

“This might sting a bit,” you warn him.

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he insists, right before hissing through his teeth when you dab at the cut.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Be brave, Princess Oscar.”

He laughs outright at that, and his eyelashes flutter against your wrist. A warm twist curls low in your stomach at the contact. “Right,” you say, pulling the box of bandages from behind your back. They’re princess-themed, of course. Fitting. “Aurora or Ariel?”

“Ariel,” he responds instantly, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “What?” he shrugs, smiling at you. “I know the princesses, I have sisters.”

You peel the wrapper open carefully and smooth the bandage across his cut, gentle and precise. He’s quiet for a moment, watching you, the way your fingers ghost over his skin, the way you care for him like it’s an instinct.

“You know, if this is what the future looks like, I think I’d be really happy,” Oscar says absentmindedly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

His eyes widen at the same time yours do, and he presses his lips together like he didn’t quite mean to say it out loud. Like it was a thought he was holding close to his heart until he knew you’d be ready to hear it.

You stare at him, your lips parted. His cheeks are slightly pink from the confession, and you’re so close you can see the honey brown of his irises. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now, and you’re not in the habit of denying yourself simple pleasures. So you dip your mouth to his, fingers curling loosely at the nape of his neck.

He makes a soft, surprised noise against your lips, one hand rising instinctively to rest at your waist. The kiss is unhurried, familiar, but there’s something new about it. It feels like a promise, so meaningful that it makes your breath catch in your chest. It’s a moment before you both come up for air, but when you pull back he’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize everything about the moment.

“Yeah,” you smile at him, easy and unhurried. “I could get used to this.”

#f1 x reader #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #ok. off to bed NEOWWWWW #❀ my work .

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coltcassidyy · 1 month ago

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Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Absolutely cause this is fire. Probably gonna write head canons for this cause I suck

Also the only ever starfire related media I’ve consumed is um teen titans go so bear with me here.

Tw : some nsfw? Or suggestiveness. A little tiny bit of rough stuff (mentions of possessiveness, manhandling)

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants

Mainstream mark

At first he was kinda … weirded out by you. It was odd, a random person from a random planet just coming to earth for no reason, barely accustomed to the human culture (ok man)

But you grew on him, and fast. Sometimes he thinks it’s hilarious, how you talk, how you act, how you ... just, behave in general, sometimes he considers taunting you but that’s too cruel

Fucking died laughing at your grammar it’s so funny to him

Sometimes finds it kinda hard to keep up with your optimism. He loves you for it, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he gets genuinely confused on how you can see the bright side of everything. It never fails to cheer him up whenever he’s down

LOVES how possessive you can be at times. It makes him feel loved, and with everything that’s happened to him, he doesn’t mind if the reminder is a little rough

He likes teaching you how to cook too. Mark’s a mama’s boy, and his mama’s an amazing cook. He shows you most of her recipes, even some he’s made himself (even though they aren’t as good as his mom’s, you still praise him to the moon and back). He likes how intimate cooking together can be, and he loves teaching you things about humans and their customs

DEFINITELY made you read seance dog, or some of his other comics. Sometimes he gets a little excited and geeks out to you about comics, sometimes comparing the both of you to his favorite comic couples, even one time getting the idea to make a comic based on the both of you. But ultimately, and unfortunately, his hands were a bit full.

He 100% taught you how to kiss and it was 100% awkward and giggly and silly fun fun

Sinister mark

Oh this guy hated you bruh

Genuinely wanted to rip his eyes out when he first met you. Got him on some tweaker shit

But upon your second interaction (more so, him watching you fight a villain with less than / equal to strength than you, and winning), got him bricked like a mad man

Went home and jerked his shit I promise you

Also thinks your language (?) barrier is hilarious. But unlike mainstream mark, he isn’t afraid to be mean about it. Just straight up mocks you sometimes. He thinks that because of your speech pattern that you’re dumber than him, less than him and that gets him going

Gets him going. To his bedroom so he can jerk off. Get it

Sometimes he says or does shit to intentionally piss you off just cause it gets a kick out of him watching you try to convey anger with that ‘silly accent’

Bruh’s just a dick

Can you tell sinister mark isn’t my favorite

Full mask mark ( I came here to find mom and bring her back with me )

His heart stopped when he first saw you. He Thought (knew) you where the prettiest boy he has ever had the fortune to lay his eyes upon

He’d bring you little gifts under the guise of ‘teaching you human culture’. Things like bringing you flowers ( “humans do this for one another to express gratitude” ), little snacks that he knows you like ( “this is an example of how humans show each other that they care about one another’s well being, by bringing them food, nutrients” ), or even occasionally one of his sweaters or shirts ( “this is to show I trust you with my belongings” ), hoping you’ll return the favor.

This man is a yearner, a lover. Before the both of you were even romantically involved, he’d come flying to your window and begging for attention after every fight like a kicked puppy (I mean, it’s not too far off).

So soft, so gentle with you like he thinks you’ll break if he handles you too rough.

Unlike the other marks, he doesn’t think you’re stupid for your accent. He thinks it’s beautiful and unique, and on a particularly good day, he’s telling you how much he loves your voice.

Sometimes he sits you down and makes you talk to him about your day purely because he loves your accent so much.

He lets you take control the first time you two have sex. He tries to teach you and talk you through it, but it’s hard to understand what he’s saying when he’s whimpering and moaning between syllables. But you aren’t complaining! The sound is music to your ears.

Straight up GOONED when he saw you fight for the first time. Seeing how tough you are, and how capable you are in meanings of self-defense and attack— it made him feel 100x more safe around you.

Viltrumite mark

At first, he only saw you as a compatible mate. A way to grow the viltrumite empire.

But boy, he fell in love. And he fell hard.

Being a viltrumite, and knowing nothing about foreign culture, especially Tamarian, it was a struggle for him to show affection towards you at first.

But he grew, and he learned. From longing ( and kinda creepy ) stares and brief touches, to sweet kisses that linger warmth for hours on end and gentle words of reassurance and love. Gentle, in public, at least

When the two of you are alone is when he can really prove his love to you.

Sex with him is downright filthy— messy. He’s a viltrumite, he has high stamina, and he’s cumming as many times as he sees fit.

Even if you can’t biologically get pregnant, it doesn’t stop him from trying. What’s a man for hoping?

He’s pressing your thighs down to the bed and thrusting in you like there’s no tomorrow, muttering filth in your ear about how he longs to see you carrying his young— how pretty you’d look with a little bump in your tummy, how warm and soft and absolutely fucking delicious you are and how he’s so thankful to have claimed you when he had the chance.

Kinda like full mask mark, he’s a lover. Like I said earlier, he might be less lovey-dovey in public, but you have to trust that after he learns how, he’s showering you in affection

It’s constant praise, little gifts he gets you that he knows remind you of Tamaran, sometimes even having your planet’s traditional cultural meals cooked up.

He’s kinda stupid though. At one point he tried to get you involved in like some ‘proper English’ class thingy and you took it as an insult and you locked yourself in the bathroom for a little. Quite hilarious

(( sorry this was kinda ass and I didn’t do a lot of variants. If you like this, I can make a part 2 ))

#invincible x male reader #invincible #invincible variants #goon material #kinda #mark Grayson x reader #mark Grayson x male reader #invincible variants x male reader #sinister mark x male reader #idk #bacon egg and cheese

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 9 months ago

Text

Four to Tango (poly!Mates Bat Boys)

Pairing(s): Rhysand x Reader, Cassian x Reader, Azriel x Reader

Warnings: foursome, smut, just a reason to create smut where three gorgeous fucking men rearrange your organs, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, never ending orgasms lol, overstimulation, all three of them are utter teases, polyamorous mates, no jealousy, rhys loves to watch his brothers fuck you stupid, my emotional support bat boys, i desperately need them rn, foursomes are hard to write ngl 🫠

Words: 5836

Summary: Three of them at the same time? You may not make it out alive.

Life before your three mates had never consisted with as much sex as it does now. In fact you were a virgin when you met the Illyrian trio. Not for lack of trying to get into a relationship. There were other concerns for you to attend to that distracted you from finding a partner.

Then Azriel literally fell into your lap. Followed by Cassian descending from the sky while laughing at the other who was blushing furiously and trying to scramble off of you with a string of apologies. Rhysand, with a flap of his wings touches down to the ground with an entertained grin. Until his violet eyes noticed you. Really noticed you. Almost reading into your soul.

Had it really been only four months since then?

Thinking about it had you blushing into your pillow. Four months of mind shattering orgasms and lavished with never ending affection. You must have really been good in your past life to receive these three as a reward.

Rhys shifts beside you. Voice husky from sleep but practically purring when he wraps his arms around you. "Seems like its been longer than four months, huh?"

His palms flatten against your midsection. Warmth immediately spreading across the plane of your skin. You wiggle closer to him and in reply, Rhys buries his face in the juncture of your neck. His lips pepper small kisses along the soft skin of your jugular.

He took turns with Cassian and Azriel as to who spent the night with you. It was only fair. You told them that you cared for them all equally and it didn't matter to you. You'd accept whatever they could agree upon without there being any jealousy.

Rotating was tricky in the beginning. Giving them each the same amount of attention to prevent feelings of being left out. And maybe you were starting to get greedy with their love because you couldn't help but feel incomplete without the other two when you were in one's bed.

Your inner musing catches Rhysand's attention; seemingly waking him up. The arm laying on top of you is removed when he sits up. Did you unintentionally offend him with your thoughts?

"Would you be interested in all three of us here?" He questions.

You turn to address the high lord of the Night Court. Beautifully and sinfully sexy the way he leans on his elbow to gaze at you. Tousled black hair shifting across his brow. What an alluring sigh the made. Tattoos and scars marking the smooth surface of his tan skin.

"All three of you in this bed?" It had been done before when you wanted to cuddle with all three of your mates. Rhys' bed nearly broke, not large enough to support two extra heavy frames.

"More than that." Rhysand's thumb brushes a stray hair out of your face. The depth of his tone had a warmth shooting down to your core. Thighs press together, you melt under his attention. "All three of us feasting upon you. At the same time." A growling undertone hits your ears. Your breathing becomes shallow as he holds your gaze.

You gulp, mind already racing when you whimper out "A-All of you?"

Rhys reads each and every one of your dirty thoughts, his lips curling sinisterly. "Can I take that as a 'yes', love?"

A furious blush overheats your cheeks and the tips of your ears. "I-I. . . How would that even work out?"

He leans in and nips at your already burning shell of your ear "You leave that to us."

Ever loving to tease you, he leaves with that promise hanging in the air. Claiming he had work to do but that he'd see you for lunch. For a while you lay in bed, thinking of the dark glint in your mate's eyes.

Surely, all three of them would be way too much for you to handle. Each of them were terrifyingly well-endowed. Especially Azriel. It took several tries to get more than the head of his cock inside of you. In the end he had to ease it in slowly over several dates until you could fully sheath him.

It became your hyperfixation throughout the day. As you went about the House of Wind to when you were out in the town market.

When you bump into Mor back at the townhouse, she manages to make you squeal on what Rhys had brought up earlier that morning.

Mor lets out a low, impressed whistle. "You have got to be the luckiest female in all of Prythian. What are you sweating about?"

"I can barely handle one of them at a time, Mor. I fear they'll kill me. Death by cock. I don't want that on my tombstone."

"Death by cock doesn't sound too bad." she hums but it turns into a snort when she catches your distressed expression. "Quit fretting. They'll take good care of you."

Chewing on your bottom lilp you knew you probably came off as silly to her.

Mor's hand caresses your upper arm. In a short amount of time, Mor had become the big sister you never knew you needed. She became your confidant and would keep all of your secrets; take them to the grave if required. "They're dumb males but they love you. Never in a million years would they ever dream of doing anything to hurt you."

That was clear to you since day one. The Cauldron destined all three of them to be your mates for a reason.

And it could be fun.

Who were you kidding, you knew it would be fun. Having sex with them individually always reduced your bones to pure pudding. They were overly generous lovers. Always making sure you climaxed first. Treating you not like a queen but a divine entity to be worshipped. Their faces, your thrones.

Talking with Mor did you good. You felt absurd at your previous concern. This would be the experience of a lifetime. Getting to love all three of your mates at once had you giddy.

After Mor leaves, you're constantly checking the clock. Almost lunch time. That meant your boys would be home at any minute. Your heart felt like a energetic bird in a cage, banging against its bars in desperation to get out.

You debate going upstairs and changing your underwear to something sexier when you stand to head toward the stairs, that's when the front door opens. Poking your head out from around the corner, you confirm it to be your boys. You were still getting used to the feeling of the mental connection that connected you to your three mates. Cassian and Az are in the middle of a conversation behind Rhysand when the trio walks in. Rhys grins at you before grabbing the attention of the Illyrians who stop their chatter.

Never one to be subtle, Cassian struts past them and pulls you out into the entry hallway. He swoops down to capture your lips with his, picking you off your feet unintentionally. His kisses always took all the air out of you, making your head delightfully light and floating. Cassian's eyes hold specks of glittering gold when he returns you to the ground.

"Welcome home." you breathily greet him. You swear Cassian puffs his chest out like a proud parrot every time he can get your vision to go starry with his kisses.

"You should've moved in a long time ago. I like coming home to you." Cassian's voice is smooth, deep as if purring.

Rhysand chuckles at your swooning thoughts toward the general. "Easy Cass. Get her any more riled up and we may not make it to the bedroom in time."

The cool caress of Azriel's shadows slithering up your legs accelerates the 'lub dub' of your chest.

"Aw, am I exciting you princess?" The general gets an immediate reaction when he picks up the scent of your arousal dripping from between your legs. Dark delight curls Cassian's lips.

Rhysand and Azriel appear to smell you as well. Hunger straightens their backs and their pupils blowing out. Azriel's serpentine shadows squeeze the fat of your upper thigh, another prods curiously at your clothed pussy, asking for permission inside. "Now sweetling, you wouldn't want anyone to come upon us and ruin our fun. Be a good girl and head up those stairs."

"You heard him." Rhysand reinforces Azriel's command when you hesitate, your face beet red. His chin tilts up, gesturing to the staircase on your right.

They looked like three wolves before they pounce on the poor unsuspecting lamb. You go up the stairs on wobbly legs. Every inch of you tingled with anticipation feeling the heat of the boys at your back. They're basically panting behind you, forced to watch the sway of your hips and ass as you go up one step and then another. Its a race to the bedroom door. You're the one to twist the knob, but its the flat of three palms against the door's smooth frame that shove it wide open. Cassian scoops you up, the ground slipping out from under you.

Cassian twirls you around before settling you down on the mattress like the treasure you were. If he possessed a tail, you bet all the riches in Prythian that it would be wagging fast. His lips are placing kisses all along your exposed legs, having flipped your dress skirts up. You uncontrollably giggle when he reaches the upper insides of your thighs, so close to your core.

You catch Rhysand's dark chuckle, the door closing shut follows after.

"Impatient as ever, Cass." Azriel comments and moves to one side of Rhys' bed while Rhysand stalks toward the other.

Hovering over you with his hair tickling your face, Cassian smirks and gifts you one last kiss before allowing you to sit up. With your three mates in front of you, you couldn't help feeling a little shy. Individually, you'd become sexually confident with them. But to have three pairs of lustful eyes all focused in on you. . .

You fidget and squirm, feeling the space between your legs flutter. "S-So. . . how is this going to work?"

"Nervous?" Rhysand reaches his hand out to gently stroke a lock of your hair.

"A little. I mean, to have the Night Court's high lord, general and spymaster all together is a bit intimidating. But I trust all of you." You grip Rhys' hand and move it towards your lips to kiss his knuckles; swearing that you hear him sharply inhale as you do so. You spoke the truth when you said you trusted them. They had you feeling confident and bold with the lavish amounts of love that they bestowed you with each day. How they made you feel like you could take on the very world itself as long as they were by your side.

Letting go of Rhysand's hand, you start to undress; overtly cognizant of their heated stares. Fully naked, you decide that Azriel's been so patient in waiting for attention. He grins when you crawl onto his lap and cup his jaw to pull him into a fervant kiss. His wings twitch and the shadows that perpetually clung to him push you closer against his form. In the background, you hear Rhysand and Cassian shuffle around. You wonder if they'd talked about this often.

"Oh, we have." Rhysand grins. "Many times. Sweetling, you have no idea the of the plans we've devised."

Azriel bites your lip in the moment making you gasp. Those powerful hands of his grip your ass tightly, forcefully moving you in a grinding motion against his hardening cock. Not caring that a smear of your arousal shined on the fabric of his pants.

"All the ways we can absolutely devour you."

Behind you, sharp teeth graze your shoulder making you squirm even more on Azriel's lap.

"The delicious thing that you are, it was necessary to. . . coordinate our moves." They move from your shoulder to your neck.

Your moans are unrestricted, they simply go directly into Az's mouth. He greedily feasts on them, tendrils of shadows softly gliding down your calf and to your ankles.

Now, Az.

You're not spared even a second before you're flipped around. Azriel takes hold of your wrists, splaying you out in front of Rhysand and Cassian. Their tattoos free from the confines of their shirts. And of course their well endowed shafts were already hard.

Rhysand is on his stomache, creeping closer to your pussy lips to brush his mouth against it before nuzzling with the tip of his nose at that little bundle of nerves that had the muscles in your thighs twitching. Teasing at first until his tongue lazily toys with it.

Azriel has you completely restrained. Nowhere for you to run or hide.

Fingers rub along your labia that was coated in your slick. Rhysand uses his fingers to gently pull your lower lips apart.

Your hazy gaze falls on Cassian who is gently stroking himself. He sends you a wolfish grin when he catches you. "Feel good, princess?"

All you can give out in response is a kiltered mewl. Rhysand was making his circles larger and larger around your clit. The tip of his finger starts to tickle at your entrance.

"A-Aahh-" Head lolling back, it falls against Azriel's shoulder. He's kissing the length of your neck, definitely leaving love bites.

Inch by inch, Rhysand inserts his index finger in you and ever so gently begins to curl his finger from inside of you. It's featherlight but enough to send an electric jolt through you and up your throat. Between your legs, Rhysand is constantly changing his speed and pressure. You squirm when Rhysand easily slips another finger inside of you and picks up his tongue speed on your clit.

You're trying your best to gyrate your hips to a near grind against Rhysand's face but Azriel's pesky shadows simply wouldn't allow it.

"Please!" You moan with another pathetic thrust of your hips.

Rhysand's lips smirk against your pussy.

"What do you say, general? Should the high lord let our well mannered lady come?" croons Azriel as he nips at the soft spots on your neck.

The tip of Cassian's cock is blushing with the most perfect bead of precum like a pearl. His lips curl in a smile when he catches your pretty eyes staring at him. He makes a show and swoops his thumb over the tip of his cock, dilated pupils observing how your mouth unconsciously opens with want to take in Cassian's member. And he would love to shove his cock down your throat, but that would have to be another time.

Instead, Cassian chooses to cock his head in scrutiny. "Too soon, don't you think?"

You desperately shake your head in disagreement but behind you Azriel laughs. "You're a cruel bastard aren't you?"

Shrugging indifferently before turning a wicked smirk your way, Rhysand returns to teasingly feasting on you as you squirm to shove your pussy closer to his mouth. He reduced his tongue strocks to pathetic kitten licks that had you wanting more.

Replacing Azriel's hands was the cool grip of his shadows as his hands now grip your tits. Scarred finger pads toy with your nipple until both are erect. Between your legs Rhys continues running the flat of his tongue up and down, dealing little rolls of the tip of his tongue against your clit occasionally. Just enough to keep you on the edge.

You're a whimpering, moaning mess. Half lidded eyes are barely able to make out the now fuzzy image of Cassian as he strolls to your other side. He puts one knee on the bed and leaning on his hands for support, he bites at your free tit that isn't being tortured by Azriel's loving pinches. His mouth latches on instantly.

Focus all over the place, you're lost in your own heady bliss and while you were denied your orgasm, your whole body was trembling from your mates' individual actions.

When Rhysand sits up, you nearly scream in frustration and pull at your shadowy restraints. "No!!"

They laugh at you and the bucking of your hips against empty air. You find yourself being manhandled once again, your tummy pressed against the mattress with your ass high in the air. Instead of Azriel's cock springing in front of your face its' Cass'.

Not needing any instructions, you take him into your mouth. You feel Cassian twitch against your tongue.

"See what a good girl she is, Cass? Come on. She deserves to come." the High Lord runs his hand along your flank, giving the globes of your ass a small squeeze. "Accidentally" slipping his thumb past your pussy lips.

Just to show Cassian what a good girl you were, you swallow more of his girth down your throat and hum. The vibrations that jolt up his cock has Cassian jerking his hips with a groan and threading his fingers into your hair. Rolling his head back, Cassian feels the walls of your throat tighten.

Through the warming of his face, Cassian trains his eyes back on your face.

"I think to sweeten the general up, perhaps our good girl should make the general come." You barely hear Azriel's smooth voice over the pounding of blood vessels in your ears. The entirety of the bottom of your face is covered in your own saliva and Cassian's precum. Your breathing was labored as you even struggled to inhale through your nose. Determination burning you up from the inside as you enjoy Cassian's cacophony of moans. Fueling the inferno in your core that has you wantonly feverish.

Obscenities made up of wet gagging noises coming from you and Cassian's own erratic growls fill Rhysand's master bedroom.

If anyone were to walk by outside-

"Don't think of that." Lightly scolds Rhysand. "There is no world except for the one in this room." His tongue licks from your clit to your perineum making you shiver and moan with your mouth full of Cassian.

There's a tug from Cassian's hand in your hair, pulling you back to the present matter at hand. He grinds his hips against your face. You're more than happy to forget about any sense of decorum or shame.

Your thoughts please Rhysand as he practically purrs against your pussy before he starts a full on make-out session with your lower lips. Your pitiable moans that send pleasurable quivers through Cassian's cock was enough to have his grip tighten in warning before shoving you off. Immediately follows the ribbon of cum shooting from his tip

"F-Fff-Fucking good girl" Cass' tone sounds like a curse but his red cheeks and heaving chest told you plenty. In a appreciative gesture, you run your fingers through the tantalizing streak of his happy trail, skating over the ridge of his cum gutters and up the mountain of abs.

It's all you can do as Rhysand spears that exquisite tongue of into your pussy while also stimulating your clit.

Alright, the general has spoken, sweetling. I'll give you a big reward.

Rhysand makes sure to keep his hands attentive to your messy, wet pussy when he pulls his face away. From the mess you left on his hands, Rhys uses it to coat his cock and and gently taps the tip against your entrance.

All the while Cassian brushes a few strands of hair out of your face before cupping it in his massive, callused hands. He always held you like you were a fragile egg. Intently watching every twitch of your face as Rhysand slowly pushes the blunt end of his cock into you. Inch by inch, he sheathes his member; like a sword with its scabbard. Your mouth parts, forming a soft 'o' shape as you feel your gummy walls accommodate his girth. For even Rhysand its a snug fit but being patient rewards him. Strong hands keep your hips in place.

Need to make sure I stretch you out a little before you take Az.

You're surprised you have a bit of your whits with you as you numbly think Where is Az?

"I'm right here, princess." Azriel sits on the bed once again, this time matching everyone else's nudity.

Again you're taken aback by how truly lucky you are when you gaze at Azriel and Cassian with half-lidded eyes. Cassian was already at half-mast in a matter of seconds thanks to the way your tits bounced when Rhysand fluidly slid his cock in and out. The powerful lines that composed their physique. Each muscle a testament to the trials and tribulations they have survived through. Your mates.

"Yes." He picks up his pace while swiping his thumb over your clit. "We're all your's sweetling." Heat radiating off of Rhysand makes your back start to sweat. Especially when he leans his forehead to press against your shoulder as he nearly folds over you, his thrusts becoming more animalistic as he neared the pinnacle of his own pleasure.

It's ridiculous how hard Rhysand can make you come. Overwhelming that your own small body could hardly contain it in your physical vessel. You can't help the tears that warm the backs of your eyes as you feel a thousand stars burst from inside of you. Stardust blurs your vision as your pussy walls clamp down on Rhysand mercilessly in your orgasm.

You're grateful that Rhysand solely is keeping you up. Your own body fails you as muscles spasm and every bare inch of you grows overly sensitive to Rhys' tightening grip.

Searing heat fills your core. The only sign that Rhysand has reached his climax as well besides the vicious bites he leaves all over your shoulders.

Your boys laugh when you face plant into the mattress, a heaving mess already and Cassian nor Azriel have had their fun yet. You will your arms to lift you up.

Red faced Rhysand takes pity on you and wraps one arm around your midsection to help you at least sit up enough to focus on the other two males whose chest are heaving just as much as yours'. Azriel's pupils have swelled till they took over his natural eye color. They'd look terrifying if it weren't for their raging cocks.

Well. . . the sight of those impressive members were slightly terrifying but also thrilling. Surprised when you felt your sticky pussy clench with need. Spoiled your cunt had become. Utterly spoiled by your three indulgent mates.

Cauldron grant you strength.

"Az and Cass will take care of you while I get you some water." Rhysand breathily tells you as he attempts to catch his own breath. You pout slightly when he moves to leave. He kisses your lips to placate the pout. "I'll be back. You'll be good. Won't you?"

"Always." You beam up at him. It has Rhysand melting, debating on staying and sending for one of the wraiths to fetch you water, but he knew you loathe the idea of anyone hearing your moans besides your mates.

With another promise of being prompt, Rhysand takes a second to at least put some pants on before leaving the room.

That's when Cassian unexpectedly pounces on you, pushing you back down against the mattress as you squeal your surprise. His lips are all over you, nips and kisses alike.

"Remember, we have to wait for Rhys." Azriel pipes up much to Cassian's chagrin as he shoots the spymaster a tampered down glare. While he's not too bothered with waiting, that doesn't mean he wasn't going to play around with you a little bit.

"Yeah yeah I know." Cass grins, his face leans down to hover over your tits before he takes on in his mouth. His teeth gently tug at your nipple making you warble. He hollows out his cheeks to give it a good suckle. "You'd probably do with a good tit sucking, Az." Comments Cassian once he removes his lips with a loud 'pop' noise.

"Then quit hogging them." Grins Azriel and pushes his brother's face away from your chest. Actually he nearly shoves Cassian off of you in his haste to latch his lips around your pert and abused bud. Imprints of Cassian's front teeth could be made out on the delicate skin of your breasts. Cassian doesn't put up a fight and watches Azriel swiftly clamber atop of you.

His giant wings block out the rest of the room, encasing you so that you could only focus on the spymaster.

He slithers down onto his tummy, his face making a slow ascent to your tits. Biting at the undersides, soft and tender and already baring red marks from Cassian's previous nibbling. Azriel's palm goes to cup at your heated pussy, still slick from your orgasm and leaking even more now with their touches.

You grind against his bare hand, absolutely drooling at the deep growl that rolls through him when you do so. Feel your lower lips spread against his palm, Azriel lets out another debauched groan that was now being muffled thanks to your nipple in his mouth.

Wrapping your arms around Azriel's head, you pull him closer to your chest and weave your fingers into his dark hair. In response his suckling becomes louder, the sensation shooting a thrill to your pussy. You coo praises with your head thrown back and your legs wrapping around Azriel's waist.

"Uh-uh sweetheart." Azriel lifts his face when he feels you trying to wiggle onto his cock. "Cassian has to stretch you out next."

"I've taken you before though. I can do it without any prep." Complaining, you're basically whimpering when Azriel peels himself completely off of you. You want to bite your tongue off for even saying anything.

"Looks like she's about to have a tantrum." Teases Rhysand when he opens the bedroom door to slink back in, but it was true. Azriel had worked you back up and now you were in need of another cock inside of you.

At least he's able to stop your pouting when you hands you water. You didn't realize how parched you were until the first splash of cold water hits your tongue. Guzzling it down, you're not paying attention to your bat boys having a silent conversation. One that you were not allowed in on.

Rhysand winks. Distracting you from Cassian sneaking up and lifting you high up onto his shoulders, smashing his face right into your pussy. Your fingers claw at his shoulders for stability as you feel yourself teeter to and fro.

"Cass!" Squealing, you can't enjoy his tongue fucking into you since you're doing your best to not fall.

Doesn't help when you can feel the vibrations of Cassian's low chuckle.

Its hard to forget just how powerful your mates are. Reminded consistently by their massive muscles. Cassian's hands never quivered in holding you up above his face.

You shiver and go slack jawed.

There you go.

Shadows help you to steady yourself on Cassian's hands, giving him your absolute trust.

When he's satisfied with how wet you are, Cassian slowly moves you down onto his lap. Each inch of him you took in, you let out sweet little cries. Lewd squelches emit from your singing pussy, Azriel and Rhysand watch with rapt attention at the general's cock splitting you open.

Your high lord nudges at his spymaster.

Azriel obeys and right in the middle of a cry provoked by a particularly hard thrust on Cassian's end, Azriel shoves his cock into your wide open mouth. The back of your throat is punched by the tip of Azriel's cock, enticing your gag reflex to choke you. Corners of your mouth ache when your lips have to widen even more in order to take Azriel's fat dick. Your eyes burn with dewey tears and a silver string of saliva dribbles down your chin.

Cassian continues to fuck you harder and your muffled cries has Azriel's spine tingling and his cock twitching in your mouth as his hips continue to thrust in and out.

Even with Cassian supporting all of your weight, you find your thighs trembling and hips quaking every smack of Cassian's pelvis meeting your ass.

Surprisingly, Azriel's own rhythm matched that of Cassian's. They really did plan this out. Impressive.

"We had to plan things out. You could get hurt otherwise." Rhysand replies. He couldn't explain the immense arousal it gave him to watch his brothers spitroast you. To watch the veins in your throat bulge and your red face streaked as pleasure induced tears slip down your cheeks. Quite the sight to behold and the most beautiful image in the world to Rhys.

The same time your head was bobbing, so was your ass as Cassian lets out possessive growls that outwardly had him appearing vicious. Cass' grip on your thighs told him otherwise, it was one of assured strength that he would not let you fall.

He knew you always thought yourself to be the lucky one in the relationship. Lucky to brag of your three strong mates that could rule all of Prythian's courts if they developed the taste for it.

In all honesty, they were the ones who felt like the luckiest bastards.

A mate wasn't something they ever thought would be bestowed to them. Blood trailed behind them. Brutal childhood years that physically and mentally scarred them for life.

You were their reward for all those horrible years.

And he couldn't imagine sharing you with anyone else but his lifelong friends that were basically brothers to him.

You're slapped across the face as another climax seizes control of your limbs. Spasming against Cassian's face that was now utterly demolished by your slick that gave his lips a shiny glaze.

You don't give Azriel an opportunity to pull his member out of your mouth before he too is creaming against your tongue. Thick, long ropes that coats your esophagus.

Abruptly, Azriel rips his cock out of your mouth as Cassian flips you onto your back and with one hand, holds your knee ditch in place and truly pounds into your pussy that had your tits bouncing uncontrollably from the velocity. He's smacking your wet, overly sensitive clit using the flat of his fingers. You shriek, feeling your back swallowed up by the mattress below you. Cassian could crush all of your bones and you wouldn't give a flying fuck in that minute.

With one last, devastating thrust, Cassian spills his warmth into you.

Giving yourselves extra time to come down from yet another post-coital high, Cassian slips out from you and gently places your legs back down. He pats your flank like you're a brood mare. "Atta girl."

Unable to conjure the energy to laugh, instead you wheeze out a scoff and half-heartedly swat at his arm.

He casts Rhysand and Azriel a teasing grin. "She's ready."

Azriel, your usually sweet and gentle Azriel suddenly has a predatory glint in his eyes. "Spread her."

Working together, Rhysand and Cassian grab hold of one leg each; parting them so Azriel can lewdly examine his prey.

"Look at this." Azriel hums and swipes his finger along the slit of your pussy, collecting a bit of Cassian's cum on his index finger. "Already stuffed. I wonder if my cock can even fit in there with both Rhys' and Cass' cum."

Despite your heated blush that made you dizzy, your lips quirk up. "The only way to find out is to try."

With all of the mixed liquids coating your cunt, it was pretty easy for Azriel to slide half of his cock into you. The rest he eased in with a few rocks of his hips. A growl that comes from the pit of his stomach is ripped out of Azriel, his wings flaring out when he takes you. His brothers continue to possess a secure hold on your thighs as their eyes focus in on the contorting features of your face.

The pressure of his cock is enough to pin you down. Overwhelming even but you'd taken his shaft before and you were determined to do it again.

In order to do so, you will your body into complete, ragdoll obedience that relaxes your entire body; even the death grip the walls of your cunt had on Azriel. It garnered him more wiggle room to start bullying his cock further into you.

Rhys actually breathes out a soft laugh "Wow. . . is that what being 'cock drunk' looks like?"

Cassian groans and using his free hand begins to fist his dick. "Cock drunk on Az's cock, princess?"

Unable to laugh, instead Az's lips twitched into a grin; one of his hands roam to stroke your cheek. You're thoughtlessly nodding along to whatever Cassian was saying. All you understood were the two words "Az's" and "cock".

For a second, you really do fear that Azriel will split you in half when his length pushes past the sensitive roof of your pussy and rams its head against your cervix.

Each love tap had your toes curling inward and your eyes rolling back.

Another?

Greedy girl. Do you even know how many times you've come?

You squeal, hips meeting Azriel's in perfect synchronicity. They can taunt you all they wanted. As much as they made you cock drunk, the three of them were completely pussy whipped.

In retaliation Rhysand gives your nipple a harsh tug. "You'll pay for that later, sweetling."

Exhausted was an understatement.

All four of you lay in a disgusting heap of limbs and collective sweat. Half of Cassian's body hung off the edge of the bed. He didn't mind. At least he was able to cool off even his foot was basically touching the ground and put a few inches between himself and Azriel. You lay between the spymaster and the high lord. Waters were retrieved after the fun was officially over.

Now you lay with your mates sated and unspeakably happy.

Your inner musings have Rhysand smiling. He turns your face toward him using but his fingers on your chin. "We live to make you happy." Rhysand languidly kisses you, enjoying the flavor upon your lips. A combination of everyone's juices. They would help you get to the bath. Eventually.

"I'm taking it the princess was satisfied?" Cheekily grinned Cassian.

You laugh though it costs your body to wince in slight discomfort. "Yes. If you didn't notice, I quite enjoyed myself."

Azriel nuzzles his nose along the length of your neck. Mentally you make a note that you'd have to visit the dressmaker so that they could alter your gowns to make them cover your neck and chest. Without context, many would assume the red marks all over your body was a sign of disease. Showing up to a professional meeting with hickeys all over your body wouldn't bode well either.

"Lets try double penetration next time!" Chimes Cassian.

Mother be good, these boys were certainly going to be the death of you.

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @a-courtof-azriel

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