#impactfulness is the only word i can come up with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

surielstea · 2 days ago

Text

A Lesson in Lust

Inspired by a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.

Word count: 6.5k

A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.

I should have known better.

Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.

I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.

I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.

But he knows.

He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.

Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.

He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.

For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.

But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.

"Why did you fake it?"

The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.

I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"

Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"

Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.

"I—I didn't—"

He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.

"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.

I stay silent.

Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."

But here we were—doing exactly that.

His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.

"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.

"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."

His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"

His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.

"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.

"You tired now?"

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.

I exhale softly. "No."

Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.

"Good."

And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.

They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.

I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"

"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."

I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"

"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"

I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.

"Let's fix that, yeah?"

His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.

"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.

"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."

His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—

I lose the ability to think.

"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.

Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."

I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."

His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."

"You're insufferable."

Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."

Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."

His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."

A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.

I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."

His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"

My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.

"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."

A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.

His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.

His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.

I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.

Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.

"Please," I whisper, desperate.

Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.

"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.

He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"

I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.

"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His brows arch. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"

I nod, back arching as I ready myself.

His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"

I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.

He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.

A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.

"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."

He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.

I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.

That realization has me spiraling even faster.

"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.

"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.

I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.

Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.

"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."

The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.

But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.

I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.

His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.

"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.

His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.

He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."

His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"

"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.

Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.

I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.

Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"

"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.

His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."

I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.

By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."

I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.

Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"

"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.

But that's exactly what he wants.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.

"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."

A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.

"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."

Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.

"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.

"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"

All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.

The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.

The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.

His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."

I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.

Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."

I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.

"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."

I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.

I fucking love it.

Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."

I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.

He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.

"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."

I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.

"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"

A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.

"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"

"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.

"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.

"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.

He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."

And then he stops moving.

I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"

"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."

"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.

"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."

"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."

He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.

"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.

"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"

He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."

I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.

His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.

"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"

His pace falters, just for a second.

"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."

"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.

He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."

And fuck—I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.

But Azriel—he doesn't stop.

Not even for a second.

"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.

"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"

His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.

I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."

His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.

"I—fuck, I can't—"

Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.

"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."

I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.

"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."

I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.

He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.

"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"

I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.

"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."

I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.

His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.

"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.

I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.

He smirks, so fucking smug.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."

I gripe, clenching around him tightly.

Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.

"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."

I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.

I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.

And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."

Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.

I think—finally. He's done.

But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.

"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.

I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.

I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.

"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.

He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.

"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"

"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.

I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.

"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.

My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"

I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.

Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.

"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."

I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.

"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."

He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.

And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.

"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."

I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.

"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.

"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.

My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.

"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"

I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.

And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"

I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.

He laughs, wicked and cruel.

"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."

I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.

He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.

"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.

"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.

"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.

I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.

He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.

"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.

"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.

"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.

He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.

"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.

I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.

He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.

He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.

He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.

"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.

Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.

"You were counting?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."

I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."

His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.

"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"

His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.

"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."

I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.

"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."

I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.

"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-angst @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb @lorosette @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tothestarsandwhateverend @ahaha0246 @mellowmusings @mythicalcookie

739 notes · View notes

yourreddancer · 2 days ago

Text

@doseofcommonsense - tell us you're a heartless soulless Scrooge with all those words. People USED to be able to feed themselves AND their kids on one income.

Then along came Reagan and his rotten policies that drove all the wealth accumulation to the upper 10%!!!!

Read and LEARN!!!

the funny thing is that i don't think younger people - and i mean those under the age of 40 - really have a grasp on how many of today's issues can be tied back to a disastrous reagan policy:

war on drugs: reagan's aggressive escalation of the war on drugs was a catastrophic policy, primarily targeting minority communities and fueling mass incarceration. the crusade against drugs was more about controlling the Black, Latino and Native communities than addressing the actual problems of drug abuse, leading to a legacy of broken families and systemic racism within the criminal justice system.

deregulation and economic policies: reaganomics was an absolute disaster for the working class. reagan's policies of aggressive tax cuts for the rich, deregulation, and slashing social programs were nothing less than class warfare, deepening income inequality and entrenching corporate greed. these types of policies were a clear message that reagan's america was only for the wealthy elite and a loud "fuck you" to working americans.

environmental policies: despite his reputation being whitewashed thanks to the recovery of the ozone layer, reagan's environmental record was an unmitigated disaster. his administration gutted critical environmental protections and institutions like the EPA, turning a blind eye to pollution and corporate exploitation of natural resources. this blatant disregard for the planet was a clear sign of prioritizing short-term corporate profits over the future of the environment.

AIDS crisis: reagan's gross neglect of the aids crisis was nothing short of criminal and this doesn't even begin to touch on his wife's involvement. his administration's indifference to the plight of the lgbtq+ community during this devastating epidemic revealed a deep-seated bigotry and a complete failure of moral leadership.

mental health: reagan's dismantling of mental health institutions under the guise of 'reform' led directly to a surge in homelessness and a lack of support for those with mental health issues. his policies were cruel and inhumane and showed a personality-defining callous disregard for the most vulnerable in society.

labor and unions: reagan's attack on labor unions, exemplified by his handling of the patco strike, was a blatant assault on workers' rights. his actions emboldened corporations to suppress union activities, leading to a significant erosion of workers' power and rights in the workplace. he was colloquially known as "Ronnie the Union Buster Reagan"

foreign policy and military interventions: reagan's foreign policy, particularly in latin america, was imperialist and ruthless. his administration's support for dictatorships and right-wing death squads under the guise of fighting "communism" showed a complete disregard for human rights and self-determination of other nations.

public health: yes, reagan's agricultural policies actually facilitated the rise of high fructose corn syrup, once again prioritizing corporate profits over public health. this shift in the food industry has had lasting negative impacts on health, contributing to the obesity epidemic and other health issues.

privatization: reagan's push for privatization was a systematic dismantling of public services, transferring wealth and power to private corporations and further eroding the public's access to essential services.

education policies: his approach to education was more of an attack on public education than anything else, gutting funding and promoting policies that undermined equal access to quality education. this was, again, part of a broader agenda to maintain a status quo where the privileged remain in power.

this is just what i could come up with in a relatively short time and i did not even live under this man's presidency. the level at which ronald reagan has broken the united states truly can't be overstated.

youtube

#Youtube

4K notes · View notes

jacquitries · 2 days ago

Text

In This Life and The Next | J.P.

You were Harry Potter’s best friend, but loss drove you to steal a Time-Turner which accidentally trapped you in the past — before Harry, before the war.

You swore to keep your distance, but James Potter makes that impossible. The past wasn’t meant to hold you, and falling for him was never part of the plan. And yet you did anyway.

(one of my longer fics at a whopping 6.8K words but hey i'm a sucker for James hahaha)

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The weight of the past clings to you like a ghost. You were the hidden fourth member of the so-called Golden Trio, an irony that never ceased to amuse you. A Slytherin among Gryffindors, careful with your image, wary of the ever-watchful eyes of your housemates. Most never associated you with them—not in the day-to-day sense—but when the battles came, you were there.

Until it all fell apart.

Fifth year was meant to be another battle fought in the shadows, Another war where your role remained unseen, unnoticed.

But the fight at the Ministry of Magic exposed you. Your parents saw the truth. Saw where your loyalty truly lay as you stood beside Harry, wand raised, defying everything they had tried to make you be.

And then Sirius was gone.

Harry was shattered. You had already lost Cedric the year before, now you had lost Sirius too; and the war had only just begun.

You should have been smarter. You should have been careful.

But in the deafening quiet of loss, desperation clawed at your throat. And so, the Time-Turner was yours.

Or it had been. Before Filch’s mangy cat caught a whiff of your presence, Before the old squib’s voice rang out like a death sentence, Before you turned too quickly, and the fragile magic of time cracked beneath your fingertips.

A light, too bright to comprehend. A force, too strong to fight. And then, silence.

When you wake, the air is wrong. It’s thinner, richer, Like Hogwarts itself has taken a breath it hasn’t in years. Your body knows before your mind does.

The halls stretch before you, Unchanged yet entirely foreign. Time has unraveled, and you with it.

Dumbledore. You need Dumbledore.

Your feet take off before you can even process, A silent incantation for speed, A wish against all logic that this is just a dream. A terrible, cruel trick of fate.

Then, four figures round the corner. Books clutched in their hands, laughter bright as the sun—

You don’t have time to stop. And neither do they.

Impact. A tumble of limbs, parchment scattering like autumn leaves, And suddenly, you are staring into a pair of hazel flecked with gold. Obscured behind glass, but still shining. Still burning.

He’s beneath you, startled and wide-eyed, chest rising, breath mingling with your own. For a moment, the world tilts. And then you remember where you are.

You shove yourself up, heart hammering, muttering a curt, "Sorry." A flick of your hand, a rush of raw magic. Every book, every page, lifts into the air, Falling back into their arms as if nothing had ever happened.

"How—?"

You don’t stay to hear the end of the question. Their voices chase after you, stunned, breathless.

"Wait!" "Come back!"

But you are already gone, racing towards an office where a wizard waits. The gargoyle shifts with a whispered password— Sherbet Lemon. And then—

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle with quiet understanding, A knowing smile curving his lips as he watches you catch your breath.

"To whom," he says, voice like an old melody, "Do I owe the pleasure of meeting?"

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You sit across from Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes studying you with the quiet patience of a man who has seen far too much. There’s no point in holding anything back. You’ve learned the hard way that the old wizard always knows more than he lets on. So you lay it all out—the Ministry, your parents, the Time-Turner, the light, the fall through time. Everything.

He listens without interruption, nodding in places, steepling his fingers as he considers your words. When you finish, he reaches for the remnants of your shattered Time-Turner. His expression turns grave as he turns it over in his palm.

“This,” he says, “is beyond repair, at least by conventional means.”

You swallow hard, gripping the arms of your chair. The weight of his words settles over you like a stone. You had held onto the hope, however slim, that fixing it would be a simple matter. That there would be some ancient magic, some forgotten spell, something that could set this all right. But Dumbledore’s voice leaves no room for false hope.

“Other Time-Turners exist, of course,” he continues, “but using them while already displaced in time could be… catastrophic. It is a risk we cannot take.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Dumbledore smiles gently. “For now, you will remain here. You must be cautious. The future you know is still in flux. If we are to find a way to send you back without unraveling the very fabric of time, it will take patience and great care.”

You exhale, trying to keep the panic at bay. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“You will be a student,” he says simply. “Blend in, keep your head down, and trust that I will do my utmost to find a way forward for you.”

He pauses, then adds, “You are, as it turns out, approximately twenty years early. Voldemort’s influence is growing, but war has not yet darkened these halls.”

The knowledge does little to comfort you. The storm is brewing. You’re stuck in the past, an era on the cusp of war. And the people you know—the people you love—are either mere children or not even born yet.

“To help you adjust, I will have the fifth-year Slytherin prefect assist you,” Dumbledore says, rising from his seat and moving toward his fireplace. He tosses a handful of powder into the flames, calling out, “Evan Rosier.”

You recognize the name instantly. A Slytherin. A future Death Eater. A name written in blood and war.

Moments later, a tall, dark-haired boy steps into the office. He carries himself with an easy confidence, his sharp eyes scanning you with curiosity before flicking toward Dumbledore.

“Ah, Professor,” Evan greets, his voice rich with charm. “How may I be of assistance?”

Dumbledore gestures toward you. “Miss Y/L/N is a transfer student joining us rather late in the year. I trust you’ll help her find her footing?”

Evan turns his full attention to you, flashing an effortless smile. “Well, well. A new face in Slytherin. Don’t worry, darling, you’re in good hands.”

You eye him warily, but there’s no hostility in his gaze, only amusement. You nod, allowing yourself a small, relieved smile. Whatever else he may become, right now, he’s your best chance at surviving this timeline.

The next morning, Evan proves to be as good as his word. He introduces you to his friends—pureblooded Slytherins with sharp smiles and sharper tongues. They are polite but distant, willing to accept your presence without prying into your past. A blessing.

You settle into the routine easily enough. Classes are familiar, though your mind often drifts. You don’t need to listen; you’ve already learned all of this. Instead, you lose yourself in thoughts of how to return to your own time.

You barely notice the group of Gryffindor boys across the room at first, though they certainly notice you. They whisper amongst themselves, occasionally glancing in your direction.

“She’s not in any of our classes,” one of them murmurs.

“Must be a transfer,” another says. “Or a Ministry kid.”

“Doesn’t look like she belongs with the snakes.”

The dark-haired one with glasses tilts his head, studying you as if trying to place if he has seen you before. The one beside him, lounging with an easy smirk, murmurs something you don’t catch, his expression amused. Another, quieter boy watches you with a thoughtful look, while the last fidgets in his seat.

It’s only when Professor Slughorn calls your name that you snap out of your daze.

“Miss Y/L/N, perhaps you’d like to share with the class how one might enhance a Draught of Peace?”

The answer comes to you instantly, your voice steady as you list the ingredients and the precise modifications required to strengthen the potion’s effects. The class falls silent. Even Slughorn looks impressed.

“Well done, well done!” he exclaims. “Such advanced knowledge! You must have had an excellent education before coming here.”

You nod absently, but your attention shifts to the boys, who are now watching you with more interest than before. The smirking one nudges his friend, saying something under his breath. You don’t care enough to wonder what.

Over the next few days, you begin to notice one of them more than the others. The black-haired one—the one with the smirk. Every time you pass them in the halls, he calls out to you.

It starts as playful comments, harmless teasing, but soon it shifts to outright attempts to get you to talk. You ignore him. You never try to learn his name.

Eventually, they corner you in the courtyard, cutting off your escape with easy grins and folded arms. You tense, but they don’t seem hostile—just insufferably persistent.

“So,” the smirking one drawls, tilting his head, “are you going to tell us your life story, or do we have to guess?”

“I prefer my privacy,” you say coolly.

The quiet one studies you with careful curiosity, while the smallest of them shifts nervously on his feet. The one with glasses leans against a pillar, watching you with barely concealed amusement.

“Fair enough,” he says. “At least tell us your name.”

You hesitate. There’s something familiar about two of them—the smirking one and the quiet one. A nagging feeling at the edge of your mind, something just out of reach.

“Only if you tell me yours first.”

The one with glasses grins. “James Potter.”

Your breath catches.

“Sirius Black,” the smirking one adds.

“Remus Lupin,” the quiet one says with a polite nod.

“Peter Pettigrew,” the last one murmurs.

The names hit you like a stunning spell.

James Potter. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew.

The Marauders.

Something clicks into place. You stare at them, your mind racing. You were supposed to keep your head down. Lay low. Follow Dumbledore’s instructions.

But looking at them now, knowing what’s to come—the war, the betrayals, the deaths—an idea takes root.

Maybe you can change things.

Maybe they don’t have to suffer the way they were meant to.

Maybe you don’t have to let history repeat itself.

You step forward, closing the distance between you, and this time, when you look at them, you allow yourself to truly see them. The boys they are. The men they will become.

And then, you smile—your brightest, most dazzling smile, the one that catches them off guard. The one that makes Sirius falter, James’ confidence flicker, Remus’ breath hitch, and Peter’s ears burn red.

“My name is Y/N,” you say, offering your hand to Sirius but letting your gaze sweep over all of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

For a moment, they’re stunned into silence. Then, Sirius recovers first, a slow, intrigued smirk curling on his lips as he takes your hand.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice softer than before, “this is going to be fun.”

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The Marauders welcomed you into their world with open arms, though not without reason. Your talent in spellcraft and potions—your effortless way of turning theory into something tangible—left them in awe. Sirius, ever the audacious flirt, found your sharp tongue amusing; Remus, the quiet intellectual, respected your mind; Peter admired you from the sidelines. But James... James was something else entirely.

Among them, it was James you understood best. Perhaps it was the echo of a friendship once sacred in another life, or perhaps it was something far more complicated. There was an unspoken rhythm between you, a seamless give and take that made you forget, if only for a moment, that he was meant for someone else. That he had chosen a different ending to his story.

There were moments—fragments of time suspended between heartbeats—where you could swear he felt something for you. The way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his laughter softened when it was only for you. But you never let yourself believe in those fleeting instances. You knew better. You knew James Potter belonged to Lily Evans.

You watched as he continued his pursuit, his flirtation with her a daily ritual. And though Lily rejected him time and time again, James never faltered, never seemed wounded by the refusals. He laughed them off as if they were nothing more than a game. It was strange—how his persistence never wavered, how he seemed entirely unbothered by her dismissals.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Evan Rosier was a puzzle in his own right. You had grown close despite the lines that should have kept you apart. He did not fit the mold of a Death Eater, at least not in the way you had always imagined. He questioned your loyalty to the Marauders but never pressed. He was observant, though—far too perceptive for your liking.

"You act as if he's untouchable," Evan mused one evening, his voice low. "As if you've already decided how this ends. But tell me—did he ever say you couldn't touch him? Or is it that you've never even tried?"

You scoffed, shaking your head, unwilling to engage in his mind games. "It doesn’t matter. He belongs to Lily."

"And yet, you watch him like you wish he didn’t."

You ignored him. But his words lodged themselves into the cracks of your resolve, and for weeks, they lingered.

Then came the morning everything changed.

James had asked Lily to Hogsmeade again, only to be met with the usual rejection. But this time, she laughed, saying, "The only way I’d say yes to you is if Y/N says yes to Sirius."

A joke. A meaningless quip. But Sirius, ever the performer, turned to you with a smirk and asked for a date to Hogsmeade.

And to the Great Hall’s utter shock, you said yes.

Sirius blinked, stunned, before breaking into a delighted grin. James choked on his water. You paid it no mind.

"Are you serious?" James asked, voice strained.

You smirked. "No, he is. But yes, I’m serious."

Sirius, unable to contain his excitement, immediately turned to Lily. "There you have it! A double date it is!"

James looked... lost.

His easy confidence, the unshakable bravado he always wore like armor, faltered. His grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around his goblet. For the first time, he seemed unsure. Caught between surprise and something else, something unreadable.

"You’re joking," he said, but there was no laughter in his voice.

You tilted your head. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, clapping James on the back. "Looks like Evans is finally giving you a chance, Prongs! And all it took was a little friendly motivation."

James barely reacted. His grip tightened around his goblet, knuckles going white. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, wanted to protest, but the words never came.

You took a sip of your pumpkin juice, pretending the way he stiffened didn’t make your chest feel unbearably tight.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The day of the Hogsmeade trip arrived, and an unsettling feeling crept into your chest. To see James with Lily—it made you feel sick. You couldn’t do this. You weren’t meant to be part of this story, not like this.

So you asked Evan for a favor.

When the Marauders arrived at the courtyard, Lily was already there, nervously smoothing her robes. James had taken longer than usual to get ready that morning—Sirius had noticed. James had asked too many questions. Questions about you.

Evan approached them, hands in his pockets, looking wholly unbothered. "She’s not coming," he said simply. "Feeling under the weather. Told me to pass the message."

James went rigid. "What do you mean, not coming?"

Evan shrugged. "What I said."

And then, before anyone could react, James was gone, his feet carrying him toward the castle without a second thought.

Lily stared after him, stunned. Sirius exhaled slowly, exchanging a knowing glance with Remus. "Well," he muttered. "That explains that."

In the hospital wing, you lay in bed, feigning sleep, when the doors slammed open. James stormed in, eyes wild, chest rising and falling as if he had just run the entire way.

You blinked. "James?"

He let out a breath, as though only now allowing himself to breathe. "Are you okay?"

"It’s just a bug, James. Madame Pomfrey’s already on it." You studied him, confused. "What are you doing here?"

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out—raw, instinctive.

"Because you're more important."

Silence.

His own words seemed to catch up with him, his breath hitching as the weight of them settled between you. But then, as if steadying himself, he said it again. Quieter this time, but with even more certainty.

"You're more important."

The world stilled.

Neither of you moved, neither of you dared to break whatever fragile thing had just shifted between you. But then, without another word, James pulled up a chair and sat beside your bed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And just like that, the Hogsmeade trip was forgotten.

The words he had spoken still hung in the air, unanswered, undeniable. But neither of you spoke of them. Not yet.

And so, you spent the day together, in quiet understanding.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The air between you and James had changed. It wasn’t obvious, not something others would immediately notice, but you felt it in the way his gaze lingered just a moment longer than before. In the way his teasing remarks had softened, uncertainty peeking through the cracks of his confidence. In the way your pulse stumbled whenever he brushed past you along the halls, warmth radiating from where his fingers barely touched your sleeve.

You never spoke of that night.

Never spoke of how his voice wavered when he said your name, or how the weight of his words still hung in the air between you, suspended in time, unresolved. But it was there. In every sidelong glance, in the way he hesitated before speaking, in the uncharacteristic silence that followed moments when he should have been boasting, laughing, filling the space with his usual bravado.

Instead, there was hesitation. A quiet uncertainty that made him different from the James Potter everyone knew.

And then one evening, as you lingered in the library, the candles burning low and the soft rustle of parchment filling the quiet, James leaned in, voice lower than usual, almost hesitant.

"Come with me tomorrow night. Just us."

His words were simple, but they carried weight. There was no teasing lilt, no playful grin—just James, asking, waiting.

And because he looked at you like that, like you were something precious, something worth waiting for, you found yourself saying yes.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and bright, and for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself enjoy it.

You spent the next day preparing, carefully picking out what to wear, ensuring you looked your best without making it obvious you had tried. Before heading out, you ran into Evan, who gave you a knowing look the second he saw you.

"It's not what you think," you said quickly, adjusting your cloak as if that would somehow make your words sound more believable.

Evan only hummed, crossing his arms. "You need to stop bullshitting me. And yourself."

His words hit harder than you expected, giving you pause. But you shook it off, refusing to let them settle.

James was waiting for you.

And when you arrived at the Astronomy Tower, you found that he had set up a candlelit dinner, the soft glow casting golden light over the stone walls. He had put effort into this, into making this night something memorable. And it was.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. He made you forget, even if just for a little while. But James could always read you, and when your laughter quieted, when something flickered behind your eyes, he noticed.

"It’s nothing," you said, shaking your head.

James studied you, his expression softening. "That’s not true. I see it. And I want to understand because…"

A breath. A hesitation. Then, quieter, steadier:

"Because I’ve fallen in love with you. Irrevocably. Helplessly. In a way I never saw coming and can’t seem to stop."

His words stole the air from your lungs. You were stunned, frozen in place, but then—

Then he moved, slowly, hesitantly, closing the distance between you. His hand was warm when it brushed against yours, his gaze flickering to your lips, seeking permission. And you let him.

Until you couldn’t.

Until the memories crashed into you like a wave—memories of Harry, of the stories, of everything that had been written and everything that was meant to be.

You pushed him away.

James staggered back, eyes wide, hurt flashing across his face. "I—sorry, I didn't mean to—was that too fast?"

"No!" You rushed to say, your hands trembling. "It's not you, James. You’re perfect. It’s just… I can’t have you."

Confusion twisted his features, and he took a step closer. "Yes, you can. Because you already have my heart."

Tears burned at the edges of your vision. You shook your head. "James… I need to tell you something. The truth."

And so you did. You told him everything.

That you were from the future. That history had already been written, and that in it, he was meant to be with Lily Evans. That you were never supposed to be here, in this time, in his life.

He believed you. He believed you were from the future, but what he couldn’t believe was that he would ever choose Lily over you.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don’t care what’s supposed to happen. I don’t care what some other version of me chose. This me—the me standing in front of you—can’t imagine any future that doesn’t have you in it."

"You have to," you whispered. "Because we were never meant to be."

You turned to leave, but James caught your wrist, his grip desperate. "Please," he pleaded, voice breaking. "Don’t go."

"Let me go, James," you whispered. "Please."

And the moment he saw the tears in your eyes, he did.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

When you returned to your common room, Evan was waiting for you. He didn’t ask what happened. He just pulled you into his arms, and you let him, burying your face in his shoulder as the weight of the night crashed down on you.

Fifteen minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"Dumbledore asked for you."

Your breath hitched. You knew what that meant.

You freshened up, steeling yourself for what was to come, and went to Dumbledore’s office. He greeted you with kind eyes, telling you that the way back was ready—but that you had a few days to say your goodbyes if you wished.

But you hesitated.

"What if I stayed?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dumbledore studied you, thoughtful. "The laws of time travel suggest that what has happened before will happen again," he mused. "But in your case, I am not certain. Perhaps the previous timeline would cease to exist. But tell me—are you truly willing to leave the people you once knew for the ones you have now?"

And there it was. The question you had been avoiding.

Because if you stayed, Harry might never exist. And that was something you could never risk.

"What happens to everyone here when I leave?" you asked instead.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suspect they will forget you. As if you never existed."

Your heart clenched, but maybe… maybe that was for the best.

You swallowed. "Then let's get it over with."

You twisted the Time-Turner. The world spun, magic crackling in the air, and when it stilled, you were back in your rightful time—twenty years later, in Dumbledore’s office.

He stepped out, his gaze falling on you with quiet understanding.

"I take it my past self was of some help?" he asked.

You nodded. Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you remember me? From twenty years ago?"

Dumbledore's smile was sad. "I’m afraid I do not."

And with that, you knew.

James had forgotten you.

Sirius. Remus. Even Evan. None of them would remember.

But you steeled yourself. You had made your choice and you need to find out if he made it out alive. If all of them made it.

So you turned away and went to find Harry.

Because now, after everything, you needed to see him more than ever.

The Great Hall buzzed with idle chatter and the occasional clang of cutlery against plates. The ceiling mirrored the grey clouds above, a prelude to a storm. You walked through the long tables, your steps slow, measured, yet drawn forward by an unseen force. And then you saw them—Harry, Hermione, and Ron, their familiar forms hunched together in easy conversation over a half-finished meal.

Your lips parted before you could think. "Harry."

He looked up at the sound of your voice, eyebrows raised in a question he never got to ask. You closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping your arms around him before he could say a word. He stiffened for only a second before his arms came around you, warm and firm, holding you as if he knew, somehow, that you needed this more than words. It was the feeling of coming home after a long journey, of stepping inside to a crackling fireplace and a cup of hot cocoa waiting on the table. A safe haven in human form.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

And what you saw sent a tremor through your bones.

He had his mother’s eyes—there was no mistaking that. But the rest of him…

His jawline wasn’t his father’s. His nose was longer, sharper. His cheekbones more defined, the shadows cast upon them a different kind of familiar.

"Is that really you?"

He gave you a lopsided smile. "In the flesh."

But he could sense something in your expression. A flicker of unease, a question you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. He glanced at Ron and Hermione before turning back to you. "Let’s take a walk."

You barely registered Hermione’s inquisitive gaze or Ron’s mouth opening in protest before Harry had already abandoned his half-eaten lunch. You followed him, feet moving on instinct, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each step. The corridors of Hogwarts stretched endlessly before you, silent save for the distant echoes of moving staircases and portraits whispering in the background.

For a while, you simply walked, letting the quiet settle like dust on old memories. Then, Harry spoke first.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled. "It's been a long day."

Your eyes flickered to him again, studying him, mapping his features like an unsolved puzzle.

"Harry… is it truly you?"

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "Yes. Of course, it's me. What makes you thing otherwise?"

Your fingers lifted before you could think. You traced them over his face. His cheekbones, his jaw, the slope of his nose. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He knew you needed to do this. And so he let you.

"You look different," you murmured. "Except for your eyes. You still have—"

"My mother’s eyes," he finished for you, a knowing glint in his gaze. "Yeah, I know. Everyone in my family, including my own mum, never shuts up about it."

Your breath caught. "Your family? Your mom?"

He blinked at you as if you’d just asked if the sun still rose in the east. "Yeah. You just saw her last holiday break when you visited me after spending Christmas with your family."

The world tilted beneath your feet.

His mother was alive.

Your stomach twisted as memories crashed into you, clashing, overlapping, rewriting themselves in real time. It was like two versions of history were vying for dominance in your mind, forcing their way into the cracks of your consciousness.

"Your dad is…" The words left you unsteady, a whisper in the storm.

Harry’s response came easily, like it was common knowledge. "Snape."

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled at your sides. He must have noticed because he chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "Ex-husband, actually. Mum was smart enough to leave him."

Your mind was a tempest now, an unrelenting tide pulling you under. And then, a name burst from your lips before you could stop it.

"What about James?"

Harry’s brows furrowed. "James? You mean my godfather, James? I see him from time to time at reunions, but he's busy being a big-shot Auror."

You didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Confusion? Grief for something that no longer existed—or had never existed at all?

Harry watched you, his expression shifting to something softer, more understanding. "We’re having a reunion this summer at Sirius’s place. If you’d like to come… I could ask my mum."

You hesitated. Did you want to see him? The James Potter you remembered wasn’t this world’s James Potter. He wouldn’t even remember you.

But you knew it would eat you alive not to go.

So you swallowed the lump in your throat, steadied yourself, and nodded.

"Yeah. I’d like that."

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The reunion was in full swing by the time you and Harry arrived, and almost immediately, the whispers began.

"Harry finally brought a date," someone chuckled.

"They look good together, don’t they?" another murmured.

You and Harry exchanged an amused glance. It had started the moment you walked in together—an assumption neither of you bothered to correct. Secure in your friendship, you merely laughed it off, neither confirming nor denying.

But beneath the surface, your mind was elsewhere.

Would he come?

Harry, perceptive as ever, noticed the way your fingers tightened around your drink, how your laughter was a little too light. The first time he had ever seen you nervous.

"Do you want me to ask?" he offered gently.

You hesitated but nodded.

Harry approached a group deep in conversation and, ever so casually, asked, "Is James coming tonight?"

They exchanged uncertain glances. "He’s working a big case," one said. "Not sure if he’ll make it."

Your stomach dropped, but you forced a smile when Harry returned. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. His presence alone was comforting, the quiet support you needed.

The night went on, the hum of conversation, clinking of glasses, and bursts of laughter filling the space. But there was no sign of him.

"Why is it so important that you meet him?" Harry finally asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words stuck in your throat. How could you possibly explain? You fumbled for something—anything—that made sense.

Then the commotion by the door stopped you cold.

A familiar voice carried over the crowd, casual, teasing, exasperated. "Alright, alright, I know I’m late. Give me a break, will you? I was—"

And then you saw him.

James Potter.

He was older now. A few grey strands peppered his dark hair, and a faint stubble lined his jaw. But it was still him.

Your James.

The room faded into a distant hum as you watched him greet old friends, his easy grin slipping into place like no time had passed at all. You overheard their teasing about his lateness, his quick-witted defense, but your world had narrowed to the man in front of you.

Harry nudged you forward. "Come on. Let’s get you introduced."

Your feet felt heavy, reluctant yet desperate. James and Harry shared a warm reunion, a firm handshake, a clap on the back.

"James, I’d like you to meet someone," Harry said, stepping aside. "This is Y/N."

Your heart pounded as James turned to you. His gaze settled on yours, searching, assessing. He was trying to place you, to sift through the emotions flickering in his eyes. You extended a hand awkwardly, suddenly feeling small.

"It’s nice to meet you," you said softly.

James took your hand, his grip firm, steady. He didn’t let go right away. Neither did you.

He was still watching you. You could see it—something was gnawing at him, something he couldn’t name.

In the background, Harry continued speaking, singing your praises. "Y/N’s the most talented witch at Hogwarts right now. Top of her class, brilliant at—"

But you weren’t listening. You couldn’t. Because James was still looking at you, trying to figure out why this meeting felt like something more. And you couldn’t bear it. You dropped your gaze, staring at where your hands were still clasped.

The moment was broken when Lily’s voice cut through the air.

"James! There you are!"

She breezed into the space between you, drawing his attention. The ease with which she called him, the familiarity, was enough to cement reality in your mind.

James didn’t remember you.

The truth hit you harder than expected.

You let go of his hand, stepping back as he was pulled away. Your vision blurred, the weight of memories clashing with the present.

Harry saw it all. Without hesitation, he was at your side, murmuring quiet reassurances, letting you lean into him just enough to ground yourself.

What you didn’t see was James, glancing back at you from across the room, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

Something about you lingered in his mind like a half-remembered dream.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The night wound down, guests filtering out in slow waves.

You had resigned yourself to silence, lost in thought, when you felt someone approach.

James.

"Harry, can I steal her for a moment?" he asked.

Harry gave you a quick, questioning look. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

Once alone, James exhaled, shifting his weight. "Have we met before?"

Your heart lurched. "Why do you ask?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "It’s just—" He ran a hand through his hair. "You feel familiar."

A sad laugh escaped you as you turned toward the window. The moonlight caught your profile, casting shadows over your features.

James stiffened.

His breath hitched, his eyes darkened with realization. He didn’t understand it fully—not yet. But he knew.

It wasn’t just unknowing familiarity.

It was yearning.

For something—or someone—he hasn't met. Or perhaps forgotten?

He took a step back.

He shouldn’t be feeling this.

A shaky exhale, then a quick excuse. "I—I should go. I’m needed elsewhere."

Before you could say anything, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you standing in the dim light, aching with the weight of a history he no longer remembered.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The party had ended, leaving behind only echoes of laughter and the remnants of shared memories. You followed Harry back to his home, where Lily welcomed you with a warm smile. The night air was cool, and exhaustion clung to you as you settled into the makeshift sleeping arrangement—Harry sprawled on the floor, and you curled up on his bed.

Then, a sudden, frantic banging at the door shattered the silence.

Harry bolted upright, his glasses askew as he looked toward the source of the noise. You were already reaching for your wand, but Lily was quicker. She had already made her way to the door, her expression sharp with concern.

"James?" Lily's voice held both surprise and unease as she took in his disheveled state. His eyes were bloodshot, his breaths uneven, like he had been running or crying—maybe both.

"Where is Y/N? Is she here? Now?" James demanded, his voice raw with urgency.

Lily hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. That was when James saw you, standing halfway down the stairs, your grip tightening around the banister.

Without a word, you motioned toward the door. "Let's talk outside."

Lily and Harry exchanged glances before Harry whispered, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, stepping past them and out into the quiet night. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving you alone with James.

He was restless, shifting from foot to foot, his hands clenching into fists and then releasing, like he didn’t know what to do with them. You had never seen him like this—not James Potter, who had always carried himself with unwavering confidence.

Then, he spoke.

"I remember. I remember everything."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought your heart had stopped.

He took a step closer. "You look exactly the same as the last time I saw you."

You let out a hollow laugh. "That's because, for me, it hasn't even been a few weeks."

His jaw tightened. "You left without saying goodbye. You left me in the worst possible way."

You swallowed thickly. "That night... Dumbledore found a way to send me back."

“Did you have to leave right then?” His voice was hoarse, a man grasping at something already slipping through his fingers.

You hesitated. “…No.”

He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself.

“I could’ve stayed longer, but—I thought I had to leave before I let myself… feel things I shouldn’t.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, softer, he said, “I never recovered from losing you.”

You blinked up at him.

Then, James exhaled, his voice quieter but no less intense. "Ever since that night, it felt like something was missing. And I never recovered from it. So I buried myself in my studies and work, trying to forget. But now I know why nothing ever felt right."

You blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the wave of emotions crashing over you.

"The me in that timeline," he continued, "would never have chosen anyone else. And even when I did forget about you... I still didn’t choose anyone else."

His words cut deep, leaving you breathless.

He took a step forward. “Tell me the truth. You and Harry—is it something serious?”

You shook your head. “No. We’re just… good friends.”

Relief flickered in his features, and suddenly, he was unwavering. “Then I won’t let you go again.”

You turned away. “James, we can’t. The age gap—”

“I don’t care.”

“You have an entire life here—”

“You are my life.”

The conviction in his voice undid you. Your resolve crumbled as you finally met his eyes. He stepped closer, hesitated, then cupped your face gently.

“No matter what timeline,” he murmured, “the James standing in front of you will always choose you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you whispered, "And this Y/N would always choose you, too."

Then you kissed. Soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the waters of something that had been building for years. But then it deepened—urgent, desperate, two lost souls colliding at last.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Summer had arrived, bringing with it long days spent with James—wandering through familiar streets, exploring new places, and simply existing together in a way you never thought possible.

Then, one afternoon, while strolling through Diagon Alley, you bumped into Evan Rosier.

He was with his family, looking every bit the composed pureblood he was known to be. James tensed slightly beside you, his Auror instincts kicking in. It was clear he had no desire to associate with Evan, but he knew how much the man had meant to you in another lifetime. So, against his better judgment, he stepped forward first.

"James Potter," he introduced himself, tone even.

Evan gave him a slow, unimpressed once-over. "Ah. The Auror." His lips curled slightly. "Never thought I'd see the day."

James smirked. "Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises."

Then Evan turned to you, eyes narrowing slightly. There was something almost searching in his gaze, a flicker of familiarity that had no place being there. He studied you for a beat too long, as if trying to place a memory that didn’t exist.

"And you are?"

You met his gaze, unfazed. "Y/N."

His expression didn’t shift, but something in his stance did—curiosity tempered by something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. He hummed, as if testing the weight of your name on his tongue, then let out a soft scoff. "Thought you had better taste."

James scoffed. "Charming as ever, Rosier."

Evan barely acknowledged him, still watching you with that unreadable glint in his eyes. Then, after a moment, he smirked. "Should’ve figured you'd be the type to steal from a crib."

James blinked. "Sorry—what?"

You rolled your eyes. "He's calling you a cradlerobber, James."

James made a noise of offense, looking at you. "Oh, come on, that’s—okay, you know what, I walked into that one."

Evan looked mildly amused at the exchange, but there was something else now—a quiet intrigue, like an unsolved puzzle. He glanced at the bookshop behind him, then back at you. "Tell me, Y/N—since you clearly have some sense—what do you make of the modern takes on alchemical theory? Half these so-called scholars claim they’re making breakthroughs when all they’re really doing is rewording old work."

You raised a brow. "Depends. Are we talking about research in controlled magical reactions, or are you about to go on a rant about how no one's lived up to Paracelsus?"

That actually made him pause. And then, to your surprise, he chuckled. It was quiet, almost reluctant, but genuine. "Alright. Fine. You have my attention."

His wife groaned. "Oh, Merlin, please don't encourage him—he won't shut up about it for hours."

You grinned. "I wouldn’t mind hearing him out over tea."

Evan studied you once more, that flicker of something unspoken still lingering in his expression. He didn’t understand why he was drawn to the conversation, why you felt oddly familiar—but he didn’t question it either. Instead, he simply nodded, the closest thing to approval you’d probably ever get.

"Tea, then."

Addresses were exchanged, and as you and James continued down the street, you found yourself smiling.

Fate, it seemed, had a way of weaving people back into your life—not as they once were, but as they were meant to be.

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fanfiction #james potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction

257 notes · View notes

oopsiedaisydeer · 19 hours ago

Text

ᴀᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅꜱᴛɪʟʟ

anxiety attack, driving anxiety, minor car accident, panic attack, hurt/comfort, comforting, heavy reassurance, hand-holding, soft touches

based off this request !

word count - 800 ish

The intersection was a mess. Blaring horns, headlights, too many moving pieces. She could feel the pressure build in her chest as she gripped the steering wheel, her pulse hammering in her ears. Cars moved unpredictably, merging too fast, stopping too suddenly. The impatience of the drivers behind her only made it worse.

Her breathing quickened. She needed to go. But her hands were frozen, her foot refusing to press the gas. Her mind screamed at her to move, to do something, but she was stuck, paralysed in the middle of the intersection as cars started to weave around her. Someone honked sharply, then another, and another, the sounds layering over each other until it was all-consuming. Her vision blurred, her chest tightened, and her fingers trembled against the wheel.

A car sped past, too close, startling her into action. A miscalculation, a too-fast decision, and suddenly, she was jerking the wheel to the side, narrowly avoiding another vehicle. The next thing she knew, her car was bumping into the guardrail with a dull thud, the impact mild but enough to send her over the edge.

The world had shrunk down to the rapid thudding in her chest, the shallow gasps of air that refused to fill her lungs, and the white-knuckled grip she had on the steering wheel. Her car sat at an awkward angle on the side of the road, the front bumper barely nudging the guardrail. It wasn’t bad. Not really. But her mind wouldn’t let her believe that.

Her fingers fumbled for her phone, barely able to hit the right buttons. She didn’t even realise she had called Matt until his voice filtered through the speaker, low and steady.

“Hey, what’s up?” His tone shifted immediately upon hearing her quiet stammering, suddenly alert. “What happened?”

Her breath hitched. “I- I don’t know. I can’t-”

“Hey, hey, breathe. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “I hit the… I didn’t see… I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re okay. Where are you?”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. “Near the intersection on Main. I- Matt, I can’t breathe.”

“Okay, listen to me. I’m coming to you right now. Stay where you are, alright? Don’t move. Just keep talking to me.”

A horn blared from a passing car, and she flinched, a choked sob clawing its way out of her throat. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she clenched and unclenched them against the wheel. Her vision blurred at the edges, narrowing to the dashboard, the phone screen resting in her lap, and the single name highlighted on her call log.

Matt.

“You're doing so good,” he assured her. “I’m almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”

Minutes passed like this, him comforting her, when suddenly, a car door slammed, footsteps approached, and before she could spiral further, her door opened. Cool air rushed in, along with the scent of something familiar. Matt’s cologne, his laundry detergent, him.

“Hey, I’m here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to snap out of it, to just breathe normally, but nothing was working. A fresh wave of panic hit when she felt her body start to go numb. Pins and needles crawling up her arms, her face tingling.

Matt cursed under his breath. “Okay, okay, just listen to me.” He crouched down beside her, his hands hovering, hesitant. “Can I touch you?”

She barely managed a nod, and then his hands found hers, warm and grounding, peeling them away from the steering wheel. She manages to direct her gaze towards him. His fingers squeezed hers lightly, steady, like an anchor. “Breathe with me, yeah? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He demonstrated, exaggerating each inhale and exhale. She tried to match him, but it still felt impossible, like she was drowning on dry land.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, shifting slightly closer. “Just keep going. I’ve got you.”

Somewhere between the shaky inhales and the feel of his thumbs brushing over the backs of her hands, the tightness in her chest started to ease. The world felt a little less loud. A little less suffocating.

“There you go,” Matt murmured when her breathing finally started to even out. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

She let out a breath, shuddering, and that was when she realised. She was still holding onto him, gripping his hands like they were the only thing keeping her grounded. He didn’t pull away, though. Just kept his touch firm, steady, there.

“You scared me,” he admitted, a quiet smile resting on his handsome features. “But you’re okay. We’ll figure everything else out later.”

The tears that had been burning in her eyes, held back for so long, finally spilled over. They weren’t from panic this time. No, they were tears of relief. And when Matt let go of one hand just to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle, reassuring, she finally believed him.

She was okay.

Because he was here, bringing it all to a standstill.

creds to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

a/n: ty for the request anon! i hope u like it!! i remember matt telling the story of the girl stuck in the middle of the road having a panic attack once,, and him wanting to help her,, and as someone who experiences anxiety paralysis, i wanted to write abt that!

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 comment to be added to my main (non-au) taglist!

till next time!!

83 notes · View notes

littleslaywrites · 3 days ago

Text

control | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: when aaron comes to your hotel room to apologize for yelling at you, he admits his struggle to give up control, and you force him to submit for once.

word count: 2.5k

cw: smut, f!reader, sub!hotch, dom!reader, restraints (handcuffs), choking, coming in pants, unprotected sex

The conference room was deadly silent. Tension hung in the air as everyone reviewed the case files, trying to come up with a solid theory. Nobody wanted to speak, not after Hotch had chewed you out for incorrectly assuming the suspect you were interviewing was the unsub.

“What did you think you were doing, taking control of the interrogation? You rushed into a theory, and now the unsub knows we’re looking for him,” he said, voice raised to the point where he was nearly yelling. “This sloppy work won’t fly. Another mistake like this will force me to reevaluate if you’re fit to be on this team.”

His berating continued for a good five minutes. You’d seen him speak this way to unsubs or local officers that disobeyed his orders, but he’d never been this way with you. A lump formed in your throat at his words. You could feel the team’s eyes on you, watching as Hotch embarrassed you in front of everyone in the station.

You only nodded in response, head hanging low. The team averted their eyes as you returned to the conference room, eyes trained on the papers in front of them.

Emily had pulled you aside, reassuring you he was just upset in the heat of the moment. Her words only did so much to soothe you, Hotch’s remarks still echoing in your head.

You sat in your hotel room that night, case files splayed on the small table across from the bed. Your mind was filled with ideas, trying to figure out how you went wrong. A knock at the door pulled you out of your spiral.

Looking through the peephole, you sigh when you see it’s Hotch standing in front of the door. Part of you wants to ignore him, but you don’t want to seem childish.

“What do you want?” you ask, opening the door. You know you shouldn’t be so passive aggressive with your boss, but you can’t help it.

“Can I come in?”

You nod reluctantly, closing the door as he stands in front of you.

“I just,” he lets out a heavy sigh as he speaks, “want to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“Okay,” is all you say, your words lacking any acceptance of his apology. You sit on the bed, still waiting for him to say anything more.

He continues when you stay silent. “Your work isn’t sloppy, and I have no intentions of ever kicking you off the team.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

He looks down at his hands. “In the interrogation, you took control. That’s supposed to be my job. I’m always the one in charge, and you caught me off guard.”

You stay quiet, considering his words.

“Ever since you joined the team,” he continues, “you’ve been more authoritative than the others. In interrogations, in the field, even when delivering profiles.”

You sigh, slightly annoyed. You could tell there was something he wasn’t saying. “What’s this really about, Hotch?”

He fidgets with his hands, reluctant to open up. “I never give up control, and it’s hard. It’s hard on me, to always have to be in charge, because I know all my decisions will impact everyone else.

“Sit,” you say, inviting him to join you on the bed. He settles down next to you. “I know you value your position, but you let someone else have control for once.”

“I guess… I just feel so much pressure. I have to be the one everyone relies on, and I have to be this image of strength, no matter how I’m feeling inside.

You’re surprised at his confession, at the way he’s opening up to you. “I know you feel like you have to be strong around the team, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. As long as you never speak to me the way you did earlier.”

“I understand. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. You’re one of the few people who can see through my facade, and,” he trails off, confessions hanging heavy in the air, “it makes me nervous. You know me too well, even when I try to hide it.”

“I’m a profiler, after all,” you try to joke, wanting to relieve the tension between you. “I’m sure it’s hard to always have to be in charge.”

“It’s exhausting. I always have to be strong, never showing weakness. And then I go home, and nobody’s there to help shoulder the burden.”

“I’m sorry, Hotch,” you say. “If you ever need someone, just call me, no matter how late.” You sense something else behind his eyes. “Is that all?”

“There’s something different about you,” he begins, avoiding your gaze. “It’s terrifying, the way you knock down the walls I’ve spent so long building up. And the worst part is that you don’t even realize it.”

Your hand moves to cup his jaw, before you quickly remember yourself and remove it.

“Why’d you pull away?”

“I don’t know,” you say. You return your hand, thumb running along his cheek. You feel him lean into your palm, and you can only imagine how long it’s been since someone’s touched him like this. You bring your other hand to the back of his neck, trying to soothe him. It’s a side you know nobody else sees, feeling him drop his tough exterior. “I’m here, Aaron.”

He lets out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of your hands. “Hold me, please,” he requests, voice so low it’s nearly a whisper.

Pulling him close, you run your hand along his back, wanting him to know you’re there for him.

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “There’s no excuse for how I spoke to you, and I’m sorry.”

“Aaron?”

“Yes?” he responds, pulling away to look into your eyes, searching your gaze.

“Show me. Show me how sorry you are.”

Hotch’s breath catches in his throat. He’s desperate to prove his apology. “What do you want me to do?”

“What do you think? What could make it up to me?”

There’s a moment of silence, Hotch’s answer on the tip of his tongue. “I think,” he pauses, eyes looking into yours. “I think you should punish me.”

You hum, heart beating as he gives up control. “Punish you, baby?”

“Yes, punish me. I deserve it. I need it.”

“Stand,” you say, smiling.

Hotch takes a deep breath, following your instructions. He stands before you, waiting for more.

“Strip. Down to your underwear.”

Hotch can feel his heart racing in his chest as he tries to curb his nervousness. He slowly undoes his tie, then his shirt, then takes his pants off. He sets everything down neatly on the floor. You run your eyes over him, watching him in such a vulnerable state. Even with his underwear on, you can see how hard he is.

“Now, tell me, Aaron, what would a girl like me do to punish you?”

“You should make me suffer for what I did. Make me pay for being…” he pauses, “for being a bad boy.”

“A bad boy,” you repeat, smiling at his submission.

“Yes, a bad boy. I’ve been bad and need to be punished.”

“Lay down on the bed.”

Hotch feels anticipation and arousal combining within him as he lays down on the hotel bed. You walk to your bag, rifling through it. You find your handcuffs, showing them off as you approach him again. The metal glints in the light as they dangle from your fingers.

“Hands above your head.”

He does what you say, and you clip them onto his wrists, securing him to the bed. Running a finger down his chest, you soak in the image of him when he’s given up all control. He looks good like this, muscles flexing above his head.

You back up, making sure Hotch can see your whole body, and slowly remove your own clothes. Holding eye contact the whole time, you keep him in anticipation with your strip show. “Like what you see?”

He groans, throat dry from the sight of you. “I love what I see. You’re gorgeous.”

You mock disappointment as you move closer to where he lies on the bed. “Too bad you’ve been naughty and won’t be able to touch me.”

His body tense, straining slightly against his restraints. “Please let me feel you.”

You sigh, pouting at him. “If you wanted to touch, you shouldn’t have yelled at me earlier.”

Hotch lets his head fall back, knowing you’re right. He’s been bad. He doesn’t deserve to have his hands free.

Sitting on your knees between his spread legs, you brush a hand against his bulge. Your touch is light, teasing him. He sighs as your thumb moves against his clothes hardness, needing more. You move your hands to his neck, not pressing down just yet. “All mine,” you say.

“Yours. All yours.” His hips buck up beneath you. Taking his response as a sign, you squeeze down. Leaning over, you bring your mouth to his neck, sucking a hickey to his skin. He moans, making you giggle at how pathetic he is.

When your hands leave his neck, you sit back on your thighs. Looking down at him, you notice a wetness soaking through his boxers. “Baby, did you…”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It felt too good.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe, running a hand through his hair. “You haven’t had anyone touch you like this in so long, have you?”

He nods. “And never like this. I’ve never given up control.”

“You’re so good when you do, baby.” You sit on his clothed cock, grinding down. “All that yelling was just a disguise for what you really wanted.”

He nods, so pitiful from your touch. Even though he’s already had one orgasm, he’s already needy for another. He can hardly control himself as you move your wetness over him.

He’s moaning beneath you as you move your hips. “Imagine what the team would think if they knew their boss was nothing but a bad boy who needed to be punished,” you say, movements relentless.

“They can’t know. They’d think I’m weak.”

“Not weak. You just need some guidance, a good punishment to get you back on track.”

You feel his arousal growing below you. Looking down at his lust-filed eyes, you realize he’s hungry for you once more. “Are you hard again, baby?”

He whispers a quiet “yes”, face flushed.

You slide his boxers down his legs, fingers brushing his bare skin. You hover over his cock, gripping the shaft. You’re on your knees facing away from him, wriggling your ass slightly to tease him. Sinking down slowly, you place a hand on his thigh. It takes a while to take him fully, which luckily doubles as another way to tease him.

“So good. So tight.” He’s nearly whimpering, and you haven’t even moved yet.

You start bouncing on him, caring only for your own pleasure. He’s straining against the handcuffs, wanting more of you. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open, wanting to see you, but he’s overwhelmed by the pleasure.

His cock is large, hitting you deep. You slow down, wanting to feel him. Moving your hips steadily, you focus on the sensation. He’s dragging against your walls, rubbing your sweet spot. His feet are flexing and pointing, his leg muscles taut as he tries to control himself.

As you speed up, he lets out a guttural moan. Fluttering against him, your breath comes out unsteadily. You control your sounds, not wanting to let him know that you’re approaching your release.

His hips go to meet yours, thrusting up. You grab his hip forcefully, commanding him to stay still.

Your movements speed up slightly as you feel your release approaching. You let a whine leave your lips as you cum, arching your back. Before he can finish, you roll off of him.

Hotch’s eyes widen as he lets out a strangled cry. Desperate for his release, his hands tense against the cuffs.

You fake innocence. “I don’t know why you’re whining. I feel fantastic. Is something wrong?”

He grits his teeth. “No, nothing’s wrong.” His cock is hard and red, twitching and aching for any touch.

You lean down, lips brushing against his ear. “Are you sure?”

He shivers at the sensation. “It’s perfect, except…”

“Except what? You can tell me.”

Hotch takes a ragged breath. He’s trying to hold himself back, not wanting to beg. “Except I’m desperate. I’m aching for you. I’m so close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, baby?” You put your hand on him, slowly stroking.

He hips meet your hand, and this time you allow it. “Want more,” he breathes out.

“Beg.”

“Please, I need to feel you around me. I need to cum inside you.”

Grinning, you remove your hand. You think of making him beg more, but his request to finish inside of you has you dripping.

This time, you face him. Having adjusted to his size, you take him in faster. Your movements have little rhythm. You’re sensitive, still recovering from your earlier release. You feel yourself reaching your peak again.

“Let me cum, please. Tell me I can,” he whines out, whole body tense.

“Cum for me.”

His moans echo throughout the room as he stills, releasing inside of you. At the same time, you cry out, another orgasm hitting you. You sit on his cock for a second, letting both of you recover.

“Feel better?” you ask, moving off of him. His seed drips down your leg, and you can feel his eyes watching.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Pressing a light kiss to his forehead, you go back to your bag, grabbing the key to the handcuffs. You unlock him, throwing the cuffs beside the bed into your clothes pile. Cuddling up next to him, you grab his hand, kissing his red wrists. “So good for me,” you say quietly.

“I’ll be good from now on, I promise.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Can I touch you now?” His hands are still in yours, not wanting to do anything without your command.

“Of course you can. Hold me, Aaron.”

He sighs, wrapping his arms around you. His embrace is gentle, and he buries his face in your neck. Bringing your hand up to cradle the back of his head, you twirl his hair around your fingers. You let the moment go quiet, enjoying each other's company.

“Have you ever let anyone take control like that?”

Hotch hesitates. He’s always prided himself on being strong, in charge at work and at home. “No. I’ve never given myself up in this way.”

Holding him a little tighter, you ask “Did you like it?”

“I did. More than I expected. It was nice belonging to someone for once.”

“Maybe you should do it more often, then.”

His heart skips a beat at the thought. “I would like that.”

You smile, glad he’ll want to come back to you again. “I think you’ve had enough punishment. Let’s get to sleep.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner smut #sub!hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #hotch #hotch x reader

123 notes · View notes

riverstyx333 · 1 day ago

Text

Soulmate au where it’s not the first words your soulmate says to you, but the words most important/impactful to you that appear on your wrist.

This doesn’t always mean something nice or love confessing, it can also be the cruelest thing they ever say. It’s also completely in the eye of the beholder, the most important thing your soulmate might say to you might be their first words, or maybe it’s them remembering your favorite color.

I like this because i feel like it leaves room for the relationship to develop before they actually realize that they’re the one.

But then take this with Klance

One day Lance gets hit from a blast by the core reactor and suddenly Keith’s telling him that they’re soulmates. That they had some “bonding moment” that Lance /doesn’t even remember/ in which Lance had happened to say Keith’s words. Words that god knows Lance would NEVER say to Keith. “We make a good team” what a load of bullshit. Keith must be messing with him.

And Keith let’s it go eventually, because anyone in space could say that to him when you’re fighting on such a big team. So Lance and Keith go back to normal, if not fighting even more, with Lance trying to compensate for the fluke of the “bonding moment”.

Then, Lance starts to think, as he and Keith get closer, that maybe Keith wouldn’t be so wrong for him, that maybe it wasn’t such a fluke. But something’s not adding up.

Lance had always been teased for his words. How could something so mean be the most important thing they ever say to you? Basically calling you dumb, even if maybe they’re just poking fun at you.

“Maybe your soulmate saying that is what gets you to finally realize that you really are stupid,” the kids at his school would always tease.

Lance didn’t want to think that his soulmate thought he was stupid, one of his biggest insecurities, so he ignored them. All his life he believed that there must be some explanation he was missing, until now.

If Keith was his soulmate then it would add up. Keith was always calling Lance stupid.

“The amount of information inside your brain could be stored in a paper airplane,” he had once mocked.

But then again, it doesn’t quite add up. If Keith was always saying things like that, then what made this one more impactful? What makes this one important?

He concludes that it must not be Keith and leaves it alone after that.

But another wrench gets thrown in when Shiro comes back. It throws everything off kilter and Lance feels like he’s knocking into walls he didn’t know existed.

6 paladins. 5 lions. And he’s the weakest link.

It runs through his head like a mantra. He should talk to someone about it. Hunk, or Shiro, or even Allura. But something draws him to Keith’s room late at night instead.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wringing his hands and looking at the floor to avoid eye contact, “that there’s six lions and only five paladins.”

He explains how when everything sorts itself out, when all the math adds up, he’s going to be the odd one out. The weakest link, his brain helpfully supplies.

He lays his broken mess out in front of Keith and watches as he doesn’t falter in picking it all up and putting the pieces back together.

Security falls over Lance and makes him feel so much better. Maybe it had been the right choice to talk to Keith. He’s really grown into the position of team leader.

Keith sends him out, but not before quickly tacking on, “And Lance? Leave the math to Pidge.” Before the door shut behind him.

Lance’s eyes widened and the realization hit him like a truck. Is his room that night, he didn’t sleep at all. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated everything his groggy brain could get its hands on.

It didn’t quite make sense to him why that was the most impactful thing Keith ever said to him. Because, of course it mattered and of course it helped him feel better, but there were so many more important things that could be said or even had been said. It still didn’t add up. But maybe Keith was right, and math just wasn’t his thing.

He found out that he wasn’t half bad at math the next morning, when Keith was gone.

He ran off to join the Blade of Mamora. He’d left Lance behind. And Lance just knew, that it was all his fault.

If he hadn’t gone whining to Keith about the lions, he wouldn’t have put that stupid idea into his head. And now they wouldn’t see each other for the next who-knew how long.

So, finally, all the math added up, and Lance was all alone.

#yo i did not mean to write out a whole ass ficlet of this #but my brain got carried away #i might write a longer version of this one day #soulmates au #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance

69 notes · View notes

certifiedbisexualdisaster · 3 days ago

Text

Make Me Write!

You know what? In honor of Tommy Kinard Appreciation Day, I'm going to be brave.

I don't normally do these because I generally don't get much engagement, but I wanna try anyways. So, without further ado... Make Me Write!

I only have on WIP for this fandom atm, but it IS a 5+1! And she is HEFTY. So, send me an emoji fort he part of your choice, and I'll write 100 words for it. It is an explicit fic, but all of the parts have SFW bits, so if you want to challenge me to those parts explicitly, add a 😇 emoji!

5 times Buck flirts with someone else in front of Tommy to be a brat, and 1 time Tommy turns the tables

Part One: Buck flirts with a nameless Domme at their local kink club, hoping to inspire Tommy to make good on a promise; Edging, ruined orgasms, forced orgasm, bondage, public sex, public punishment, humiliation, puppy play, Buck POV: 🐶

You can find a snippet for this one here.

Part Two: Buck flirts with Lucy at an after-work hangout, a few months after the break-up and make-up. Tommy hasn’t been around much after they got into an argument a couple weeks prior, and Buck is engaging in old attention-seeking self-destruction behaviors; Spanking, prostate massage, multiple orgasms, dry orgasm, soft dom Tommy, Tommy POV: 😈

Part Three: Buck flirts with Taylor at a bar after Tommy runs into an old flame. Taylor is too amused to tell Buck that said old flame is her new beau; Riding, Power Bottom Tommy, marking, handcuffs, dirty talk, Buck POV: ❤️‍🔥

Part Four: Buck flirts with Albert when he comes back into town to celebrate Chim and Maddie’s new baby. This one was accidental, he swears it. Tommy isn’t convinced; Actually jealous Tommy, roleplay, Mean Dom Tommy, Dom drop, aftercare, Tommy POV: 😃

Part Five: TK and Carlos come into town to visit TK’s cousins. They go out one night, and TK and Buck hatch a plan to see which of their guys will snap first. Little do they know, Tommy saw it coming from a mile away, and reels Carlos in to talk him into hatching their own plan; Foursome, orgasm denial, voyeurism, mild CNC, impact play, cock rings, chastity devices, mild possessive behavior, Buck POV: 💥

Plus One: After TK and Carlos go home, Tommy hatches a plan to get to the bottom of this particular brand of bratting that Evan seems to have picked up. A drunken night with Eddie leads to some… revelations; Switching, Mean Dom Buck, jealous Buck, aromantic Eddie, qp buddie, miscommunication, ropeplay, choking, marking, edging, slapping, mild CBT, exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome, Tommy POV: 🏀

Please note that even though I am posting this in honor of Tommy Appreciation Day, I am accepting these prompts for as long as it takes to finish this fic. I'll update this post with the link on ao3 once that happens.

Tags: @mentallyinvernation @tiltingheartand @leashybebes @chococara25 @dreamforrest @kinardsevan @zeraparker @tinaissupergay @thecarrott @quintessenceofdust88 @merrimorp @weewookinard @g0atisgoated @ev-baker @dudedudeduda @911onem @takenmooon @brokenpiecesof @classicblackcat @saintsurvivors @spicycinnabun @grimmsdead @beanarie @ranchic @geekwarrior107

Please let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list. I'm tagging folks who either interacted with my previous WIP Wednesday post for this fic or those who I am mutuals with in the fandom.

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #tommy kinard appreciation day #bucktommy #tevan #kinley #make me write #911 abc

28 notes · View notes

fizzyapplecandy · 2 days ago

Text

The one with the vampire royals and their doll Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Ateez Seonghwa X Hongjoong X Reader

Genre: vampire Matz, human reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, mature language, mild smut, angst

Words: 2.2k

It's Hongjoong's turn to pay you a visit.

"Be careful, you almost blinded me with that thing!"

You swatted at Yeosang, chuckling.

"Ha ha, very funny."

Yeosang was back in your shop, making himself comfortable on one of the sofas. You haven't seen him for a couple of days, not wanting to separate him from his boyfriend. However, he was adamant that he can't be away from you for too long because you don't have any other friends.

A bit rude, but he was right.

"No, seriously. It amazes me how you managed to woo that guy. You haven't even been on a date and he's giving you expensive jewellery."

"Sang, we will never go on a date. Did you forget he was married? We met his husband. Hard to forget that one." You grabbed your cup from the counter and went over to your little tea spot.

"You give yourself very little credit. They obviously liked you, they wouldn't try to come back otherwise."

He was feeding into your delusion, but he kind of had a point. Not that you believed him, but it was nice to know you could have such an impact on somebody.

"And you give me too much credit because you are biased. Honestly, they probably already moved on. This bracelet was a way to settle the deal with the rings."

You sat on the arm of the sofa, leaning onto Yeosang and watching as he took your hand and put it on his head. You giggled, starting to play with his hair.

"Yeah, that was so weird. Like, I get they are sentimental about them, but that creeped me out." Yeosang was right, it was weird. They reacted as if their life depended on them.

"I agree. And I didn't get them for cheap you know? Bummer." You sighed, letting silence envelope the two of you. It was almost closing time, and you honestly couldn't wait to get home.

"Hey Y/N."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to meet Wooyoung this weekend?"

You looked at Yeosang, eyes softening. He didn't have much luck in previous relationships, so this was a bit surprising. You've probably met only two of his boyfriends before, but they didn't last.

"You really like him, don't you?"

His cheeks got red, and his smile almost made you melt.

"I really do Y/N."

You hugged him this time, squeezing his cheeks between your palms.

"Then I would love to meet him."

"Well this is a bit awkward."

Your heads whipped towards the door. You were too immersed into your conversation, you didn't hear the bell going off. Your eyes widened.

"I've got to get a louder bell."

Hongjoong chuckled, but his gaze was off. He didn't seem happy to see you. Or maybe it was the fact how close to Yeosang you sat. But that wasn't possible, was it?

You quickly stood up, going over to him. He had a big box in his hands, and you could only guess these were the antiques Seonghwa was talking about the other day.

"Sorry about that. What brings you here Hongjoong?"

His expression brightened when you said his name, and he straightened his back.

"Well, I take it Seonghwa told you about our donation. I'm here to deliver."

"Oh yes. He mentioned you had some things lying around. You can put them on the counter."

He nodded, glancing at Yeosang before making his way to the counter.

"Hey love, I gotta go now. Woo's waiting for me at home. You'll be okay by yourself?"

You could feel the apprehension in his voice, and you loved how he worried about you. Hongjoong kind of stiffened behind you, but you didn't pay much attention to him.

"You go on, I'll be fine. I'm closing soon anyways."

He nodded, collecting his things before going over to you and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

"Take care. If you need me don't be afraid to call."

"Okay, mom. See you soon." He smiled, glancing at Hongjoong, giving him a little wave. Yeosang couldn't hurt a fly, but it was cute to see him try to be intimidating.

Hongjoong was silent, barely acknowledging the young man as he exited your shop. He didn't like how close you were, but he had no right to comment on it. Yet, that is.

You turned around, clearing your throat.

"So, what have you got for me?"

He smiled, reaching for the lid.

"Come take a look."

As he lifted it, you let out a gasp.

"Oh my God. Where did you get all of this?"

"My husband and I like to collect things. We've managed to overdo it, but that happens when you're as old as we are."

"Old? You're barely older than me. This is insane."

Hongjoong loved the excitement on your face, urging you to step closer. You picked up the first item that was on top of the pile. A beautiful sapphire broche, looking as good as new. It was heavy, and you knew it must have cost a fortune. Everything inside the box cost more than you can imagine.

"You and Seonghwa love going overboard? How can I accept this?"

"You worry too much. This is something we want to do, so it would be easier to just let us."

He stepped closer to you, looking over your shoulder as you put all of the pieces in your counter.

It made you nervous, but you were so distracted by the lovely golden bookmark that you hardly had the time to think about it.

"Do you like it? You don't have to sell anything, you can just take the box home with you."

Your head whipped around so fast you could feel a crack in your neck.

"What? No, no! I already accepted this bracelet, which is beautiful by the way. This would be too much."

"On the contrary. I think it's too little. You deserve much more."

He looked into your eyes, his expression softening. You gulped and quickly looked away.

"I don't know what to say... I think everything you brought is amazing. I will make sure I find them another home."

You picked up the bookmark again, caressing the engraved flowers on it with your fingertips.

"But I might be selfish about this one. I have to take it home with me."

"Seonghwa guessed this would capture your attention."

"He's perceptive. I bet he noticed the collection of books on my table over there."

He chuckled. "Your bet would be right."

You turned around, cradling the little trinket to your chest. Jitters went through your body, and you hoped he couldn't notice it. His expression told you otherwise.

"Thank you, Hongjoong. Nobody's done something like this for me before, and you are a complete stranger."

"If you agree, we'd like to change that."

Now you were confused.

"What do you mean?"

He took another step towards you, almost closer than Seonghwa did, and slowly pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Seonghwa and I would like us to be... Friends."

Friends?

"We know we kind of started off rocky, but you're a lovely person. You intrigue us."

"Me? But I'm boring."

The laugh he let out sounded sincere, like you amused him with your statement.

"Boring is far from what you are Y/N. So what do you say? Want to hang out with us sometime?"

You had to think about it. Two handsome men wanting your attention? How could you say no? But then again, nothing like this ever happened to you.

"Well... I don't see why not."

He smiled, but you could tell something else was hiding behind his expression.

"That sounds lovely. We'll arrange something this weekend, how about that?"

You nodded before catching yourself, starting to flail your hands in the air.

"No, no. I can't this weekend. Yeosang wants me to meet his boyfriend. He can be a sour puss when I cancel on him, so I can't do that. It's not like I don't want to, I already said I would... Sorry, I'll stop rambling."

A weight has been lifted from Hongjoong's chest. So the boy had a boyfriend.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Y/N?"

You blushed, shaking your head. "No, I don't."

Seonghwa will love to hear this. Not only was the boy you spent time with in a relationship, you were single. This made everything so much easier.

"Glad to hear."

Your confused expression made him smile. You were so clueless, it was adorable.

"By the way, do you need a ride home? It's getting a bit late."

You glanced at the clock, and he was right. It was ten minutes till closing, and you were honestly exhausted.

"Oh... I have to close up soon. But don't worry, it's a short bus ride home, I'll manage."

Hongjoong scoffed, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Absolutely not. Who knows what could happen. I'm taking you home tonight."

"Hongjoong, I'll be fine. I've made it this far alone, haven't I?"

"You didn't have us until now. So, do what you've got to do, I'll wait outside."

Before you could continue arguing, he turned around and exited. You sighed, feeling defeated.

In all honesty, you liked his persistence. Him and Seonghwa were two opposites, but you could see how it worked out for them.

Not wanting to leave him waiting too long, you paced around the place, turning off the light before locking the door.

As you spun around, you saw him leaning on the driver's side of his car. Your eyes almost bulged out of your head. That had to be the most expensive car you'd ever seen in your life. What the hell did they do for a living?

Slowly, you approached him, his eyes already fixated on you.

"Ready to go princess?"

You blushed. "Ready."

Like a true gentleman, he went around and opened the door for you. What surprised you even more was when he reached over and fastened your seatbelt.

Your heart beat sped up with how close he was to you, and you hoped he couldn't hear it.

His smirk told you otherwise.

"There. All buckled up."

"I could have done it myself, you know?"

"I already told you, you don't have to do anything anymore."

You wanted to say something in return, but he closed the door and jogged onto the driver's side. You told him your address as he settled in, and he punched it into the GPS. He frowned.

"This is more than a short bus ride away."

"Yeah, well... Yeah."

He glanced at you.

"Nevermind. You don't have to worry about that, either."

This conversation was getting more confusing by the minute, but you were too tired to question him. You enjoyed the silence that followed, and it wasn't awkward at all. It was surprisingly peaceful.

"So, what do you do? I mean, the suits, the car... I just can't wrap my head around it."

Hongjoong glances at you before smiling.

"Seonghwa and I run a few businesses in town, and overseas. Our friends help us with our international locations. We've been saving up for years now, and we enjoy collecting and reselling antiques."

You nodded, looking out the window.

"Makes sense. You do look like those billionaires from TV shows. You know, the ones that go around auctions."

This time he genuinely laughed. It was nice to hear.

"I guess we do. We're into fashion, and we love watching those shows as well."

The GPS beeped too soon for your liking, and he made a stop in front of your apartment building.

"Oh, I guess we're here."

"I guess so. Too soon for my liking, but we still have a date planned."

"Date?"

Your eyes met again, and he smirked.

"Did I not make myself clear? We want to spend time with you."

"But, I thought..."

"Don't get into your pretty head about it, princess. It's simple really. I should wait for Hwa to be with me, he'll explain it better."

The only thing you could do was nodd, absolutely not getting his point. You were about to reach for the buckle, but he beat you to it.

"Please don't get out to open my door, you'll spoil me too much." You tried making a joke, but he looked completely serious.

"That's precisely what I want to do, but I'll respect your wish this time. Don't want to overwhelm you too soon."

He glanced at your wrist, admiring how well his hard crafted bracelet looked wrapped around it. Without much of a thought, he lightly grasped your hand, placing his lips on your pulse point, the same way Seonghwa did.

His eyes closed, and he inhaled deeply. You didn't know whether to feel scared or bashful.

"Hwa will be happy to hear about our date. Go now, princess, it's getting really late." Almost reluctantly, he let go of your hand. You cleared your throat, opening the door and stumbling out like an idiot.

"Thank you Hongjoong. Tell Seonghwa I said hi!"

With that, you closed the door and jogged towards your building. His car was still running, and you heard it rush off when you safely made it inside.

Your mind was in shambles, going through the events of the last hour as you went inside your apartment.

With a sigh, you leaned against the door and put your hand on your chest to calm your racing heart.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

#ateez #ateez imagines #imagine #fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez matz #ateez poly #poly ateez x reader #ateez vampire #vampire #mild smut #mature #strangers to lovers

25 notes · View notes