#just like to make it so they are as far away from being just a human with accesories as possible

[echo-exco]

❝DOCTOR I CAN’T TELL IF I’M NOT ME.❞

-   ͙۪۪̥˚┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 

There is only one thing you ever truly wished for in this life: a purpose.

Something that would justify your existence, that would give meaning to every breath, every wound, every sleepless night.

And you found it. Not in an empty promise or in the affection of others. You found it in your own power.

A selfish desire, yes, but undeniably yours. A purpose born not out of love, but out of need.

From that strange power growing inside you, the one that forced you to look at others’ suffering with cold, almost cynical eyes. As if every wound were a problem only you could solve. As if every scream of pain were a prayer meant solely for you.

You clung to that.

To the idea that your worth existed only in your abilities.

The ability to stop someone from dying in front of you. To rip death from their body with your own hands. To stitch broken flesh with threads that hurt, yes, but worked. That was the only thing that ever made you feel alive. The only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed.

For a while, it was enough.

For a long while, you were selfish.

It didn’t matter if they used you. It didn’t matter if it hurt. If every healing left another scar on you. If every salvation cost you a little more of the little you had left.

As long as you could keep doing it—healing, fixing, protecting— the price didn’t matter.

Because at the end of the day, you could lie down on that mattress of emptiness and tell yourself: “Today, I made it worth it.”

Your existence and your power meant something.

Of course, you didn’t have a mother to share secrets with, nor guardians who offered you love. Only faces that came and went, and the bitter understanding that you were just another burden in a broken system.

Until, by some twisted stroke of fate, you had the “pleasure” of meeting your biological father.

Bruce Wayne.

Billionaire. Philanthropist. Playboy.

Batman.

Even so, none of that really mattered to you. What truly hit you was learning that you had to leave everything behind and go to Gotham.

That cursed city, that concrete jungle drowned in darkness and crime. Where dreams go to die and bodies, if they’re lucky, go to sleep.

Gotham wasn’t a home. It was a prison for someone like you.

A place where meta-humans like you were enemies, threats, problems to be contained.

Your power, your only purpose, was stripped away with nothing more than a change of zip code.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

Not being able to use it.

Not being able to save.

Not being able to be useful.

Your existence, reduced to ashes, like the bodies of those you didn’t reach in time.

It must be poetic, right? The healer who cannot heal. The savior without faith.

They hate you. You've felt it. That visceral resentment from those who survived because of you, but still blame you for what you couldn’t stop. Screams, stares, choked pleas— all of them pierced your soul deeper than any weapon ever could.

For someone who once swore to save lives, it’s only natural that those you vowed and wanted to save now express their utter disgust and despair toward the false, horrific salvation you once offered them.

And now? Now you live among strangers.

An immense mansion full of absences. With brothers who seemingly don’t recognize you, and a father who doesn’t see you.

Your arrival in Gotham wasn’t exactly ideal, at least, that’s how you think you remember it.

It’s hard for you to remember that moment. You don’t hold on to unnecessary memories… none of it will make you feel alive again.

Apparently, your new father figure has several children. Some of them are already adults. With lives of their own far from the mansion, you don’t know much about them, they were almost always too busy to say anything to you.

You can’t understand them, can’t they come up with better excuses? You don’t want these people’s attention.

These people can’t help you with your abilities. They can’t make you believe you’re still allowed to use them freely.

No, these people are just strangers who stumbled into your life overnight and want nothing to do with the problem. Not even your new father had the decency or responsibility to try forming a bond with you.

Bruce Wayne was an absent father. Not in the way someone leaves and disappears completely, but in the kind of absence that feels stronger the closer the person is. A hollow physical presence, like a ghost made of flesh and bone. One who could look you in the eyes and still not see you.

He struggled to communicate, to make time for you, to even remember that there was now one more occupied room in that massive mansion of his.

He doesn’t know how to deal with you, and you don’t know how to deal with him either. At first, you wondered if the problem was you. If you had done something wrong. If the way you talked, walked—even breathed, was so bothersome that he’d rather bury himself in work than give you an hour of his time.

But soon, you realized something even crueler: You don’t need a father. You’re not looking for one. You’re not waiting for one.

What you need is a patient. Someone you can heal. Someone who needs you.

Because that’s what you’ve always done. Heal. And Bruce… Bruce simply refuses to be healed.

But he doesn’t understand.

When you approach him, when you seek him out, when you try to speak to him, all he does is throw up a wall made of cold words, as practical and impersonal as that damn business suit of his.

“I’m busy.”

“Not now.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“It’s for work.”

Always the same. Always excuses with the bitter taste of indifference.

Is this what having a father is supposed to feel like? Because if it is, then it doesn’t feel any different from your days in foster care.

At least there, you knew you were alone. Here, they make you believe you’re not… but you are, more than ever.

You’ve learned to observe the details, as always. It’s one of the few things you’re good at, aside from using your power.

You notice the tired look in his eyes, the dark circles underneath, the way his fingers tense around his pen like he’s trying to crush it. The stack of papers on his desk never gets smaller, it’s like it multiplies just to keep you at a distance.

And the subtle changes… that lower tone in his voice when he sees you, like he can’t even be bothered to raise it for you. The way his eyebrows furrow, not out of anger, just… annoyance. Irritation.

That’s what hurt the most.

So you stopped trying. Because if you kept going, you were only going to be reprimanded by the one you were supposed to please. You convinced yourself that you don’t need his approval. That you don’t need his love. That you’re better off without him.

But then, why is it that every time you walk past his office, you pause for a second, hoping that door opens, just once, without you knocking first?

Why do you still need him to see you?

Richard Grayson is the eldest. The first adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Everyone sees him as a beacon of hope, the moral compass of this family made of shadows and scars. And it makes sense. He has that bright smile, that genuine warmth the others can barely fake. He gives out hugs without being asked, listens patiently, laughs easily, and has that absurd gift of making anyone feel seen, at least, if you’re one of his.

Because with you, it was always different.

From the beginning, Richard seemed kind. Seemed. But between that warmth and you, there was always a distance, like someone had drawn a curtain between the two of you. You heard his apologies more than you heard his actual voice.

“Sorry, I have to head out right now.”

“Sorry, I was already on my way to Blüdhaven.”

“Next time, I promise.”

He was always rushing. Always busy. Always somewhere else. And you… you’re not someone who believes in empty promises.

At first, you thought it was just bad luck. That maybe if you insisted a little, if you found an excuse, if you caught him in the kitchen, he might stay for five minutes. Just five. But those minutes never came. And you started to notice a pattern. How his demeanor shifted the moment you walked into the room. How his smile became more diplomatic. More rehearsed. How his footsteps sped up when he thought you weren’t watching.

You didn’t want to admit it at first, but something inside you began to whisper an uncomfortable truth; He was avoiding you.

And then you understood. If Richard Grayson, the kindest, the most human, the most "big brother" of them all, couldn’t be around you, then what was the point of trying with the others? What could you possibly expect from Jason, who barely speaks to you? From Tim, who seems more invested in his computer than in actual people? From Damian, who can barely tolerate his own shadow?

So you did the same.

You avoided them. One by one.

You decided it wasn’t worth it. That if you weren’t going to be a real part of this family, you weren’t going to pretend.

It’s easier that way. It doesn’t hurt as much if you’re the one walking away first.

But sometimes, when you see them laughing together from the staircase, or hear Richard speaking so fondly of the others, a part of you wonders if it was ever really your choice to walk away, or if they’d been leaving you behind from the very beginning.

Your suspicions didn’t take long to confirm. All it took was talking to a few of your supposed brothers to realize the pattern repeated itself.

Jason, Tim, Damian…

Each one was a story unto themselves. Each one was a maze of traumas, masks, and poorly calibrated emotional responses. But if you had to describe them in one word, it would be: inaccessible.

The second of your brothers was Jason, and from what little you could gather, because no one seemed eager to talk about it much, Jason had died. And then he came back. It wasn’t a metaphor. It wasn’t an exaggeration. He had been buried, and now he was not. That simple statement was enough to provoke a morbid curiosity, almost scientific. What had changed in his body? Did he suffer from partial necrosis? Brain damage? Did his muscles regenerate? What residual effects did resurrection have on human physiology? Everything in you screamed to investigate. To dissect. To understand.

It was a dangerous thought. You knew that. You repeated it to yourself like a mantra: too tempting for your own good.

But what confused you the most wasn’t his condition, it was his behavior toward you. Jason had this aura of latent violence, like dynamite that could explode with the wrong spark. But that wasn’t what kept you away. Not entirely. It was his inexplicable rejection.

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t provoke him. You didn’t talk to him, you didn’t interfere, you didn’t cross the line. And yet, his gaze was always sharp. As if your mere presence triggered something in him. Irritation. Annoyance. Maybe even disdain.

You wondered if it was your fault. If the way you were, the way you spoke, the way you were, simply bothered him. But you couldn’t find an answer. And though you wanted to, you knew that getting closer would be too risky.

Because you’ve seen the broken walls. The misaligned doors. The tables split in two like they were made of paper. You’ve felt the tension in the air when Jason enters a room and isn’t in the mood. And you know, without needing confirmation, that his punches aren’t soft. That his rage doesn’t distinguish between the guilty and the witnesses.

So, you avoid him.

Not out of fear exactly, but out of caution. Self-preservation. You don’t want to be the next crack in the walls of this house.

Tim was a different kind of strange. More than Jason, though in a completely different way. His oddity didn’t stem from aggression or visible trauma. It was more subtle. More internal.

Almost clinical.

You observed him, like you observe everything. With that gaze of yours that searches for patterns, inconsistencies, vulnerabilities. And in him, you found many.

Surprisingly, Tim was brilliant. Not just "smart for his age," but one of those cases where the brain moves faster than the body. Too fast. So much so, that sometimes it seemed like his body gave up halfway through.

The dark circles under his eyes were a constant. His responses were slow, as if they had to pass through a filter of a thousand thoughts before being verbalized. He walked like his mind was too heavy for his spine to carry. A shadow carrying ideas. You were surprised he hadn’t fainted yet from the combination of insomnia, chronic stress, and mild malnutrition.

No one asked you.

No one thanked you.

But still, you started leaving him food. Food that could sustain him without causing a stomach collapse. Nothing too obvious, of course. A yogurt here. Cut fruits there.

Something easy to eat between keystrokes. You allied yourself with Alfred in that small act of silent intervention. The old butler seemed to notice, but he never mentioned it. And you never confirmed it.

Tim would probably assume it was all Alfred’s doing. In fact, you counted on it.

Not because you wanted to keep it a secret. But because you knew that if he suspected you were behind something so... "thoughtful," it would only make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to respond to care, to the intention behind such detail. Tim doesn’t know how to handle it if that sincere gesture comes from you.

Just like you would if any of them ever tried it with you.

Alfred... Alfred is a different matter.

Of all the people in the house, he’s the only one who acts like your existence isn’t a miscalculation. But he doesn’t fool himself. He doesn’t offer you love, or tenderness. He offers you structure. Routine. Measured phrases and cups of tea.

It’s not affection between you.

It’s a sort of tacit alliance.

Two functional people in the middle of a broken ecosystem.

You know he tries. But you also know it’s not enough for you.

You’ve seen children like you. In hospitals. In refugee camps. In temporary homes. Children who cling to an adult figure as if their life depended on it, and are then destroyed when that figure leaves. Or worse, when they stay but stop looking.

You don’t want that for yourself.

You convince yourself this is better. A working relationship. A dynamic where each one fulfills their role and no one crosses the line into the personal. Because if you get attached, if you let yourself believe this could mean something...

You know how that ends. They can’t give you what you’re looking for.

They can’t give you purpose.

They can’t return what was taken from you when you understood that your value only exists if you can heal, if you can serve, if you can be useful.

You still don’t know who you are when you’re none of that.

Back to the subject of your "family," the last on the list of who your siblings were, was Damian.

The youngest of the group. The second biological son of Bruce Wayne.

You said it out loud once, casually: "Ah, so he is the real one."

No one found it funny.

Unlike the others, Damian didn’t need time to show you that you weren’t welcome. He didn’t bother to fake courtesy or neutrality. From the beginning, he made it clear that your existence was expendable.

Maybe it was your silence. Maybe it was your lack of reaction to his provocations. Maybe he just didn’t like you. But he pointed his katana at you the first month you arrived.

The blade against your neck wasn’t a metaphor. It was real, cold, intimidating contact. You felt a thread of power activate instinctively in your body, a reflex of defense, of desperation. If you had let it go, well, you wouldn’t be here, mentally recalling this account.

You didn’t. Not for him. For you.

Because it wasn’t worth it. Because using your power on someone in your “family” would mean admitting they were important enough to hurt you.

They weren’t. Not yet.

You can’t risk being discovered. No one can know that you actually have this power. None of them can know.

Bruce appeared just in time to prevent the confrontation from escalating. Did he protect you? Not exactly. He simply said something like, “Damian has a complicated history,” as if that justified a death threat in the family kitchen.

Is it common in Gotham to justify a child’s homicidal impulses if they've had a difficult childhood?

That was your question. You didn’t ask it out loud. No one would have liked the answer.

It was also that day you found out that Damian was Bruce’s biological son. And you couldn’t help but think about the irony of it all.

The same Bruce Wayne who, in the public eye, was a scandalous figure, a charming, charismatic playboy billionaire with endless parties, had exactly one biological child. One. Not five. Not a legion of illegitimate children scattered across the world. Just one.

That kid turned out to be a ticking time bomb with a traditional sword.

Everything fit so perfectly wrong that it almost seemed planned.

With the girls, it's complicated. Maybe even more so because, deep down, a part of you thought they could be different.

Stephanie. She was like a female version of Richard, a constant smile, a vibrant energy that everyone seemed to adore, except you.

She greeted you with empty enthusiasm, one that never went beyond the surface. It was easy to see that behind her good mood, there was a locked door she wasn’t going to open for you.

And you understood. Because you'd seen it before.

People who act as if everyone is welcome, except you.

Stephanie was just another confirmation that no matter how hard you tried to fit in, this home was already full. You weren’t in the original plan. You never were.

Barbara, on the other hand, was simpler. She was hardly ever at the mansion. You’d see her sporadically, a red ghost in the shadows of fleeting visits. And still, in that limited time, she always found a way to smile at others, share a joke, a quick conversation, a knowing glance… Never with you.

Not once.

It was as if your presence went by unnoticed, not even worth including out of courtesy.

Cassandra was the most honest, in a way. She didn’t pretend. She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak.

She ignored your attempts to help with almost admirable efficiency. You could attribute it to her trauma, her history, her way of seeing the world… but that excuse starts to wear thin when it’s the only one left to justify everything.

Maybe you’re just not interesting. Maybe you don’t even stand out enough to be actively rejected.

Or is it because you don’t even deserve her attention?

It was easier to believe that they all had a reason not to see you.

Easier than admitting that maybe, you weren’t that hard to ignore.

What was dangerous about this family wasn’t the weapons, nor the katanas, nor the fists that had broken ribs more than once.

It was the mask.

It took you time to understand it. First, it was a hunch. Then a suspicion. Finally, a certainty: they were all vigilantes. Heroes of Gotham. The same ones who make your hands tremble when you try to use your power. The ones who make your gift feel useless. As if it were a mistake rather than a blessing.

The irony is so perfect it could almost make you laugh.

You can’t feel useful, can’t do the one thing you know how to do perfectly, because you’re surrounded by those who fight so that people and beings like you are neither necessary nor welcome.

And yet, you prefer them this way.

Cold. Distant. Detached. Unknown. Because connections are dangerous. Because memories weigh. Because at some point, someone taught you that affection is the hook that precedes the pain.

Because you know it better than anyone. When you get attached to someone, it’s not just pain that you feel when you lose them. It’s as if a part of you dies too. Not because you lose them, but because without your power, without that “usefulness,” you feel like you never deserved to have them in the first place.

In Gotham, you can’t do anything.

You can't heal.

You can't save.

You can't be useful.

You can't be loved. Or at least, that’s what they taught you to believe.

Here, you have no parts left that you can afford to lose. Not while you're trapped in this city that doesn’t need what you can give. A family that doesn't know what to do with you. You don’t know what to do with yourself either.

They can’t give you a purpose.

They never could.

They didn’t even try.

You expected so little, that not even that surprised you.

Until you found him.

The only living person who not only recognized your power, but accepted it for what you wanted it to be:

A miracle.

He called himself Doctor Masashi. A kind voice, a serene figure. But behind that calmness was surgical precision. He knew exactly how to shape you. How to rebuild you, only to destroy you again with elegance.

He was the only one who never lied to you about what you were:

A weapon.

A tool.

A precious jewel that only shines when it bleeds for others.

A perfect puppet.

And you, grateful for the strings.

He gave you direction when all you had was guilt.

He gave you structure when all you had was emptiness.

He gave you… meaning. A cruel meaning. A conditioned meaning. But still, you took it.

It can't be that bad, right?

Clinging to that.

Clinging to him.

Clinging to something that tells you that you can still be "something."

Because if someone, even just one person, can look at you and say that you are good for something, then you're not broken.

Then you're not alone. Then everything that hurt was worth it.

Even if guilt drowns you every night.

Even if the nightmares never rest.

Even if the hands you tried to save still drag you from their graves, begging for a second death.

It doesn't matter. As long as someone believes that keeping you alive makes sense... then that’s enough.

Right?

Maybe you're a weapon.

Maybe you're selfish.

Maybe you did it all just out of fear of disappearing, for that unbearable need to feel alive.

The need to feel that you matter. To have a place to fit in.

But at least you're something. In this shattered world, that's already more than many have.

But how much more can you take before you truly break? How much longer before you completely crumble, like so many times you did on the inside? How much will the price of his greed cost… and your desperate desire to remain useful?

Because in the end, it wasn't Bruce.

Nor your brothers.

Nor your sisters.

None of them ever knew who you were.

None of them understood.

Only him. Only Masashi.

That’s what scares you the most. Because if even he can make you believe that’s all you’re worth. If even he manages to make you cling to that idea, then maybe, you were never more than that.

Maybe you were never more than your power, and in Gotham, where you can no longer use it...

Not even that belongs to you.

[luveline]

hey babe can I request Hotch with a reader girlfriend who’s desperately shy? early seasons hotch please when he’s still smiley (maybe still has Jack tho), i would love to see how he treats a long term girlfriend in your eyes one who he’s just completely gone for 

fem, 0.9k

You should know better than to come to work without venturing up to Aaron’s private office, but you’re late coming in and there’s a ton of stuff to do and he’s supposed to pretend that he cares when you turn in your work late. You log in and start going through things slowly. There are a few emails to respond to, some queries, a consult request Aaron himself has forwarded with a note —your expertise is required. 

You wiggle your mouse to wake the screen. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten stuck until it was dark. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” someone murmurs, tipping your head back to kiss your cheek, “where have you been?” 

He speaks quietly, no one else can hear him, but he enthuses his tone with so much love that you can’t decide between laughter or tears. You turn breathless instead, a thumb against your throat as Aaron’s loving questioning continues, “I thought we talked about this, hmm? You coming up to see me? How else am I supposed to know that you’re here?” 

There’s no Emily sitting at the desk opposite yours. No Spencer adjacent, no Derek to the right. It explains why he’s butter soft, but not his worry. 

“I was nearly late. I’m sorry.” 

He starts to kiss you gently, quietly, his lips tracking over the side of your cheek and pressing in as he goes until his nose is against your temple. “Don’t be sorry, I just wanted to see you.” He holds you to him. “I missed you.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, wishing you were brave enough to tack handsome, or love on the end. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I thought maybe you were still stressed about Emily.” 

Aaron pulls away, giving you your first proper look at him that morning. He’s as handsome as ever. It makes your chest spike with anxiety. You worry all the time that you’ll lose him; the thought that he might realise all the things you’re missing and break things off is a constant at the back of your mind. It only ever goes quiet when he’s kissing you. “Prentiss has done well so far,” he says. “I’m not happy to have things rearranged above my head, but I have no problem with Emily. Now, how was your morning?” 

“It was fine.” 

“I want to know. Breakfast?” 

“Yeah, oatmeal.” 

He grins. “Me too.” 

Nobody would ever believe that this is your boyfriend when he’s commanding a room during a profile, or apprehending an UnSub with his impassive, furrowed brow. You assumed it was the honeymoon phase at first. It’s not like his affection makes much sense, but if he’s not stressed, it just means he loves you, which is nice. You hold the back of your hand to his cheek, laughing in a shock when he turns his face and traps it between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“No more late mornings,” he says decisively. 

“I wasn’t technically late. I wasn’t early enough to come up to see you, is all. Are you upset I didn’t bring you your coffee?” 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, smiling as he kisses your wrist, before straightening. You let your hand fall and he catches it on the way down. 

“I don’t know. You’re much too touchy. I’m trying to deduce why, but…” 

“Profile me,” Aaron says. He gives your hand a squeeze. “You know how to do it, honey. Figure out my motive from my past behaviours.” 

Aaron’s only ever this sweet on you when you’re in his bed. Well, ‘only ever’ is harsh, but he’s never not sweet on you in the afterglow. And that’s because intimacy is a constant reminder of how close you really are to one another, why he loves you, and why you love him. So perhaps he’s being sweet on you because you’ve reminded him how loved he is? But it doesn’t make much sense. You forgot his coffee.

Your stomach goes warm. “Oh. Oh,” you say, “I called you last night.” 

“You did.” 

“I was tired.” 

“But you were beautiful,” he says, and what does that mean? It’s not as though he could see your face. “I can’t remember the last time you were like that. Not since we were in Helena.”

You can’t remember it clearly. Threads of what you’d said come back to you slowly. Love you, my sweetheart, my Aaron. Can you come over? I know it’s late, I need to see you. You were too tired to function, let alone call someone, and yet. 

Your face is on fire. 

“Sorry I couldn’t come over, honey,” he says, chucking you under the chin with a curled finger. “I would’ve, I promise, but I had Jack until we swapped this morning.”

You go hot all over. “No, I know. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have called you–”

“Who says you can’t call me?” 

“Nobody, but I shouldn’t have.”

“You can call me anytime you want.” He tips your chin up. “Quick, Spencer’ll have finished what I asked him to do soon. Can I kiss you?” 

“I forgot it was your day for Jack–”

He takes your face into his hand. “Doesn’t matter, honey. Kiss?” 

You close your eyes and lift your chin. Ever your prince, Aaron squeezes your cheek gently and leans in to kiss you, far warmer than you’re expecting, his thumb rubbing over your cheek with a reverence he couldn't fake if he wanted to. 

[pochaccoups]

the seven deadly sins — seventeen hyung line ver. (18+)

SEUNGCHEOL —; ENVY

Seungcheol can’t help how often the daggers of jealousy sink into his heart. You’re you, after all. The fucking hot love of his life. He think it’s a little justified that seeing other men make you smile brings out this possessive, protective urge in him, because it’s him that should be making you smile and laugh.

He’s not an asshole though. He’s not the type to punch a guy for checking you out, or even for hitting on you when he’s not by your side. He’s not even the type to intimidate, or humiliate. Your relationship is built upon a steady foundation of trust, and he knows before you even get to tell him that you’ve politely let whoever know that you’re taken.

That means it’s you who’s on the receiving end of his pent up envy.

Harsh, merciless snaps of his hips drive your face deeper into the pillow, make your muffled moans grow louder. Your poor pussy weeps around his cock as it drives in and out of you, as though Seungcheol won’t relent until he’s carved the shape of it into your guts. Until your mind can only think about him, him, him.

It’s his name you sob like you’re praying for forgiveness, his cock that finds a home in your greedy walls, his mouth that marks your skin and leaves a message upon you—you’re being taken care of.

JEONGHAN —; GREED

When Yoon Jeonghan wants something, he will stop at nothing to get it.

You were a smart girl, and he liked that. He wanted to play games with you, and you saw through him. Pretended to play along so you could play your own games and string him along, all in the name of fun. He wanted you—badly. Wanted to make you go dumb, put you in your place. How badly did you want the same thing.

What you quickly learn, however, is that it is not enough for Yoon Jeonghan to finally get what he wants. Even when he’s finally managed to slither his way between your legs, made you cry on his tongue and then his cock, in his eyes remains something akin to hunger.

He needs more.

Seeing you fall apart at his hands has altered something in his brain.

“One more, pretty?” he asks, soft and angelic, as though he hasn’t turned your bones into jelly and filled your head with cotton. He draws circles on your tummy; presses a kiss to your hair in a way that makes you melt for him.

“Can’t, Hannie, ‘s too much,” you mumble, your throat like sandpaper.

“It’ll feel good,” he says, sliding his hand between your legs to play with your poor puffy clit, grinning as you whimper at the contact. “Yeah?”

Your reply comes as a pitiful, broken moan. When he gets you to your high, it comes as a gentle, pulsing wave, but you’ve reached heaven now, and Jeonghan has guided you there. You’re floating, brainless, and as your eyes flutter shut and you drift away into slumber, he knows he has won.

JOSHUA —; PRIDE

Joshua Hong. The man who’s got it all. The face, the body, the voice, the girl.

Every conversation he has is about you, you, you. You’re his phone lockscreen. His social media pages are made up of pictures of you. It’s almost insufferable, the way he doesn’t shut up about how perfect of a partner you are.

He buys you a one-of-a-kind engagement ring. He doesn’t tell you how much it’s worth, but secretly he’ll leak it to the press—a quarter of a million dollars and a two year wait for it to be crafted.

It should come as no surprise that he likes to film you taking his cock. It’s not enough for him to slide his cock into your heat, to bury it snug between your velvety walls—he needs a way of remembering the tight, slippery grip of your pretty cunt pulsing around him, and the shameless, debauched noises you make when he fucks you good. Work means he can be far from you sometimes, and timezones mean you can’t just call, so tapes it is.

They’re strictly for your and his eyes only—of course. However, what crosses his mind too often is a devilish little voice in the back of his head telling him to post it. Just make a burner account. She’ll never know. But he can’t bring himself to do it when the ring on your finger is a promise of his trust.

Instead he’ll leave his phone unlocked, opened on his camera roll where the videos haven’t been tucked away into the hidden folder ‘yet’, or ‘accidentally’ clicking the wrong thing when sending his friends photos and ‘not realising’ until an hour later that he’d exposed to them a short dim clip of him covering your tits with his cum.

He knows they want you. It’s not like they hide their wolfish stares, their drooling mouths, their licked lips. They’ll never have you, though, and he sleeps well at night knowing that. With you in his arms, too.

JUN —; LUST

Junhui is quite a wildcard— a mix of a little bit of every sin. Above all, however, he is just so full of desire. He’s got an unquenchable libido that is heightened when he’s in love. And you are his lucky victim.

It’s the littlest things you do that make him hard. It’s even things you don’t do. It’s the way your tits sit in a low cut top on a blistering summer’s day. It’s the way you like to run your hands through his hair when you’re lounging on the couch together, or sitting at the dinner table. It’s the way you call his name from another room with the sweetest lilt to your voice: “Junieee?”

It’s the way you take him so good, whether you’re bent over the kitchen counter or pressed up against the wall or rolled onto your side first thing in the morning. He’s so greedy for you, for the warm embrace of your wet, fluttering pussy and for the sound of your soft, blissful moans.

It doesn’t help that you’re always so wet, so open and ready for him. Knowing that does terrible things to his sanity. You’re so pliable when he gets his hands on you, so welcoming, letting him play with you as he pleases. You try to play it off as he kisses along your neck and gropes at your nipples through your shirt, pretend like he’s bothering you, but you’re not fooling anyone.

He’ll try to make things quick sometimes, make you cum on his fingers while he kisses you hard, or let you take him down your throat, but then it’s you who’s whining, batting your eyelashes because you want more. He’s ruined you. You’re perfect for him.

HOSHI —; GLUTTONY

Oh, he can’t get enough of you. When he gets his hands (or, well, his mouth) on you, it’s over.

Kwon Soonyoung would spend weeks on end between your legs if he only could. He’d give up food and water and shelter and money if it meant he could survive on your pussy alone. It’s enough sustenance, he swears it.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” he tells you, smeared and glistening with you all down his chin and neck. He's the image of debauchery, indulgence, shamelessness all at once. You look even worse for wear. Sweaty, lips puffy from being bitten, skin burning, hair tousled. Both of you look like sin.

It always starts so innocent. Well, as innocent as your boyfriend using your stomach or tits as a pillow can be. “Just taking a nap,” he’ll insist. Then his fingers start wandering, and his hand is down your pants, and his head is between your thighs.

“Just… Just a lil’ sip, yeah?” he’ll promise, and you never believe him as his tongue dives into your cunt. It’s never been ‘just a sip’. He makes you sob, makes you spill your nectar all over his tongue and drinks it like it’s the blood of the Lord until he’s intoxicated by it, hooked on it, his life depends on it. He’ll keep eating even though he’s full and you’re a quivering, writhing mess, and even then it still won’t be enough.

WONWOO —; WRATH

Wonwoo is not mean. He doesn’t have much of a temper. He’s calm. Patient. Soft-spoken. His best friends of ten years have only seen him yell once. Really, he’s the last person to be described as wrathful.

Somehow, though, you’ve figured out how to get on every last one of his nerves. He’s smitten with you, but fuck if you don’t raise his heart rate sometimes.

“Are you really wearing that out, baby?” he asks, eyes dropping to the where you tug at your miniskirt, only for it to ride back up to just beneath your ass the second you move again.

“Yeah, why?” you reply, tilting your head at yourself in the mirror. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“You do, but—”

“You think I look like a slut?”

“No, love. It’s two degrees out. I don’t want you to freeze.”

“You just don’t want other men looking at me, I get it. God, you’re so controlling.”

You don’t mean it. His jaw still clenches.

Then it’s a never-ending back and forth until you’ve managed to wear out every last thread of his patience, and he’s putting you on your knees and stuffing your mouth full of his cock in return for you putting words in his. He’ll fuck your throat until it’s raw and your mascara bleeds down your face, until his release spills on your tongue and he’s cooing at you to swallow it like a good girl.

Then he’ll ruin your pussy. Flip that stupid little miniskirt up over your ass and give you something to complain about.

WOOZI —; SLOTH

It’s a well-known fact that Jihoon is a laid-back man. Not quite lazy—when it comes to his work he’s very much the opposite. It's just that doesn’t put any more effort into things than he needs to.

His slothful sex habits don’t come from the fact that he thinks you should be doing all the work because he has an ego. It’s nothing like that. It’s that he likes to let you take what you want from him, what you need. Which is why, most of the time, he’ll sit back and let you do exactly that.

With his arms behind his head, he watches with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth as you ride his cock into tomorrow. He’s in no rush to cum. So long as you’re not done with him, he doesn’t feel the need.

You’re a vision, anyway; and him, a sort of voyeur. His head spins only from the sound of your soft, broken moans, your disheveled appearance, the spit and cum and the marks that run down your chest. Your tight pussy is heavenly too, fluttering so temptingly around him, so needy, and he's not even doing anything.

Eventually comes your soft whining. Like clockwork, your hips start to slow, your words edged with exhaustion. “Jihoonie, my thighs hurt…”

"Ah, poor thing," he coos, but even in your fucked-out state you can hear the faux-concern in his words. He reaches for your face, warm and damp with sweat, and cups your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked lips. "You wanted my cock so bad, didn't you? Then take it yourself."

Your thighs burn, and walking will hurt in the morning, but the only way you will get an orgasm and a load from your boyfriend is if you do as he says, so you brace yourself against his chest, and you ride him hard.

[softaestluv]

prev. | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but your apartment is the last place he visits before being sent off on an assignment.

‘Jus’ need somethin’ to tide me over, yeah dove?’

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but when he’s away, his rugged and calloused hands don’t feel like yours, can’t get off unless he pictures you.

Above him. Below him. On your knees. On your back. In your mouth. Buried in your cunt.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but your apartment is the first place he visits when the mission is finished, doesn’t even bother going home.

And you answer, despite it being three in the morning.

“There’s my girl.” He breathes. Relieved. Dropping his bags on the floor before lunging forward to cup your face in his palms.

The claim makes you whine quietly, digging your fingertips into his wrists, arching on your tippy toes to meet his lips halfway. It’s ravenous, leaves your breath ragged, and lips thrumming with swelling blood.

He hoists you in his arms, burrowing his hands under your thighs and ass, pinching the flesh so hard it’ll bruise, but he can’t help it. He’s greedy. Selfish. Hasn’t quite coaxed himself down from the harsh realities of being ‘Ghost.’

“Ah—Simon,” You whimper, huffing hot air against his lips, “You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry, baby,” He smooths his hands, petting the backs of your thighs, “I just-”

The ‘missed you’ dies on his tongue, stops it from rolling off and filling the empty space between the two of you, but you know.

That night when he asks you to repeat him, tell him you’re all his, you don’t respond like usual. He tries his best to coax it out of your pretty lips orgasm after orgasm because he needs to hear it, but you don’t give him the pleasure.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, so he has no other option but to accept it because you’re not his. The lack of acknowledgment eats at his skin, brutal talons gnawing at his flesh when you slowly stop responding to his texts.

Shows up at your doorstep anyway because you don’t get to tell him when this stops. When you answer the door, you’re all dolled up, a tight little skirt hugging your figure, lip gloss smeared on your lips like you have somewhere to be other than on his cock.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, glaring at him, “I’m busy.”

“With what?”

You frown, “I have a date.”

He snorts, pushing past you, making a show of taking off his boots and placing them next to yours, has no intention of leaving.

“Simon,” You sigh, closing the door behind you, “I don’t have time for this right now. He’ll be here any minute.”

The statement alone pinches his temples with irritation, but that’s when he sees it, one small hickey adorned on your neck, just below your ear. His vision narrows, tunneling red, nudging you against the wall with one swift movement, tilting your jaw to get a better look at it.

“The fuck is this?” He snarls, runs his thumb over the bruise, and makes your breath hitch slightly.

“Nothing.” You mutter quietly.

“Your little date give you this? Huh?” He grits through clenched teeth, grip tightening on your jaw, drawing dimples in your skin.

“None of your business.” You spit back, but it’s far too gentle to have any real bite like it always does with him, pup with baby canines.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he seethes at the idea of another man inside of you, another man marking you as theirs when you’re his.

Sinks his teeth around the stupid mark, dragging sharp fangs against your delicate flesh, and sucks the skin viciously. Covers the ugly bruise with his own claim.

Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he presses you right up against your front door, so your date can hear him fucking you in two when he comes to pick you up.

‘Can yer little boyfriend fuck you like this? Huh, baby? Did he know jus’ how you like it?’

Fucks you messy and pretty, until your cheeks are tear-stained and your breaths are wrecked, hiccuping over your moans that’s he’s so mean, so cruel, asking you to say you’re his when he doesn’t even have the courage to say he missed you.

‘Be a good girl f’me, yeah? Tell me you’re all mine.’

And when you do finally say it, he carries you to your bed, fucks you slow and deliberate like he always does, like he really means it, and whispers the words against your skin.

@bbygirl9 @ailanbutterfly @amberbalcom14 @h0lydrag0ns

[hughes-your-daddy]

Hey!! You’re so great at writing angst omg!! This could be for any player, but could you do something where maybe this time y/n gets hurt? She’s hurt pretty bad and he’s really worried about her, but instead she just feels horrible that she wrecked his car. He’s just shocked that she would think that he cares more about his car being totaled than her being in the hospital. And maybe a sprinkle of him taking care of her at home when she gets released from the hospital☺️🍦🍒

i love this idea thank youuu

i’m sorry..

pairing: quinn hughes x fem reader

warnings: hospitals, car crash, swearing

summary: driving to quinn’s game took an unexpected turn

“alright babe, peteys here so i’m heading off now,” quinn calls out, walking into your shared bedroom where you’re sat doing your hair and makeup for the game tonight.

he rounds the corner stopping at the door and leaning against it for a moment. “you look so pretty baby.” he smiles, catching your eyes through your mirror.

“thank you,” you blush, spinning around on your stool to see him properly as he pushes off the doorframe coming over.

“you’re wearing that suit i got you.” you smile, seeing his new suit being worn, as he walks over, taking your face in his hands leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

“gotta look good for you tonight baby,” he smiles against your lips before pressing a soft kiss to yours.

“i love you ok, ill see you later, drive safe.” he smiles before pressing one last kiss to your lips, smiling as he pulls away.

“i love you too.” you call out as he leaves the apartment, leaving you to finish getting ready. it was the annual hughesbowl tonight so you decide to go a little more with your routine than normal. you decide on some loose curls in your hair with your normal makeup routine before moving to pull on a pair of slightly baggy jeans, and quinn’s jersey, layering a hoodie underneath to stay warm.

you walk though to living room quickly throwing a few necessities into your bag before sliding on your leather jacket and grabbing quinn’s keys.

your car had been in the shop after the engine just wouldn’t turn over so quinn’s been getting a ride off petey most days refusing to let you get an uber without him as in his words ‘you could be kidnapped baby.’

so that’s how you end up in your apartments garage sitting in the drivers seat of quinn’s car, pulling the seat forward and adjusting yourself before pulling out of the garage heading to the arena.

the arena is t too far away from your apartment, that the whole reason you chose there in the first place when buying it, but the traffic makes the ride so much longer.

sitting in traffic you quickly send him a good luck text like you always do, before the car infront starts moving.

thankfully you start to see the arena come into view and just as the about to turn into the small parking lot for family and friends of the players.

that’s when it happens.

a car pulling out infront of you, speeding.

causing you to crash into them with the hood of the car, sending the buckle spinning.

it all goes dark.

quinn’s walking in, straight to the changing room quickly greeting a few people before starting to get geared up.

he quickly discards the suit, sliding on his base layers before just chucking on a hoodie and some shorts as he’s going to quickly do some media and press before the game.

he’s about to give you a call when luke comes barrelling through the front door, jack not far behind.

the teammates looking between the two brothers then to quinn in shock, thinking what they’re doing in the opposing teams changing room.

he says a quick apology to the few people in there before going over, brows furrowed.

“guys, what the hell are you doing?” he asks, voice sharper than usual, before it immediately softens at their speechless expressions.

“guys, seriously, what’s wrong?” he asks pulling them into the hallway, jack taking a breath.

“it’s-“ jack starts before being cut off by his team manager.

“boy, games been delayed for a while. a crash happened just outside, it’s blocking entryways.” they say before heading into the changing room to tell the others.

“ok jack, finish your sentence man.” quinn prods but by the look on jacks now pale face he knows something’s wrong.

“jack, talk to em yeh?” he says trying to comfort his younger brother.

“the crash, it’s y/n.” jack stutters and that’s all it takes before quinn’s sprinting off out the exit, jack and luke on his tail until he comes to a screeching halt.

he can see it.

the hood of the car crumpled, smashed glass everywhere and blood on the airbags. police manage to barricade off the scene, trying to keep the crowds to a minimum. he runs over to the police, surveying the damage.

“i’m sorry sir, but you can’t be here right now.” the cop says, ushering him back before quinn cuts him off.

“n-no that’s my car, my fiancé was driving.” he says, stumbling over his words as the cops face falls.

“oh im sorry, ill grab one of the emt’s.” he says quickly before heading off towards the ambulance.

“did yous see anything?” quinn asks turning to see his brothers stood behind, faces blank.

luke tries to find some words before jack stops him.

“no, we just saw the car when luke was driving us into the parking lot, apparently it had been gridlocked for ike an hour.” jack says, shaking his head before the cop comes back over followed by an emt.

“family of y/n y/l/n?” she asks, all three nodding, “she’s been taken to vancouver general hospital. she’s not too badly injured, a few scrapes, bruises, a small concussion, but she did dislocate her knee due to the impact but that’s the worst of her injuries.” the emt says, sending a small smile quinn’s way.

“but she’s ok?” quinn asks, the emt nodding. he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding before realising, they were stood in the middle of the street with a game starting in an hour, fans starting to notice them.

“quinn we’ve gotta move, they’re noticing us,” luke mumbles, hand on his shoulder.

“yeh, yeh, follow me there’s a door round the side.” quinn mumbles still stuck in his own thoughts, before hurrying back into the building heading to the dressing room before remembering about jack and luke.

“um,” he says, turning around quickly, jack and luke nearly running into him, “message mom and dad, just say i won’t be playing and that i’ll see them tomorrow or something.” he rushes out before turning to leave.

“quinn,” jack shouts, quinn turning brows raised, “we’re not playing dude, not when y/n injured like that yeh? get some clothes on, we’ll drive you there.” jack says before pulling him into a tight hug.

“she’ll be fine yeh? take a breather.” he mumbles, quinn visibly relaxing a bit.

“i’ll be quick.” he mumbles before turning to the dressing room.

his teammates side eye him seeing his frantic movements, rushing to pull on some trainers since he’s already got some shorts and a hoodie on before turning to petey.

“woah hughes, what’s happening?” he asks, quinn looking between him and tocchet.

“y/n was in a crash,” he says, expressions of shock being shared around the room, “i can’t play the game tonight. i’ve gotta head straight to the hospital.” he rushes, throwing some stuff into his bag, petey resting a hand on his shoulder.

“don’t worry about us ok? go see y/n,” he says sending quinn a small smile, “just send a message with how she is ok?” he says, quinn nodding before rushing out to the parking lot where jack and luke are waiting the car already running.

he quickly hops in the passengers seat, jack driving with luke in the back before he starts driving over to the hospital.

the ride felt like hours when jack was nearly breaking speed limits getting there in record speed.

jack pulls up to the front doors, quinn quickly jumping out while jack parks up, luke following his eldest brother.

“sorry, excuse me,” quinn says, slightly out of breath, waving down a nurse at reception, “my fiancé was brought here ‘y/n y/l/n,’ she was in a car accident.” quinn rushes out, panic still flooding his body.

“ok, she was brought in about an hour ago, but is currently in surgery so yous can take a seat in the waiting area,” the nurse smiles, but quinn’s mind is caught on those few words ‘in surgery.’

“sorry, what do you mean in surgery?” he asks, the nurse frowning.

“we’re you not contacted?” she asks, quinn shaking his head not recalling a phone call, “she was taken in for a routine knee surgery due to her dislocation.” the nurse says, quinn nodding absentmindedly, “she should be out in around 2-3 hours.” the nurse smiles before moving to assist someone else.

“quinn, come sit down yeh?” luke mumbles, busing him over to a few free seats where they sit down, quinn’s bodies collapsing against the plastic.

they find themselves sat in silence, jack eventually joining them asking for any updates but luke just waves him off, quickly explaining the situation. ellen and jim eventually show up, leaving the arena but due to the crash, traffic there became crazy.

it took them a few hours but when they did show up, ellen was straight to taking quinn in her arms, a few silent tears falling from her eldests eyes.

“i told her to take my car mom, if she wasn’t driving then it wouldn’t have happened to her. i caused this,” he whispers in disbelief, ellen quickly pulling away, a stern look on her face.

“quintin hughes, don’t you dare blame this on yourself,” she says stern, wiping a few stray tears off his face, “it was the other driver, a drunk, none of this was yours or y/n’s fault ok?” she says, quinn giving her a small nod before being brought back to reality by a nurse calling your name.

“y/n y/l/n?” she says, the group rushing over, quinn at the front of them, “she’s out of surgery now, room 315.” she says before they’re off navigating their way through the hospital making their way to her room.

ellen pushes him gently towards the door, his family giving him a moment in privacy to see her before them.

he gently opens the door a small creak echoing through the small room causing you to look over in surprise. that’s when you see it, that familiar mop of brown, and brown eyes meeting yours.

“quinn,” you breathe out before he’s stepping across the room quickly immediately taking you into his arms as you feel yourself break down, as he holds you tight.

“shh baby,” he soothes as you hear his own voice waver slightly as he perches himself on your bed, not loosening his grip.

“i-im so sorry,” you cry, him pulling away in confusion.

“sorry for what baby? that crash wasn’t your fault, it was a drunk guy.” quinn says gently, as you catch his eyes, seeing them red like he’d been crying.

“but your car is ruined.” you mumble, as he takes your face in his hands, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead.

“baby, i need you to know i do not care about my car right now, i just care that the ok yeh?” he asks as you can’t bring yourself to respond, “seriously baby, you’re the most important thing in my life, way more important than a car, i can buy a new one baby, i can’t get abouther one of you though.” he says, voice wobbling slightly towards the end.

“i was so scared.” you whisper, looking down before he’s moving to sit next to you on the bed, kicking his legs up, while his arms coming around your shoulders, you laying into his chest.

“your ok now, all safe with me.” he whispers back as you feel yourself start to finally relax slightly knowing he’s here with you now.

you get released pretty quickly from the hospital, ellen and jim deciding to stay a few more days to make sure you’d be settled back at home. the drive back was ok, quinn making sure he was very gentle with his driving, avoiding any bumps or harsh breaking due to your knee still being in pain from surgery even with it wrapped in a. thick layer of gauze and a knee brace.

he helps you out the car, crutches in hand as he gives you both of them but never leaves your side the whole time from the parking lot to the elevator up to your apartment. he’s by your side, hand on your lower back there for you. if you needed some extra support.

he quickly unlocks your apartment, moving away from you to quickly set up some blankets and pillows on the couch so you can set up there for the day, ellen and jim following behind you.

“we’re gonna head out and grab some groceries for you guys ok? i’ll make sure yous are all stocked up on snacks and meals.” she smiles before giving ew h of yous a hug, before heading out with him, leaving just you and quinn in the apartment.

“here baby, lemme help you.” he says, helping you back onto the couch, laying your favourite fluffy blanket over you.

“i’m gonna grab you some new clothes to change into but we’ll worry about hot showering tomorrow ok?” he asks and you send him a soft smile feeling the exhaustion overcome you.

he doesn’t take long before he’s back with a pair of his sweatpants and his hoodie in hand, coming over to the couch peeling back the blanket.

he helps you get undressed without leaving your spot, easily sliding the clothes onto your body, being careful of every time you wince at the ache in your body or pain in your knee.

“ok, all done baby,” he smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, “you need anything?” he asks, gently rubbing up and down your hip.

“cuddles?” you ask quietly, the grin widening on quinn’s face as he happily complies, sliding behind you on the couch so you can lag between his legs, back against his chest.

“i love you y/n,” quinn whispers pressing a soft kiss beneath your ear, as you smile, taking his hand in yours, resting it in your lap.

“i love you too quinny.”

[lessersole]

The Catch

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Platonic!Yelena

Summary: Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: attempted abduction. Mentions of alcohol. Bucky on a motorbike!

------------

“So what’s the catch?”

“What catch? There’s no catch.”

You raise an eyebrow at the blonde’s suspiciously nonchalant reply. “This apartment is huge. You’re only looking for one roommate, I haven’t seen a single rat or cockroach and the rent is way, way lower than anything else in the city. There has to be a catch.”

Yelena shrugs, “No catch. It’s not huge, and I’m only looking for one roommate because there are only two bedrooms.”

“And the rent is so low because…” you prompt.

She gives you a sly smile, “I can ask you for more if you like.”

“Come on, Yelena. Roommates should be honest with each other, right?”

The Russian rolls her eyes. “The rent is low because I pay most of it. I just need someone to cover the extra. And I want to make friends.”

You narrow your eyes. “No one wants friends that badly.”

“Okaaay,” she responds, before admitting in a rush, “I may be sort of an ex-spy-slash-assassin and some people are weird about that, but it’s totally safe, I’m a good guy, no bad guys will come here or anything, I’m just a normal person living a normal life.”

Your mouth drops open, “I’m sorry, what?!”

Yelena sighs, “It’s not a big deal. And I was brainwashed to do it, but that’s all gone now, it was chemicals, they’re neutralised, no problem.”

You stare at her in astonishment, blinking rapidly. “And - what do you do now?”

She mumbles something inaudible.

“Uhh…?” you hesitate.

“I sort of - work for the government,” Yelena admits.

“You know that sounds like you’re a spy, right?”

She frowns at you, “I’m not a spy.”

“But you couldn’t tell me if you were, right?”

She flings her arms up in frustration, “I don’t know the spy rules! I’m not a spy.”

“Any more,” you point out.

“Any more,” she confirms, “So do you want the room or not?”

You look around at by far the nicest apartment you’ve seen since in your weeks of searching. The thought of living somewhere that would easily pass a health code inspection, without dozens of roommates to fight over the bathroom with, and that wouldn’t mean a multi-hour commute to work is tempting enough to overlook almost anything.

Glancing at Yelena as you weigh up your options, you notice a shimmer of something beneath her defensive exterior. Maybe she really is lonely.

“You promise you won’t be, uh, bringing your work home with you?” You ask.

She brightens, nodding, “Yes, definitely not. All fun here.”

Sucking your teeth, and hoping you won’t regret this, you take a big breath before answering, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll take the room.”

Yelena squeals in delight and wraps you in an excited hug, “I’ll be the best roommate ever, you’ll see.”

—

Six months later and Yelena has more than lived up to her promise. Your shared apartment has become a serene respite from the busy chaos of work and city life, and she’s clearly delighted to have a new friend. Your own friends have warmly welcomed her into the group, and she’s often with you for nights out bar-hopping, or happily joins you in hosting movie nights for everyone.

Yelena’s also frequently away for days or weeks at a time on work trips that you’ve learnt not to ask about, and you enjoy having the time and space to yourself. Right now, she’s been away for four days, and you’re not expecting her back until early next week, so you decide to reward yourself for making it through to another Friday with take-out and wine. Pouring yourself a glass after ordering a pizza, you’re just about to take the first sip when there’s a knock at the door. Confused - the food couldn’t possibly have come that fast - you set down your drink and move to squint through the peephole.

Standing outside your front door is possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A mess of dark hair hangs above shadowed eyes that give way to high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, soft cupid’s bow lips and a razor-sharp jawline covered in thick stubble. His broad shoulders and clearly muscular arms are straining the leather of his jacket, and you’re momentarily hypnotised by the way the shirt underneath clings to his chest.

Taking a breath and letting your brain remind your body that this Adonis is a complete stranger, you slip the chain onto the door before opening it enough to peer through at him.

“Hi,” you say, wondering if he’s got the wrong door, and if so, what you can do to make it the right one.

His eyes flicker over what he can see of you before they meet yours, the blue shock of his searching gaze almost making you miss his low voice speaking your name like a question. You blink in confusion, “Do I know you? I think I’d remember if we’d met.”

“You don’t know me,” he confirms, trying to look past you into the apartment. “Are you alone?”

A finger of suspicion chills the playful heat inside you. “That’s a pretty creepy question to open with,” you tell him with a nervous laugh, hoping there’s an explanation that ends with him being completely non-threatening and asking you on a date.

His eyes meet yours again. “I work with Yelena. Someone got hold of her address, found out she lives with someone and is highly likely to be sending a team over to abduct you. You need to come with me. Now.”

“Ah - what?” You’re still more suspicious than panicked, “If that’s even true, how do I know you’re not the guy coming to abduct me?”

Can you blame the wine you almost drunk for the thought that you wouldn’t mind being abducted by this guy?

“Because if I was abducting you,” he growls, “this door would be in pieces and you would already be tied up in my car.”

You swallow, hard.

The man takes a deep breath as he glances around the corridor, trying to be patient. “Look, I’m Bucky. Yelena must have mentioned me?”

You shake your head, “No. She doesn’t really talk about work.”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath, “We might not have much time. Can you at least grab what you’ll need for an overnight while you decide if you’re going to trust me?”

If you’d met this guy in a bar you’d be more than happy to spend the night with him, but under these circumstances, you’re still suspicious. You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”

You actually have a go-bag prepared already - you weren’t going to be too cavalier about living with an ex-assassin/current probable spy - but as you shut the door on Bucky, you decide now’s a good time to call Yelena.

Ignoring his voice through the door saying that you could at least leave it open, you tug your bag out of the hall closet while you find her number. Yelena’s asked you to avoid calling her when she’s at work, but you can’t think of any other way to verify what Bucky’s telling you.

As it rings, you sling the bag over your shoulder and let your eyes drift to the floor of your open bedroom, where the glow of the city through the large window falls on the floor. Frowning, you notice a shadow blocking the lower corner and let out an exasperated sigh. Your neighbour seems to think the fire escape outside your apartment is a great place for him to store his overflowing junk, but Yelena seemed to have scared him off doing it for a while. As you're making a mental note to speak to him about it, the shadow moves. You freeze. Pigeons maybe? On top of the junk? You slowly step backwards, raking your mind to remember if you’d seen anything there earlier.

Just as the phone rings out, switching to Yelena’s generic voicemail message, there’s the unmistakable smash of breaking glass, followed by alarmingly fast, heavy footsteps. You spin around, but before you can even take a step, whoever’s come through the window grabs you from behind. You open your mouth, sucking in air to scream at the top of your lungs, but the attacker clamps a hand over your mouth and nose. You’re instantly choked as you try to breathe around a sweet-smelling piece of fabric, and as you struggle, you feel a sharp scratch on the side of your neck. Your thoughts go fuzzy, and even as you try to squirm out of the tight grasp, your body slackens. The violent cracking and splintering sounds coming from your doorway echo into the background, and darkness consumes you.

—

You surface slowly back to consciousness. There’s a roaring in your ears, and your body is heavy, unable to move, or even to open your eyes. You’re aware of a constant cold wind at your back and running through your fingers, hands buffeted by the air. Your face is pressed into something warm and firm, and something hard as metal is wrapped around you, holding you in place.

You remember being at your apartment. The window smashing, the footsteps, being grabbed - you force your body to move, eyes flying open, limbs flailing haphazardly and snapping your head up, only to bash into something hard.

“Shit!” Bucky’s expletive is audible over the engine noise as your sudden movement throws him off balance, making the bike he’s controlling with one hand swerve on the road. You realise all at once that the roaring sound was the motorbike, currently speeding down a dark highway. You’re facing backwards, basically in Bucky’s lap, both your legs thrown over his, his left arm holding you close to him.

The shock makes you cry out, but all that emerges through your still waking mouth is an addled groan, although your arms instinctively reach up to cling onto Bucky’s solid form.

His gravelly voice is close in your ear, “Hang on.”

The bike slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Bucky leans back to assess you.

“You okay?” He asks. The road is too shadowed for you to make out whether his frown is of concern or irritation.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, vocal chords just about working as you scramble to get off him. Your legs are still half asleep, and Bucky’s strong hand on your side is the only thing that stops you falling to the ground. He follows you off the bike much more gracefully, and helps you stand, one hand still on your waist, the other on your hip.

Your limbs are still shaky, and you feel like you have the beginnings of a hangover. “What happened?” You ask.

Bucky lets go of you. “The people who came to abduct you turned up. They drugged you, but I heard them breaking in and managed to stop them taking you. Now I’m bringing you to a safe house.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say to this, other than, “thank you.”

Bucky shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. There’s another hour before we get there, so we should get going.”

You nod. Despite still feeling too weak and dizzy to competently ride a bike even as a passenger, you’d rather recover inside in the warm than out by the side of the road.

Bucky’s eyes lingers on you, assessing, then he pulls out a bottle of water stored under the seat and wordlessly hands it over. You take it with another thanks and gratefully drink half in one go, suddenly thirsty. He simply nods when you hand it back, then straddles the bike.

After groggily admiring the flex of his leg muscles as he does so, you move to climb on behind him.

“No,” he says gently, stopping you and indicating that you should sit in front of him. “You might not be alert enough to keep hold of me, and I don’t want you falling off.”

You hesitate. “Can I at least face forward this time?”

A quick teasing grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he gestures to the space he’s left for you between his legs, “Lady’s choice.”

Rolling your eyes to hide the warmth blooming in you despite the strangeness of the situation, you climb in front of him as elegantly as possible. Although you try to keep some space between you, you can feel his warmth at your back as he leans forward, arms caging you as he grasps the handlebars.

His beard grazes your ear, his voice soothing it, “Just grab onto me if you need to,” he tells you.

You get no other warning before the bike takes off, his thick thighs pressing into yours as he raises his legs to the footrests.

—

An hour later, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as the bike finally slows to a stop beside a wood cabin. The dense trees surrounding it would cast it in darkness even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and the winding dirt track you’ve been following for the last 20 minutes makes it even more thoroughly hidden.

The stress of the day, lingering effects of the drug and gentle turns of the bike have lulled you into a half sleep, and you’d given up on staying alert long ago, leaning comfortably into Bucky’s solid chest, his strong arms keeping you in place. As you joltingly step off the bike, the absence of his warmth makes the chill breeze feel even colder.

His hand brushes your lower back as he passes you to the entrance of the safe house. Beside the clatter of him unlocking the door and the ticking of his motorbike cooling down, there’s no sound other than the breeze in the trees. You must be miles from anywhere.

Bucky disappears into the darkness of the cabin, and you follow, lingering at the door. The place is small - you’re standing in a living room-kitchen space that spans the width of the building, the door opposite revealing a shaded corridor that Bucky heads into, leading to what can’t be much more than a small bathroom and bedroom. After checking each room - which doesn’t take long - Bucky returns to the main space.

“It’s clear,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “Hasn’t been used in a while by the look of things, and I wouldn’t trust the bed in there, it’s more woodworm than wood.”

You nod and mumble a small, “Okay.” Now that you’re here, everything feels real and scary again. You were attacked, and drugged, and are now hiding out in a creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere, no one but Bucky and, you suppose, Yelena, knowing where you are. You don’t even have your phone with you.

While you’re thinking this, Bucky turns back into the corridor, leaving you in the main room again. Feeling even more awkward, you head to the kitchen area, trying to figure out how to make the best of things. You pull open wonkily attached cupboard doors, finding a few cans of soup and placing the least rusty ones on the counter top - you never did get that pizza. You’re contemplating the wisdom of even checking the use by dates when Bucky passes, his arms full of blankets and pillows which he drops on the couch.

“Bedding’s fine,” he gestures to it, not even looking at you before turning to kneel in front of the fireplace. Sooner than you expect, he stands again, a fire crackling into life in the grate.

“I’d keep the fire burning,” he tells you as he moves to the front door, “It’s the only heat in this place, and you don’t need to worry about the smoke, we weren’t followed and there’s no one else around for miles.”

Your heart sinks. You hadn’t even realised you’d hoped he’d stay until it’s clear he’s about to leave, but the thought of being left alone, here, after everything - it’s daunting.

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” You reply, before holding up a couple of the soup cans, “You don’t want to stay to eat something? It’s a long way back to the city, right?”

Bucky’s stare is carefully neutral as he takes in your questionable finds. He opens his mouth, but as his gaze slides to your face, he pauses. “Sure,” he says uncertainly, “Looks delicious.”

“You must be hungry then,” you joke, trying to hide your relief as you hunt for a can opener.

—

A little while later, the cabin’s feeling a bit more friendly. The smell of the surprisingly decent soup and warmth of the fire have spread through the space, and with your and Bucky’s bowls washed and left to dry by the sink, the place looks almost homey. Even so, apprehension pulses through you when you see him preparing to leave; his warm, steady presence is more of a comfort to you than it should be.

“You shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Bucky reassures you. “Two at most. Yelena will come get you when she’s back in the country.”

“Two nights?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, determined to come off as confident and unafraid in front of him, “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”

You shoot him a quick smile. But he can’t ignore the tension in your body language, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself despite the warmth. He’d intended to leave. The second he set foot in the cold, musty cabin it had reminded him of places he’d hidden out in on missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d meant to drop you off and leave as soon as he’d checked it was safe.

Then you’d turned to him with an old tin of soup and a shaky smile, and something tugged at him to stay. Probably he just felt sorry for you. And that urge to look after you, make you comfortable, that was just him wanting to do what was asked of him - nothing to do with the attraction he’d felt to the bold, suspicious person who’d opened the door to him earlier this evening. And if this basic cabin out in the forest was starting to feel more like home than his apartment back in Brooklyn, it was just because he still hadn’t decorated or got used to the modern city - not because sharing dinner with you had warmed him more than any fire ever could.

Jacket and boots on, Bucky hesitates. “Are you alright?”

You flash him another small smile that comes out halfway between the ease you’d intended and a grimace. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out squeaky and you try again. “I’m fine.” You say, a bit more confidently.

Bucky’s eyes don’t move from you, but his raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe you.

Sighing, you admit more quietly, “I think I’m maybe in shock. All this is…a lot. I’ll be alright in a bit.”

Bucky nods and stomps out the door without another word.

You blink rapidly, jarred by his sudden departure, but instead of hearing the roar of his bike starting up, there’s a slam as he returns and shuts the door behind him.

“Here,” he holds out a candy bar to you.

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Sugar helps with shock,” he explains with a shrug. “And it counts as dessert. Since you made dinner.”

You can’t help the laugh that spills out as you thank him. “I didn’t expect this from you.” You add as you take the candy, looking up in time to see his throat bob as he swallows.

Sinking into the couch as you unwrap the chocolate, you hope Bucky will join you, and are startled when instead he squats down in front of you and places a hand either side of your legs, gripping the couch with both hands and tugging the whole thing – heavy old furniture and you – so you slide across the floor, closer to the fire. His smug grin is the only sign he’s noticed your mouth falling open in astonishment, as he drops down next to you. Right next you; his arm and leg brushing against yours.

“It’s better to stay warm,” is all he says by way of explanation, watching the dancing flames in front of you both.

“Thank you,” you repeat. After a moment you lean into him slightly, curious to see how he’ll react. As if by instinct, he lifts his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you firmly into his side.

You smile to yourself, and snap off a square of chocolate to pass to him. Your eyes meet as he takes it from you, and you let your gaze linger on his face, so close to yours. Bucky doesn’t turn away - watching you with an intensity that mirrors your own. A loud crackle from the fire is the only thing to snap your attention away, and you sit together in comfortable silence, your face warm as you let the candy melt in your mouth.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

“Much,” you answer. His solid warmth has calmed you, and you’re pretty sure it’s his proximity, rather than the fire’s, that’s making your blood pump hot through you. Your suspicion is confirmed when he removes his arm from around you and stands up, taking the candy wrapper from you and leaving a cold gust of absence.

“Lie down,” he instructs softly, gesturing to the blankets and pillows around you on the couch, “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

He moves to the kitchen before you can reply, so you do as you’re told and lie down, burrowing into the blankets in the hopes of capturing his lingering warmth. You desperately want to ask him to stay, but you’re not sure how.

Eyes closed, you’re unaware of Bucky’s silent return. He watches you, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders at the soft sounds of your breath and the fire. He wants to stay - to comfort you, he tells himself, and make sure you’re safe. Nothing else, of course. But do you want that?

“Are you still cold?” he asks, his voice low.

You open your eyes to the sight of him looking down at you from the foot of the couch, his creased brow casting his eyes into shadow.

“I could be warmer,” you tell him.

The next sound you hear is the soft thud of Bucky’s boots hitting the floor as he toes them off, simultaneously shrugging out of his jacket. Leaning over you, his knee tucks into the space behind yours.

“Budge up,” he mutters, a gentle teasing edge dancing through his voice.

Slightly stunned - and delighted - you shuffle forward to the edge of the couch, letting him slot in behind you against the back cushions. Lifting the blankets, he presses against you, his right arm snaking around your body, holding you to him.

Realising you’ve been holding your breath as his body adjusts to yours, you let out a contented sigh. Sandwiched between the flickering heat of the fire and the warmth and security of Bucky’s firm body, you feel yourself finally relax. As the last remnants of tension and shock are eased out of you, you drift off to sleep, comfortable and safe in Bucky’s arms.

He’s slower to fall asleep. Bucky wants to hold still so you won’t wake, but your closeness is making him more aware of every part of his body.

He looks down at you fondly as you twist over mid-dream, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pressing your face to his chest, inhaling deeply as you continue your steady sleep. Taking a long breath, Bucky tries to ignore it as the spark of a feeling he hasn’t felt for a very, very long time catches in his chest, the glowing ember of it warming him deeply as he relaxes into sleep.

—

The first fingers of dawn creeping through the flimsy curtains wakes Bucky the next morning. There’s a smile on his face and a gentle glow in his chest – he’s slept soundly through the night, and has the unfamiliar feeling of having woken from a good dream. Keeping his eyes closed to try and recapture the thoughts that were just now floating through his sleeping mind, he’s suddenly brought back to reality by movement in his arms – you, shifting as you wake up.

You awake with the same warm glow as Bucky, breathing deeply as consciousness trickles in, and inhaling a delicious scent – clean, woodsy and warmly spiced, something that smells both comforting and exciting. There’s soft fabric under your hand and you sigh contentedly as you nuzzle closer. It’s only when Bucky politely clears his throat, the sound reverberating through the chest you now realise you’re lying on, that the realisation of where you are comes back to you.

Jerking back as far as you can – which isn’t much, given the size of the couch and that Bucky’s arms are still encircling you – your eyes fly open and you freeze as you meet the supersoldier’s amused gaze.

“Morning,” he greets you with just a hint of a smirk, his gravelly voice making your stomach somersault.

“Morning,” you squeak back, inwardly cursing yourself for not being anything like as cool as he is. Knowing your normal morning state, your hair is probably a bird’s nest and you don’t want to think about the likelihood of there being drool on your face - or his chest.

But Bucky simply smiles back at you, his eyes dancing over your face. Half-stunned, you gaze back at him - his strong nose, his smooth cupid’s bow lips, his ice blue eyes - and a hot longing spreads through you. You know you’re currently in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere, hiding out from mysterious enemies who want to hurt you - but right now that all feels very far away; much less important than the warm, muscular body pressed against yours.

A darkness in Bucky’s gaze makes you shiver in delight as you realise his thoughts are mirroring your own.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice gruff but with the ghost of a smile, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into him and angling your face up to his, “Very,” You answer softly, “You?”

“Very,” Bucky echoes, staring deep into your eyes for a moment before pulling you close, erasing the last space between you. His soft lips brush against yours, sending tingles racing through your body, and you press into him eagerly. His response is immediate, his mouth firm and giving, and you fist his shirt in your hands as you move closer, opening your mouth to his, and-

A loud, shrill alarm pierces the air and you yelp, both of you startled apart. You nearly fall off the couch at the noise, and Bucky bolts upright.

“It’s the proximity alarm,” he explains, jumping up and heading for his jacket where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. After pulling his phone from the pocket, his shoulders loosen as he visibly relaxes. “It’s friendly,” he says, turning back to where you’re half-lying, still tangled in blankets.

“Good,” you manage to respond, unconvincingly. You’re obviously glad there’s no threat, but the timing of this arrival could have been better.

A lopsided smile spreads across Bucky’s face, “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he teases, voice still rough.

You fail to hide a smile, wrinkling your nose, “I’m just…no good with guests before I’ve had coffee.”

His smile widening into a grin, Bucky nods. “I’ll put some on.”

You extricate yourself from the bedding as he heads to the kitchen area, and try pointlessly to brush the wrinkles from your clothes, hoping whoever’s coming to meet you can’t tell that your heart is still pounding, heat pulsing through you from the kiss. It might have been short, and unpleasantly interrupted, but it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very long time.

As you neatly fold the blankets, still warm from your and Bucky’s combined body heat, his clattering in the kitchen is drowned out by the sound of an engine outside, before the front door bursts open and Yelena strides into the cabin.

Before you can even open your mouth to greet her, she runs to you and wraps you in a fierce hug, “I’m so sorry!” She says into your shoulder before pulling back to look you over, checking for injuries. “I never thought you would get hurt because of me, you’re my best friend and I love you and I nearly got you kidnapped!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, returning the hug, “I’m fine, Bucky looked after me.”

Yelena glances over at Bucky who nods at you both before returning his attention to the coffee. Yelena slowly turns her head to look back at you, her eyes narrowing and a cat-like smile spreading across her face, “He looked after you, huh?” She drawls.

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling your face warm, “not like that. Well, not - no, not like that.”

“Okay,” she answers with a grin, “What’s that saying about silver livings again?”

“Yelena,” you warn her, aware Bucky can hear you both.

She laughs again before the smile slides from her face. “I am really sorry though,”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure her.

“But I put you in danger,” she insists with a pout, “and I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Bucky calls from the kitchen.

“Look, we can talk about it later,” you tell Yelena, moving to where Bucky’s pouring you a mug.

“Fine,” Yelena grumbles good-naturedly as she follows you, “But can we talk about whatever it is you did to get Barnes to make you coffee?”

You roll your eyes as she laughingly bumps your shoulder, neither of you noticing the openly affectionate look on Bucky’s face that he quickly moves to hide.

------------

Part 2 coming soon

Tags: @yesshewrites1

[alchemistc]

Consider this the emotional sibling of the Eddie Makes It Worse series.

"I have thought about it, you know," Eddie says, and Tommy nearly inhales the straw of his stupidly sweet cocktail. That's what he gets for always accepting the drinks Buck decides a sip in aren't to his taste.

Eddie gives him a hearty slap on the back, and continues before Tommy's done more than wheeze.

"I had to recontextualize like, seven years of my life after Buck met you. After you turned him into an insane person and also somehow a teenage girl with her first crush and no control or understanding of her emotions."

Tommy's too busy trying to stretch the knot out of his neck and breathe through his nose to call him out on gendering his comparisons. In his experience, boys are the ones committing violence for attention. Not the point. So not the point, and he breathed half an ounce of vodka on top of that.

"I'm - sorry, what did you have to think about?"

Tommy absolutely knows what he's talking about. Eddie absolutely knows he knows. It's not quite out of left field, but definitely center field facing a righty before the shift got banned.

"About Buck. Me and Buck. Us and our... thing."

The shock of Eddie being introspective about this enough to be able to articulate it is enough to keep him quiet. He's not a dumb man. Far from it. It's just - in Tommy's experience Eddie tends to avoid looking internally with the same fervor you try to avoid latrine duty.

Eddie's watching him. Waiting for a reaction. They've already done this song and dance, so Tommy's not entirely sure what to do with this. What reaction Eddie's looking for.

"Okay?" Tommy prods, and Eddie rolls his eyes like the diva he is.

"Okay so, I'm saying. I am 100% sure I'm very straight. Because after Buck came out I thought about it."

"What are you saying?" That's his uncontrollably bitchy tone, right there. His eyebrows are probably putting in work. Eddie seems...incredibly nonplussed.

"I'm saying I thought about it."

Tommy rewinds. Considers the context that got them here, at the bar top, gathering a round for the table...Russo, Hen and Karen, Evan... Karen had made some offhand comment about Eddie and Evan that had made Eddie's eyes dart to his like he was looking for signs that Tommy was wearing Nike Zooms.

"Sorry, are you taking this opportunity, in this moment, to tell me you're definitely straight because you fantasized about fucking my boyfriend?"

Two stools down, a woman wearing a pair of neon suspenders and steel toe boots flicks her eyes away from them in the mirror over the bar.

Eddie's eye roll is always a marvel to behold, but this one might take the cake as far as disdainful energy rolling off him like an aura goes.

"Yeah, like you were worried about the physical attraction."

"Are you saying there is physical attraction?" What the fuck. What the fuck. Where the hell is he going with this?

"I'm saying we're each other's next of kin and he's in my will and I may be more subtle about it but I'm just as weird about him as he is about me. It's, like, contagious, man."

Tommy has to give him that point. His insanity levels have increased exponentially since meeting Evan Buckley. Realizing that taking the lid off of that actually made them stronger as a couple had really opened things up.

"I was having a nice night," Tommy says, and tries to wrangle this conversation back into some semblance of order. "What, exactly, are you trying to tell me?" Eddie opens his mouth and Tommy has to stop himself from smacking his hand across his lips to prevent him from speaking. He points a finger, instead. "If you say you thought about it, I swear to Christ, Diaz..."

"I think Buck probably had a crush on me when we first met. You know - pulling the pigtails, desperate to know way too much about me, that kind of thing."

Great. Cool. Tommy's feeling really good about where this is going.

"And I think I fucking desperately needed someone to love me, no strings attached. And Buck - he did that. No question. Almost from the jump."

Tommy downs the rest of the cocktail in one go. Yep. Still as bad as he remembered.

"So. After you guys got together, I... added some context. You weren't the only one who thought he was pissed at me for finding a second friend."

"What was your conclusion, exactly?"

"He's my best friend, Tommy. Family, in a way no one else will ever come close to. If he called and asked if I had a shovel, I'd be researching endangered plant species before we even got off the phone."

Getting Eddie into true crime podcasts was a mistake. "Ride or die, yeah, we all know."

"See, I don't think you do, Tommy. I really don't think you do."

If they could get to the point, already, Tommy might not have to gouge his own eye out with the cocktail straw poking temptingly out of the empty glass in front of him.

"Because as much as I care about him, as much as he cares about me - we'd never be what the other needed. I'm too in my own head all the time. He's - way too needy." Tommy wants to contest this assassination of his boyfriends character, but Eddie seems like he might actually be meandering somewhere near the point. "And, yeah, sure, I did once attempt to figure out if I was attracted to him."

Jesus fucking Christ. They're in a bar. They have an audience, at this point, even if it is just the lesbian couple two stools over and the bartender who's either needs to tap a new keg or learn how to pour without creating a drink that's mostly head.

"My point is the only reason you should be concerned about me is if you ever piss Buck off bad enough for him to need an alibi."

The words come out before he's had time to filter them through his brain. "Did you get off?"

Yeah. The cocktail was mostly vodka, but there's no way in hell he can blame that entirely on alcohol. He'd had a wallowing jack-off or two featuring more than just Evan, in the months he'd drive past Evan's loft hoping for some rain and for Sia to organically pop up on his Spotify station.

Eddie slides a shot of tequila in Tommy's direction. He doesn't remember ordering those. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Edmundo."

"Thomathan."

Tommy takes the shot without bothering to cheers him. He doesn't deserve the time it would take for his mouth to form the "Salute". Hell, he's not even worthy of a "Cin Cin", not with his face doing whatever it's doing right now.

"Tell Buck he's welcome from me," Eddie says, and before Tommy can do much more than blink he's gathering up all but Tommy and Evan's drinks to take them back to their table.

This feels like a mind game. He isn't sure whether he's meant to be grateful, or murderous. Two stools down, Suspenders swivels to stare at him. "You look like you just got slapped in the face with a fish," she says. The bartender eyes him like she might be thinking of pouring him another shot.

"Hi," Evan says, directly into his ear, and Tommy jolts. "Eddie said you were right behind him. Did your arms stop working?"

"Just his brain, honey," Suspenders chimes in. The woman to her left titters into her hand.

"Give it to me straight," Tommy says, and Suspenders snorts into her drink. "Has Eddie told you about his Thinking About It process?"

"Oh, with the trying to picture enjoying me naked?"

Tommy pinches his nose and makes a valiant effort to ignore the hand slapping down on the bar top to his left, the canned attempt at hiding a choked laugh. "Sure. That. Normal best friend things."

"If it makes you feel any better, I think I got even less enjoyment out of it than he did."

Suspenders wheezes.

"You did it together?"

"Gross, Tommy."

"Oh, sure, I'm the one reacting weirdly to this."

"If it makes you feel any better, we were broken up. And the only reason I even thought of it was - you know. Tech- technically your fault. You were the one wining and dining my straight best friend while I was trying to get your attention."

Suspenders girlfriend is having a conveniently timed coughing fit.

"Am I having a stroke?" Tommy asks, but it comes out perfectly coherent, so knock that off the list.

"Do you wanna go home?" Evan has the ability to switch moods on a dime. Tommy's really never seen someone so good at it. "I can settle the tab. I - are you okay? Do you need - water, or - " he's reaching for a stool " - or we can sit."

Tommy's been resistant to being taken care of since he can remember. There's something to the way Evan approaches it - purposeful, the opposite of effortless - that makes Tommy want to crumble like a house of cards. He snags Evan's wrist in his hand. "Evan."

As usual, that's all it takes to still him, for a moment. The cheeks rise, the dimples grow more prominent, his eyes alight on Tommy's like he's seeing something worth looking at.

"I love you. Your best friend is insane and you're half a step behind him, and I love you."

It's not the first time. Thank fuck, that would be a terrible way to drop that bomb. But it's still new enough not to be casual. New enough to make Evan's cheeks burn a rosy pink.

Evan smirks. "You wanna get out of here?"

He'd been enjoying a conversation with Karen, twenty minutes ago, but he doubts he'd be able to form a single coherent thought anymore. The green demon he's kept under wraps for forever now has somehow both gone dormant and is currently trying to convince him to toss Evan over his shoulder and make a break for it.

Tommy makes eye contact with the bartender. Raps his knuckles against the bar top.

Evan's grin goes a little feral.

[cutehoons02]

Truth or Dare is a dangerous game

*pairing: pervy popolar gryffindor Heeseung x shy ravenclaw Girl

*trope: grumpy girl x sunshine boy

*synopsis: In a hidden corner of Hogwarts, amidst laughter and tension, the shy and cynical Y/n, a brilliant Ravenclaw, finds herself trapped in a dangerous and seductive game. A chance encounter with Heeseung, the charismatic captain of Gryffindor’s Quiddich, would trigger a series of events that will involve her in a network of seduction and mystery. It all begins during an evening of "Magic Truth and Obligation", when Y/n, to avoid the humiliation of refusing an obligation, ends up being forced to spend ten minutes in a room with Heeseung, Despite her armor of cynicism and coldness, Y/n is irresistibly attracted to him, discovering new sides of herself that she never thought she would know and maybe those 10 minutes will last for hours…

*tags: A lot of tension, Hee is a bit of a clown and loves to tease you and make fun of you, you have had a crush on him for years, magic "truth and obligation" game, lots of kisses, pacifiers, dirty words, fake innocent girl, needy hee, needy girl, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) fingering, male masturbation, small discussion and statement +18

9.7k (🫂)

(English is not my native language)

The familiar scent of aged parchment, ink, and slightly burnt potions lingered in the library air. You were seated at your usual spot — second floor, third column on the left — hunched over a yellowed scroll, your brows furrowed as you tried to grasp the secondary reaction of burlap essence with Veritaserum.

In front of you sat Sunghoon, Ravenclaw's leader and your friend since day one, meticulously underlining formulas with almost obsessive precision.

Sunghoon was cold with the world, yes, but with you, he'd always had a warm heart — though buried deep beneath layers of sarcasm and sharp retorts. He'd softened around the edges ever since he started dating T/L, the temperamental Slytherin with the charm of a scalpel, but really, he’d just become less awkward. His affection for you remained untouched, loyal, quiet but constant — like a protective charm humming in the background.

More than three hours had passed. Your eyes burned, and the silence was almost comforting… until the walking disaster with a broom on his shoulder made his grand entrance.

A murmur among the shelves. A thud. An explosion of Quidditch bags, flying scrolls, and a voice far too familiar.

-For Morgana’s sake, Heeseung! Are you a Captain or a drunk Muggle?-

snapped Sunghoon, jolting upright, goose feathers scattered across the table.

“Hoonie, relax. That was all calculated,” laughed Lee Heeseung, emerging from behind the shelves like he’d just walked off a battlefield.

Heeseung was a sight in crimson, gold, and black robes, hair tousled by the wind, hands still dusty from the broom. His golden eyes locked onto Hoon with a mischievous gleam.

“Just wanted to make sure you still remembered how to feel once in a while.”

He winked.

-Yeah? I’m feeling the urge to strangle you right now,-

Hoon shot back, though the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed his fondness.

Their exchange was so natural it briefly swept you away… until Heeseung’s gaze landed on you.

And then it happened — like it always did.

His eyes curved into that signature golden crescent, and a grin unfurled across his face like a cursed charm.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my Queen of Rules.”

The nickname was his. Annoyingly affectionate. He always said it in that tone that made you want to hit him with a permanent Silencing Charm.

You rolled your eyes in response, feigning indifference.

But inside? Inside, you were a mess of misfired potions.

Lee Heeseung had been your crush for years. Since before he became Gryffindor Captain, before he learned to smile so recklessly, before you realized how impossible it was to be near him without wanting to touch him.

And now he was standing right there, in front of your table, with that damn smile and that spark in his eyes.

“Lost, or just here to learn how to live a little?”

he said, leaning on the table casually, way too close for your nerves.

And as always, you looked for the quickest way out. Too bad that, deep down, you always stayed.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you shot a pleading glance at Sunghoon, begging him silently to intervene.

But he… chuckled, utterly merciless, and returned to his parchment-like nothing had happened.

Traitor.

Heeseung, of course, took your hesitation as an unspoken invitation. He grabbed a spare chair, dragged it up next to yours with that “anywhere I stand is mine” attitude, and sat down so close your arm brushed his.

You slowly turned to face him, your eyes quietly scanning his face.

Red hair, though you could see the dark roots peeking through — as if the dye itself was losing patience. His eyes, deer-like and warm brown, always looked like they were about to laugh at something only he understood.

His nose, marked by a slight bump — a proud souvenir from a Quidditch clash — gave his rogue-ish face a bit of edge and his lips… Merlin, his lips were made to be kissed.

They’d kissed too many girls, in your opinion — not that you knew for sure, but you’d heard him laugh too many times with someone in the corridor outside the dorms.

Under his carelessly worn robes, his shoulders were broad and his chest solid. When he leaned on his knees to talk to you, the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over his arms with lazy confidence.

He was magical but looked more like he’d stepped out of a Muggle magazine: rolled-up jeans, a chain around his neck, sleeves pushed up.

And that damn confidence.

“Why are you so close?” you finally asked, your tone neutral but edged. “There’s plenty of empty seats.”

He leaned in even closer. His face was now just inches from yours.

He closed his eyes for a second, and inhaled slowly—dramatically.

“Vanilla… honey… cookie?”

You froze.

Not only was that your scent, but he knew about your obsession with Madam Cookies’ sweets. It was a weakness you tried to hide—one he had just used as a weapon.

“If you don’t like my perfume, you’re free to leave,” you shot back, not breaking eye contact.

Heeseung clutched his chest like you’d wounded him.

“Right in the heart. You can’t be this cruel to me, Your Highness.”

You rolled your eyes again. That nickname got on your nerves.

And yet… deep down, it made you smile. Though you’d never admit it—not to him.

“Hoon… how do you even tolerate him?” you asked, eyes still locked on that shameless grin.

-It was a childhood spell gone wrong. Like a blood bond, but worse,-

Sunghoon replied flatly, not even looking up as he kept writing.

“Love you too, buddy,” Hee murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder—for just a second too long.

You pulled away, heart pounding. And then, as if nothing had happened, came the real trap question.

“Hey… this Saturday. Are you free?” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Is that a trick question?” He laughed—that laugh. The deep one that made your insides hum, even when you didn’t want them to.

“Nope. I just wanna see you live a little without a wand stuck up your ass, that’s all.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Wow. How romantic.”

“I’m serious. There’s the secret Prefects’ party. I convinced Hoon to come—though I’m probably gonna have to spike his pumpkin juice to get him to dance.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes and grunted something like,

-I’ve never been drunk enough to find one of your plans appealing.-

“Come on, Y/n,” Heeseung pushed, that spark in his eyes lighting up again,

“You owe me at least one night of trying not to hate me.”

You looked at Sunghoon with a questioning expression, almost hoping for a last-minute escape route.

-I’m going with T/L,- he said calmly. -You can come with us. L/T, Heeseung’s sister, will probably be there too… You’ll get along.-

You nodded, trying to mask the quickening rhythm of your heart—and right then, Heeseung leaned in toward you.

Once again, he invaded your personal space. No permission. As always.

“So… is that a yes?”

His eyes sparkled, his voice low, amused, but sharply attentive.

You clenched your hands beneath your skirt to steady the trembling.

“I’ll be there.”

The grin that spread across his face promised absolutely nothing good.

That Ravenclaw’s too good at hiding. But I’ve seen her. The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. The way she bites her lip when I get close...

She’s not just shy. She’s sharp. A weapon wrapped in velvet. And I want to be the one who opens her.

Saturday. That party. She won’t run. And if she does... I’ll chase her. Heeseung thought.

Three days later, you were in your room—your bed a war zone of rejected outfits and runaway socks. You stared at your wardrobe like it was supposed to give you an answer.

Then, a sharp knock on the window. An owl. You immediately recognized the elegant handwriting: L/T Lee.

You opened the letter with a curious smile. Inside, along with the message, was a moving photo.

L/T striking a pose: a tiny black skirt (and it was literally freezing outside), no tights, a skin-tight top showing off every curve, and makeup that basically screamed look at me—or regret it forever.

"I knew you'd be coming too! Send me your outfit, I wanna see! Can't wait to spend the night with you."

Signed with a floating little heart.

You smiled, cheeks a little flushed, and snapped a mirror selfie.

Black skirt, but with sheer black tights—for dignity and survival. A soft, slightly fitted gray sweater embroidered with a tiny blue raven over the heart. Hair down, sleek, flawless. Makeup? Light. But anyone who looked closely would see the work behind it.

Seconds later, L/T replied:

"Babe, you look adorable. But trust me—after tonight, you won’t just be ‘adorable’ anymore. Get ready."

You’d been frozen in front of the mirror for ten minutes. Your lower lip suffering under your teeth, your mind full of scenes you didn’t want to imagine… but did anyway.

“It’s just a party… right? Just a party.”

Then—someone knocked.

You opened the door to find Sunghoon, dressed to perfection, letting out a soft whistle like you were a freshly brewed potion.

-Wow, Y/n. Gryffindor’s not ready for this.-

You gave a shy, embarrassed smile. But it was nothing compared to what happened next.

T/L appeared behind him. The Slytherin girl gave you a head-to-toe scan with those sharp, flawless eyes, then crossed her arms.

'And who exactly are you trying to impress, little Raven?'

You lowered your gaze. “No one.”

But Hoon chuckled.

“Mmmh… I’d say a certain redhead who plays Quidditch and calls you ‘Your Highness.’”

T/L turned to you with a wicked little smirk.

'Oh. Heeseung Lee, huh?'

You didn’t answer. What was the point?

'Come here,' T/L said firmly, pulling you gently by the arm. 'I’ve got you. Just a little more lipstick… a touch of mystery… and we’ll see if that Gryffindor can keep his distance. Just a dab on the lips, trust me…'

T/L was chasing you around with a bordeaux lip pencil in hand, and your expression screamed Golden Snitch on the run.

“I told you no. And if you put that red lipstick on me, I swear I’ll disapparate.”

The Slytherin rolled her eyes dramatically, but finally settled for the bordeaux—it brought out the color of your lips in a subtle, elegant way. Sensual, but not too loud. The result still made you feel… different. Bolder. More like a woman.

You all rushed down the stairs together, racing through corridors still glowing with floating torches. When Hoon raised a hand to shush you, your heart skipped a beat. There were professors just around the corner.

But with a snap of his fingers, Sunghoon’s invisibility spell wrapped around you like a cloak.

“Thanks, Hoon. I really didn’t feel like polishing Snape’s cauldrons tonight…”

After ten minutes of tunnels, hidden staircases, and whispering wall-passages, you finally made it to the catacombs under the school. There, the stone walls opened into an enchanted hall bathed in floating lights—amethyst and green. The music was loud, and the air pulsed with magic, sweat, and adrenaline.

Witches and wizards were everywhere: Drinking from enchanted goblets that changed flavor with every sip. Casting light and illusion spells that sparkled in midair. Dancing like tomorrow didn’t exist.

You stuck close to T/L, trying not to be swallowed by the chaos, but of course she nudged you with her elbow.

'You look so cute… but I’m waiting for the moment he sees you.'

“Who?” you asked, feigning innocence, scanning the room.

'Don’t play dumb… him. Your Quidditch boy.'

You stepped into a smaller lounge space, separated from the main room by a golden curtain. Inside were Jay, Jake, Sunoo, Jungwon, Niki—all sprawled across floating sofas, drifting incense, and bottles of magical liquor that changed color with every laugh.

And then, of course… Heeseung.

He was leaned back on a dark couch, talking to a Slytherin girl—sleek hair, feline eyes, legs that went on forever—and you immediately looked away. A sharp sting of jealousy twisted in your stomach.

Pathetic. He’s not yours.

Before you could even look for a wall to melt into, a familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the music:

<Y/N!!>

L/T Lee, Heeseung’s sister, came flying toward you and threw her arms around your neck.

<MERLIN, look at you! Did you come here to hex him or seduce him?!>

She gave your hips a playful smack, a mischievous grin on her face.

<With those tights and that skirt? I swear, if he doesn’t look at you, I will.>

T/L giggled from where she was leaning on Hoon, and in that moment—right as his sister said your name—Heeseung looked up.

At first, it was just to follow the voice. But then… He saw you.

And he nearly choked on his drink.

Oh. My. Bloody. Merlin. Is that her? That’s Y/n? What the hell is she wearing?!

Black tights. Short skirt. That sweater clings to her chest like it was made to torture me. And the lipstick—bloody hell, her lips are tinted too.

I shouldn’t stare. But I can’t not stare. If she looks at me right now, I swear to—

The Slytherin girl next to him said something, but Heeseung didn’t even hear it. His eyes were locked on you, as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, legs crossed in that shy way of yours. Adorable enough to drive me mad. Hot enough to make me lose my damn mind, he thought, licking his lower lip.

With Heeseung’s sister at your side, you walked up to the floating bar—bottles drifting midair, pouring themselves into glasses, mixing magical drinks that shifted color and taste depending on the drinker’s mood.

<Listen, Queenie… you might wanna loosen up. It’s gonna be a long night.>

L/T handed you a clear glass with a pale pink liquid that shimmered ever so slightly. You muttered something like, “I don’t drink things that sparkle,” but took a small sip anyway.

It tasted like peach, spice… and impending trouble.

Then it happened—cheers, whistles, a loud roar from the crowd. You turned around sharply.

Jake, the most unhinged of the Gryffindors, was standing wobbly on a table with his arms spread wide, shouting:

“Everyone sit! Circle up! Magical Truth or Dare—no excuses!”

You looked around for Sunghoon, but he was already plopping down with a smirk that said he was thriving in the chaos. You shot him a death glare.

L/T grabbed your elbow excitedly and tugged you down next to her, plopping herself into the circle with a satisfied grin. Then she rested her head on your shoulder.

And you thought: The Lees. Always touching. Always in your space. Always... so much.

But for once, you didn’t push her away.

Jake made a golden bottle float to the center of the circle—it crackled softly with electric sparks—and he cleared his throat with dramatic flair before announcing:

✨ 𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑭 “𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑹 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑬” ✨

Whoever spins the bottle can’t skip the next round. If you hesitate, the bottle will flick you on the forehead. (Yes, it hurts.)

If you choose Truth, a revelation charm will track your heartbeat and emotions. If you lie, you’ll be sprayed with a reeking potion in front of everyone.

If you choose Dare, the task will be magically bound. You have to do it. Or else, your wand will quack like a duck every time you cast a spell—for 24 hours.

Every three rounds, the bottle triggers a "Spicy Strike": an extra bold truth or dare, chosen by the previous player.

Touching the bottle with your hands is forbidden. Magic or your tongue only. (Yes, you read that right.)

A wave of gasps and scandalous laughter swept the room—especially at the last rule.

“Jake, you’re sick!” Sunoo laughed.

“Did you come up with this or was it Fred and George Weasley?” Niki asked, swirling his drink.

Jake just shrugged, grinning proudly. “I perfected it. With a sexy twist.”

Then he gave the bottle a flick of his wand.

It spun. And spun. And spun... Until it stopped.

Right in front of his cousin—a red-faced Gryffindor, stunning but pissed.

“Truth or Dare, cousin dearest?” Jake asked, wearing his usual devilish smirk.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Not one of the options,” Jake laughed.

The whole circle erupted with laughter.

And as the night kicked off—filled with teasing, giggles, and glances hotter than firewhisky—you were already looking for an escape route.

You felt exposed. Out of your comfort zone. Too much. And yet, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the bottle pointed at you.

And you knew exactly who was silently wishing for that to happen.

Lee Heeseung.

And his gaze was already on you—like a promise you didn’t want to keep... And Merlin, how badly you wanted to.

The bottle had already done its show. Five spins. Five laughs. Five tiny disasters.

The last Spicy Strike had landed on Jay, forcing him—by magical dare—to kiss Jake’s cousin on the cheek… and then bite her ear while whispering a line that only a charming bastard would dare say.

Too bad Jake’s cousin was a Gryffindor. And Jay? A Slytherin. Explosive combo.

And the line?

“You’re the perfect distraction from my next disaster.” Then he winked.

Screams. Whistles. A drink spilled. The scent of chaos in the air.

Now, it was Hoon’s girlfriend’s turn—Slytherin queen, eyeliner sharp as a blade, tongue even sharper. The bottle spun and stopped right in front of you.

The room exploded in cheers and giggles. Jungwon raised his hands and said:

“Hey, be gentle, yeah? Our little Ravenclaw’s delicate.” (He said it playfully, but his gaze was protective.)

Sunghoon whispered something to his girlfriend, likely shielding you, and she rolled her eyes before glancing your way. Then—she looked at Heeseung.

He was already toying with the rim of his glass, eyes peering over the edge, that damn smirk of his screaming “I know you're screwed… and I like it.”

'Little Raven,' she purred, voice smooth like velvet but laced with menace, 'It’s your turn. Spicy Strike! Dare... or extra spicy Truth?'

You stiffened. Everyone was staring. You dropped your gaze.

“...Extra spicy Truth,” you muttered—more to yourself than anyone else.

She smiled like a cat staring at a trapped mouse.

'Good. Then tell me…' She let the silence build, everyone leaning in. The lights were low. The candle flames flickered.

'Have you ever... fantasized about someone while touching yourself? And if so… whose name did you moan while your fingers were buried between your thighs, teasing your clit?'

Silence. Deafening.

Your cheeks erupted in heat. Your eyes widened. You could not answer that.

“I… no… I mean, I don’t want to answer…”

-Oh come on!- Jake laughed. -That’s a tame one! The punishment’s worse if you lie!-

Tame? Sure, maybe for him. But for you? It was nuclear.

And the punishment? You didn’t even want to know. Jake might have puppy energy, but deep down he was a demon dressed like Prince Charming.

'Come on, Raven girl,' Sunghoon’s girlfriend murmured, leaning in close, 'You don’t want to unleash the Quacking Wand…'

A chill ran down your spine. You clenched your lips—then, in the smallest voice, as if whispering could somehow make it less real, you breathed:

“...Heeseung.” One beat of silence. Then— Screams. Whistles. Applause. Someone spit out their drink.

Heeseung’s sister shrieked,

<I knew it!> Hoon’s girlfriend was laughing so hard she was folded over.

Jungwon gave you a look—half amused, half shook. Sunghoon covered his mouth, stunned that you’d not only said heeseung name... but that you even survived a magical truth round.

But you? You didn’t see any of them anymore.

Only him.

The game continued. The bottle spun. Laughter, awkward moments, some suggestive jokes, and then, once again, Jake made it spin—but this time, he muttered a spell under his breath. The bottle gleamed for a split second—just enough to be noticed—and stopped on Heeseung. 'Dare or Truth, big brother?' Jake asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. Heeseung smiled, relaxed, confident. “Truth? You already know them all. Dare.” Jake slowly turned towards you, then back at Heeseung with a wicked grin. 'Tell everyone… who’s the most beautiful girl at the party, and who would you spend ten minutes with in the Room of Dark Desires.' An explosion of noise. Whistles. Someone yelled “HOT!” and a bottle spilled. The atmosphere shifted instantly. You? You didn’t even look at him. You avoided him as if your gaze might summon him, but deep down… deep inside your heart, it rang out like a damn battle.

One part of you wanted to run away. The other screamed: Choose me. Choose me. But what if he said someone else’s name? Your heart would shatter. Jealousy. Anger. Humiliation. Heeseung looked up at Jake. “Are you kidding me?” Jake shrugged, satisfied. 'I’m serious. It’s the rule. No shortcuts, Captain.' Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his red hair, making it messier. He looked around. Everyone was staring, then his eyes locked onto yours, slow and deliberate.

“The most beautiful?” He turned fully towards you. He studied you, from the edge of your black skirt, to the stockings, to the raven embroidered on your sweater. Then his eyes—those eyes that couldn’t tear themselves away from yours. “Her.” His voice was clear. Firm. “The Ravenclaw with the iceberg look… and fire under her skin.” You... stopped breathing, and Jake whistled. The girls screamed. Heeseung’s sister turned towards you with wide eyes and a grin that said “I knew it!” But he wasn’t finished. He leaned back, relaxed, and with a grin that made your knees tremble, he added: “And who would I spend ten minutes with in the Room of Desires?” He paused, then licked his lips just enough to be noticed, never taking his eyes off you. “With her. Always her.”

Silence. Then chaos. But you… you were frozen. Hands gripping your knees. Heart pounding against your ribs. Eyes glued to his. Heeseung wasn’t joking. You could tell by the way he didn’t laugh anymore. He wasn’t teasing. He was looking at you like he’d already decided that tonight, you’d be his.

Heeseung slowly rose from the couch, his empty glass left abandoned on the table as if it no longer mattered. He approached you, his steps slow and sure, seeming to echo louder than the screams around you. When he was right in front of you, he extended his hand. Two silver rings, one on his index and one on his middle finger. His skin was warmer than yours, rougher. His hand was large. Definitely too large for yours.

You glanced at his sister, who winked at you. Sunghoon gave a thumbs-up. T/l blew you a kiss with a mischievous little witchy grin. You gripped Heeseung’s hand, and he chuckled softly. “Oh. So the cold Ravenclaw knows how to hold hands…”

You walked towards the door, and as you passed Jake, you shot him a death glare. “Ten minutes. Not one more.” Jake made the promise sign with his fingers, but as soon as you turned around, he shared a knowing glance with the others. 'What about... the whole night?' He said quietly, but not too quietly. Sunghoon: “No. No, Jake. Come on.” Jungwon: “Are you guys insane?” Heeseung’s sister: “Do it, they need it. Trust me.” T/l: “It’s the only way to stop being shy and, you know, get to know each other.”

Voices overlapped, laughter, shouts. Jake raised his wand, murmured an ancient spell, and a magical timer appeared on the door: "10 HOURS" The door clicked shut, and neither of you heard a thing.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was different. Dim, almost red light, floating candles, and a faint Muggle jazz tune playing in the background. In the center… an enormous bed, with black and gold sheets. Heeseung was already sitting on the edge, legs spread apart, one hand propping him up. His eyes were on you, and he wasn’t sparing you a single thing. You stood frozen in front of the door, back rigid, hands clenched into fists inside your skirt, eyes cast down. You muttered something between your teeth, more to yourself than to him: “Why the hell did I agree... idiot, idiot…”

Heeseung chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “Did you just call yourself an idiot or me?” His tone was playful, but beneath it, there was that low note, the kind of voice that seeps into your bones.

You looked up to scorch him with a glare. He was staring at you. His gaze was like a caress you hadn’t asked for... but you desperately wanted. “Look, if you’re regretting it, we can just talk…” He smiled. Slowly. Bastard. Beautiful. “Or… we can make these ten minutes interesting. You know… not to waste time, or…” He stood up and after a couple of steps, his hand brushed lightly against the fabric of your sweater. “You were just waiting for this.”

You raised your eyes, meeting his with an expression somewhere between anger and frustration. You responded, sharply: “I only agreed because I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of everyone. Not that you’d be capable of understanding…”

Heeseung leaned in slightly towards you, his warm breath grazing your skin as he whispered, with a smile that promised nothing good: “You’re lying badly, Ravenclaw. For someone who’s one of the most talented witches of the new generation, you sure seem… inexperienced.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you had no intention of showing him how deeply his words affected you. But he didn’t stop. He sniffed the air around you, his gaze becoming more penetrating. “You know…” he said, his tone almost affectionate, but laced with a certain cruelty, “I bought the same perfume as you, the one you wore the day I saw you at the Prefects' pool. I’ll never forget that moment.”

Your eyes widened, but you couldn’t say anything, only a quiet murmur barely escaping your lips. “Don’t say anything, Ravenclaw. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong…” He smiled a triumphant smile.

“Even though I wear the same perfume, it’s never the same when it comes from your skin…” Before you could react, Heeseung caught you off guard. He moved slowly towards your neck, and with a small kiss, a gesture as sweet as it was dangerous, his tongue slid along your skin in a subtly erotic movement. A muffled moan escaped you when you felt his warm skin enveloping you. You felt fragile, and your mind was beginning to falter. You clenched your hands beneath your skirt, but it wasn’t enough. Every part of you was in turmoil.

“You can’t run from me, Ravenclaw…” he said, his voice holding no room for escape, as his hands moved closer to you. He took your small hands and placed them against his chest. His heartbeat was racing, and you could feel it through the fabric. He made you feel how alive he was, how his presence was overwhelming you. Every inch of him was invading your space. Another kiss, deeper, more insistent, and then, while his breath brushed against you, his mouth lowered to your neck, leaving small hickeys that made you tremble. You could feel his heat against you, every movement, every gesture, as if he was playing with you. Every word he whispered, every touch, felt like a challenge.

“Say my name,” he told you, his voice lower, darker, as his hands began to slide down your body. When you finally moaned, in a whisper, his name escaped your lips: “Hee…” A triumphant smile spread across his face as he degraded you sweetly: “You’re so easy to confuse, Ravenclaw. It’s almost… fun.”

His words were like a whip strike, but also like a warm embrace, putting you in a dilemma. You didn’t know what to do anymore.

Your hands were still resting on his chest, warm beneath the light fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat was strong, urgent, almost unsettling in its sincerity. Heeseung’s gaze was low, fixed on your lips, then slowly traveled up to your eyes, his pupils slightly dilated. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Ravenclaw?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his lips barely brushing your skin. “You always act so composed, so superior to everything. But underneath those tight sweaters and those sharp responses… you’re just a girl who needs to be seen, touched… kissed.” You felt your heart pounding in your chest. You’d never been good at handling moments like this. Strong emotions made you uncomfortable, and with him… with him, it was even worse. “You have a terrible imagination, Lee Heeseung,” you muttered, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. But your hand was still on his chest. Still there. He chuckled low, amused. “If only you knew how many wrong thoughts I have about you when I see you walking down the hallways in those knee-high boots with that ‘don’t touch me’ look. You’re so prim and proper… but under that armor, baby, you’re almost trembling.” He took you by the waist with disarming gentleness, and slowly his fingers slid under the edge of your sweater. His hands were warm against your cold skin, and you jumped slightly at the touch. “Cold,” he whispered, smiling. “Let me take care of you… I’ll warm you up tonight.” “Merlin, you’re awful.” You shot him a mock annoyed glance, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Aweful? No, Ravenclaw. I’m exactly what you’ve been wanting for months. And you know it.” His voice lowered, almost a sweet growl, and he brushed his lips against your neck. A kiss. Then another. A hickey. A slow lick. “You always smell like vanilla, honey, and cookies…” he murmured against your skin. “And I still remember the first time I saw you in the Prefects’ pool.” Your breathing became more irregular. You felt your heart galloping. His hands were large, confident, warm. His presence was overwhelming, almost consuming. Then, without another word, he kissed you.

It was a slow, carnal kiss, almost reverent at first. His lips moved on yours as if savoring a sweet he’d long desired. But then it grew more intense. Deeper. He took your bottom lip between his teeth and gently bit down, and you moaned his name. A whisper. A plea. “Hee…”

He smiled against your lips. “I knew you called me that when you thought about me. It’s so cute… so damn sexy coming from your shy little mouth.”

One of his hands slipped between your back and your clothes, holding you gently. The other slid up your side, as if trying to memorize every inch of your skin. “You know,” he murmured in your ear, “I can’t even look at you anymore without imagining how you’d react if I pinned you against a wall and whispered all the things I want to do to you… and only you.”

“Heeseung…” you faltered. Your voice was weak, your mind in chaos.

“Just tell me one thing,” he cut in. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tense silence. Your breath was uneven. Your hands still rested on his chest. Then, in a soft voice, your gaze low but firm, you whispered: “No… but only if you promise to be gentle.”

Heeseung smiled—one of those smiles that was both victorious and tender. “With you? Always. But don’t expect me to resist you for long, my little Ravenclaw.”

The only sound was your shared breathing—heavy, tangled with your quickened heartbeats. Your fingers were still laced behind Heeseung’s neck, his eyes low, lips flushed and slightly swollen. He looked down at you, legs spread, his gaze clouded with raw desire, but there was something deeper too—like he was studying every reaction you made.

“I saw you tremble when I kissed you there,” he whispered, brushing your neck with his nose, then his lips. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this, little Ravenclaw… your body speaks a lot louder than that sharp tongue of yours.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “Heeseung… it was only supposed to be ten minutes…”

He chuckled, his voice scraping low and rough. “And who cares about ten minutes?” he said, voice husky. “I want you all night.”

He lifted you effortlessly and settled you on his muscular thighs. Instinctively, you tried to slide off, embarrassed—but his hand, the one with the rings, firmly stopped you at your waist. “Don’t even think about running,” he murmured, pushing you forward just slightly, letting you feel all the tension beneath you. “Stay right here, Ravenclaw… you’re too cute when you’re flustered.”

His fingers slid under the hem of your skirt, grazing the fabric of your stockings. You shivered, eyes wide, hands trembling on his shoulders.

“H-Hee… I…”

“Shhh,” he hushed you with a soft kiss on your cheek—a gesture far more chaste than the fire in his hands. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you since that day in the Prefects’ pool? You were wearing that damn midnight blue swimsuit… and I could only think of you. You, and how much I wanted you to be mine. No excuses. No fake teasing. Just you and me.”

Your body started moving on its own, pulled by the tangled mess of curiosity and desire that Heeseung had always made you feel.

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” you murmured against his shoulder.

He took your face gently between his hands, thumbs brushing your flushed cheekbones. “I know,” he whispered. “But don’t worry. Let me take care of it.”

Heeseung took the sweater in his hands, touching the texture with his fingers. He pulled him slowly upwards, without taking his eyes off you. You lowered your eyes to his hands. They were big, warm, slightly calloused. Hands that knew exactly what they wanted you nodded. Silent, but full of consent. He smiled. “You're a good girl.” “I am...” you whispered, in a low voice, as you raised your arms to let your sweater slip off. When the cloth fell to the floor, Heeseung stood motionless for a moment. Underneath, you were wearing a dark blue bra, with white lace details. Elegant, simple. But on you ... it was pure curse.

” Christ, " he said quietly, almost with adoration. He stroked your bare side, climbing slowly. " You really are a stylish little corvette, huh?” Then he added in a softer tone. " Perfect. So perfect.” Your breasts moved slightly with each breath. A little uncovered, pushed forward, the white lace highlighted the softness of the skin. Heeseung leaned over. He kissed you one bend, then the other. And then she gently sucked you a breast flap, leaving a wet kiss on the hot skin. Her red hair tickled her skin and you laughed quietly, surprised, touching the back of his head with your fingers. “You tickle me yourself, " you whispered, blushing. He looked up, his dark eyes shining. “Don't look away. Watch me adore you.”

A slow kiss, then another, the lips closing around the softness of your breasts, moist, firm, you bite off a lip so as not to moan too loudly. I looked away, instinctively. Heeseung immediately noticed her.

“Hey.” He took your face with one hand, gently forcing her to go back and look at it. “Don't be ashamed. You are very beautiful and mine” he kissed your exposed skin, then pulled back slightly, lowering his gaze to the center of his chest. "But now” Hands already on the bra hook. “Now I want to see you all. With nothing. Just you. Just me. And the way you tremble under my hands.” The click of the bra opening seemed to ring out in the room like a forbidden spell. Heeseung slid it slowly down from your shoulders, and when the tissue fell to the ground, your breasts bounced slightly, free, swollen, tense under the repressed desire.

He bit his lip and giggled quietly, with that bloody arrogant Gryffindor smile. "Shit ... look at that beauty. Do you have any idea how much I imagined you like that?” you were red to the ears, you lured him, hands in his messy red hair, and he immediately sank his mouth to one of his nipples, sucking slow, deep.

His tongue played with the outstretched bud while his other hand slipped under the skirt, barely touching the elastic of the black stockings you were wearing, invisible to everyone ... except her attentive eyes. "These stockings ..." he whispered against the skin, — “they are another fucking provocation, you know?” The fingers began to move lower, touching the thin fabric of your underwear, passing over the clitoris with firm but slow movements, as if he knew exactly where to hit you to drive you crazy. “So wet for me... and I thought you were all books and sarcasm. You're the dirtiest Ravenclaw I've ever touched.”

"H-Heeseung..." you groaned, the body shaking under his hands. Your mind still struggled between lucidity and abandonment, between cynical rationality and that desire that you could no longer deny but when you felt the nipple pulled between your teeth, slowly but forcefully enough to make your back vibrate, you screamed its name.

"Seungie!” He laughed, satisfied, letting go of the bud with a thread of burr that still connected it to his tongue. He licked the drop off, then looked at you with an expression so focused that it seemed hypnotic. “You drive me crazy. These boobs are a drug. I swear one day I'll fuck them with my cock, and you'll pray you don't come right away.”

You looked at him with big eyes, half-open lips. “You're sick ... " you said, trying to sound stern, but your voice trembled. “And you are my secret little prefect, the one who admonishes me while she gets her tits sucked with her legs spread out, " he chuckled, lifting you up with ease, laying you on the bed, her hair strewn on the pillow, her bra thrown to the floor, her breasts still scarred by her bites, and her skirt pulled up almost to her waist.

He leaned over you, his dark eyes devouring you. “Now ... I want to hear how good you are with your mouth, Ravenclaw.” Heeseung's black shirt slid down from his broad shoulders with almost theatrical slowness. Underneath he had nothing, just warm, smooth skin, dotted with a few moles and barely marked by the well-defined muscles and in the middle of his chest, a thin silver chain. The pendant was simple, black and matte, but perfect on him; you brushed it with your fingers. “It's beautiful... " you muttered He smiled, barely tilting his head towards his touch. “The necklace or the boy underneath?” The voice was velvety, but playful, full of understatement. You looked up, feigning a mock Ravenclaw professor grimace. “Shut up. Don't spoil the moment.” Heeseung burst out laughing, running a hand through his matted red hair. “Can I ... kiss you?” you asked, in a low voice, hinting at my chest. He dropped on the mattress with his arms behind his head, his smile still on his lips.

You stooped slowly, and you began to leave little kisses on his bare chest. Light, almost shy at first. Then more determined. One bite under the collarbone, another further down, on the left side of the chest. His lips drew slow paths on his hot skin, his breath short and hungry. "Do you like...?” you asked him slowly, after a bolder bite. Heeseung moaned low, and stammered something incomprehensible, laughed softly. “What did you say, Seungie?” You looked at him with an innocent air, but your fingers slid down his hips. "I ... christ, Baby" His voice was more hoarse, less confident. A nice change, you made you even closer, slowly kissing him all over the chest, then descending towards the abs, with the tongue leaving an invisible trail and the teeth barely scratching. Heeseung leaned his forearms on the bed to hold himself up, looking at you with increasingly dark eyes. “You know you're beautiful when you fly to Quidditch, don't you?” He raised an eyebrow, giggling. “So you admit that you come to the matches for me?”

you pretended to think, then bowed your head and slowly kissed the skin under his navel. The tongue made a small circle. “…perhaps.” Heeseung moaned again, a choked, pleasure-filled sound, and let slip another babble, this time more disjointed. You looked up and saw that his cheeks were red, flushed to his ears. "Aww,” you whispered, licking a sensitive spot next to his hip bone," is my Gryffindor melting?” He bit his lip, but his smile trembled. "Keep it up... and I don't answer for myself.” you looked at him, with that air still timid but more and more confident. "Maybe that's just what I want...”

You pulled him down slowly. And when they were down enough, Heeseung's erection snapped free, with warm, taut skin and a small shiny mark on the tip. Your eyes opened slightly, not so much because of the size, but because of the instinct with which your body reacted to that sight. "Oh, Io “What's his name?” Heeseung looked at you confused, still a little lost from contact, his chest rising slowly. "Eh ... what? ”

“Your friend here” you replied, barely touching him with your fingers. "All boys give him a name, don't they? You're not going to say that you, the Quidditch champion, didn't baptize him.” He laughed, hoarse, his eyes shining with pleasure. “You're out...” Then he added, tilting his head with a half-grin: “You should choose it. You're the first Ravenclaw who can make him cry with joy." You bit your lip, looked at it from above and whispered: “Then get ready, Seungie ... that I'm about to become your favorite subject.”

"Never done, right?"he asked, touching your cheek with the back of your fingers. you nodded, your voice closed in your throat. "Don't worry. I'll drive you. And you'll be great, little Ravenclaw." Slowly, he took your hand and guided it towards his already swollen, hot erection; you touched him, hesitantly, fingers closing around him with fear. Hee barely winced, then laughed softly. "Don't get too tight... you don't want to kill me. Use your tongue, not your teeth. And remember: breathe with your nose."

You bent down slowly, your lips opened and your eyes turned on him as if you were about to face a forbidden spell. You licked slowly, shy, but hungry to hear him cum inside you and you slowly sucked his cock that slowly pushed more and more inside your beautiful mouth and Hee moaned. "Very good. Well. Turn your tongue around the tip ... mmm yeah, fuck, just like that."you wanted to make him feel good and every time you turned your tongue you sucked him he would squeeze your hair while you took it in your mouth.

"Watch me do it. I want to see those Ravenclaw eyes sucking me." Meanwhile, his other hand slipped under your skirt, finding you wet, hot. "Christ, you're already soaked... It turns you on to suck it, doesn't it? So shy and already dirty to me." His fingers stroked you through your panties, then underneath. Two fingers went in without warning you, slow, deep, curving towards that point that made you tremble and you moaned with your mouth full, tears in your eyes, but it did not stop you.

Heeseung pumped his long fingers inside your vaginal walls and felt how slimy and excited you were about all the overstimulations you were feeling at once, pushing a little more inside your mouth, whispering in your ear: "Look how good you are. My smart little slut. You like it, huh? Let me use you like that. I'll make you feel good while you take everything down my throat." You nodded, panting, as he pumped slowly into his mouth and your fingers moved inside you faster, wet and precise. "Suck it well ... yes... just squeeze a little with your lips now. God, this is what you were born for."

His breathing became heavier. His body trembled. "I'm coming..." he said in a low but rough voice, gently pulling her hair to look at her face. "Do you want me to take him out?" You said no, eyes bright but determined. He moaned slowly, then pushed with the last lick, and came deep into her mouth; you swallowed everything, while his fingers still fucked her slowly, to prolong his pleasure and you screamed from pleasure mind you screamed that you were going to cum and you combined a nice mess between his fingers and his cock while you quartered your excitement between his fingers

You were still shaking, your legs stretched, your throat burned. Its taste was still dripping on your tongue, hot, salty, dirty. And he looked at you from above, lying under you, with a bastard and satisfied smile on his lips. His hands did not stop touching you, stroking your hips, squeezing your breasts, running your thumbs over your still tense nipples. "Christ, baby ..." he whispered in a hoarse voice, "I can't believe you made yourself come only with my tongue in your throat and my seed in your mouth." Blushing, breathing still irregular.

He laughed, one of those bastard captain smiles of his who thought he always had everything under control. And maybe, at that moment, he really had it. "Look how you tremble..." he took you by the side, still making you feel the hard tip of his cock pressing against your wet folds. "You're so wet that I could slip in even if I breathed harder." You groaned slowly, looking down. But he took your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "No no, no eyes down. Watch me tell you how fucking you are when you're so... open. Vulnerable. Mine." Your skin was on fire, your heart went crazy. "Hee..." you muttered, almost pleading.

He kissed you again, with that sweet, perverse heat of his, stirring his tongue to yours as he swayed you flat on his cock, still waiting to come in. He was torturing you. Slowly. Deliberately. "You want me to come in, don't you?» You nodded, breathless. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh uh. With that mouth you did wonders a few minutes ago. Don't think you can get away with a nod. Tell me you want it." The redness rose to your ears. Your heart was beating in your throat. But the voice came out, uncertain but hungry. "I want it... I want your cock inside me. Now.» He smiled, perverse. "So I like you. Very good. But now tell me ... do you want to ride me like a good girl who takes the initiative, or do you want me to fuck you as you deserve, while you are lying and helpless under me?»

"I want you to take me," you answered without hesitation, "I want it to be yours. The first time... I want you to ruin me." His eyes lit up. He lifted you effortlessly, rolled you over on your back, and positioned himself between your wide-open legs.

"My pussy, you're so swollen I could get lost in here." He ran the tip along your intimate lips, barely touching you, making you jerk every time. "Next time though... "you said to him amid the groans, " I want to ride you. I want to drive you as crazy as you are with me.» He stopped, looked at you. "Next time?" He smiled, then sank into you with one blow, deep and red-hot, making you scream his name. "Who the fuck said there will be a next time?"

he whispered with a grin, starting to move inside you with slow but intense blows, as if he wanted to make you feel every single inch. You clasped him with your legs, moaning with each lunge. Tell me again," he ordered, as he took you more forcefully. "Tell me you want me. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm fucking yours, I'm all yours," you yelled, sinking your nails into his back.

Hee's cock began to hammer you with a force that left you breathless. His thrusts were wild, fierce, like he was using you — like you were just a rag doll to fuck until you fell unconscious. And you let him do it. In fact, you wanted it. You were looking for him. Your cunt sucked him with greed, almost hungry, tight around him as if he never wanted to let him go. "Look how you hold me... Christ, you seem made only to make me come..." he growled through his teeth, as he continued to push, deeper and deeper. "A slut for the captain... that's who you are, isn't it?» You gasped, your gaze lost in pleasure, your hands clinging to his sides to guide him, to keep him still inside, stronger, deeper. "Do you like that? Huh? "he continued, with that nickname he only used when he wanted to provoke you. "All dignified in class... and now look how you scream under me.»

His silver necklace dangled between your breasts, frosty, making you shudder every time she touched your sweaty skin. It was the only cold touch in the midst of all that heat, and it drove you crazy. Hee grabbed one of your legs and lifted it firmly, resting it on his shoulder. It penetrated you deeper, into a new, burning angle. When he hit you right there-that very secret spot-you screamed.

"Oh God—! Hee!" He smiled, satisfied, looking at you from above. "I found it, huh? Your sweet spot... your fucking forbidden zone... " he pushed again, accurate, sinking on your G-spot mercilessly. "You are nothing more than a sweet, horny little corvette.» He teased you, but his tone was lustful, low, dirty — and exciting as hell. "You're coming, aren't you?"he whispered to you, as the rhythm increased, the more violent blows, the hand caressing your face as if he wanted to cradle you and torture you together. "Look how you cry for me ... You are so beautiful, with tears in your eyes and pussy begging me."

"S-I'm ... I'm coming..." you stammered, unable to control the trembling body, overwhelmed by the constant stimulation, his touch, his voice, the way he took you. He kissed you hard, then barely broke off to whisper on your lip: "good girl. Come for me. You're mine, all mine. Look how perfect you are when you break under my cock."

And you broke. In a thousand shivers, waves, sobs. The legs shaking, the fingers scratching him as he continued to fuck you even during orgasm, making you feel every drop of pleasure. "My sweet, shameless girl..." he muttered, stroking your hair, his breath heavy, " ... I didn't think you'd be so good. But fuck, I can't stop anymore."

Hee was fucking you with a hunger held for too long. Each blow was a bite on your will, a promise kept halfway between desire and addiction. He clutched your hips with force as he sank into you, long, deep blows, which made you lose your breath. "Where do you want it, little girl"he whispered against your cheek, as he increased the pace, making you jerk under him. "Tell me where you want my cock when I come. On the belly? In the mouth? Or…" You trembled, unable to formulate a sensible answer. Stutter: "D-inside ... I take the pill... I haven't done it in... long."

Hee paused for a moment, looked at you, serious, excited. "Neither do I. Regular tests. Training. I'm clean, baby. And if you tell me you trust..."

"I trust you." He came out with a voice. Sincere. Your. Like it's always been that way. His gaze became warmer, more tender, yet full of the same lust. "Good girl..." he whispered with lascivious sweetness, as his thrusts became more erratic, more hungry. "My little witch ... you know you cast a spell on me, don't you? Why the fuck can't I think of anyone else?" The rhythm became frantic, his breath broken against your skin. "Fuck ..."

One last shot-deep, red-hot-and you felt it. His hot cum filled you in a slow, powerful wave. His hands clasped around you as he moaned your name, panting against your neck. You screamed for the feeling, for the warmth, for the viscous flow that flowed between your thighs while he stayed inside, one more second, one more beat.

"My ... fucking mine..." he whispered, pushing slowly as the last splashes mingled with your pleasure. When you pulled out slowly, you felt an immediate emptiness. A physical void... but also something more. You looked at him, breath still broken, and fear climbed into your throat. You always loved that guy. Even before he became the perfect captain, the idol of Slytherins and Gryffindors, the Quidditch player the newspapers were also talking about. You saw who he really was before everyone else. And now... you had it.

The room was silent, except for your ragged breathing and the soft rustle of sheets against sweaty skin. Hee was getting dressed absentmindedly, his hair a mess and his lips still flushed from your kisses. He had made you put on his shirt — oversized, still soaked in his scent, wrapping around you like a cloak that was too big, too intimate. Too much like him.

You couldn’t even look at him. Every move he made, every sound as he fastened his pants, felt like another blow to your already cracking armor. You bit your lip, then sighed quietly, tears blurring your vision. Turning onto your side, you gave him your back, trying to hold down everything that was rising inside you.

Unaware at first, Hee let out a soft, carefree laugh — that lighthearted, careless chuckle of his. “Merlin, Y/n… I never would've guessed you’d be this good at everything. Lessons, swimming, and… well. In bed too.”

You pulled the covers tighter around you as the tears finally slid down your cheeks, slow and quiet. When he turned and saw you like that, he froze. For a long moment, he didn’t say a word. Then slowly, he sat down beside you and brushed his fingers lightly against your waist.

“Y/n?” His voice was lower now, more real. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. A sob slipped past your lips and you buried your face in the pillow. Hee tensed, then gently tried to turn you over.

“Did I hurt you? Was I… too much?” He sounded genuinely worried, like the thought of having hurt you unsettled him more than anything else.

“No…” you whispered, voice trembling. “It’s not that…”

He looked at you with those big eyes, now filled with confusion and something that looked like fear. He gently cupped your face, warm fingers on your cheek. You met his gaze with tear-filled eyes and trembling lips.

“I want to leave…” you said softly, feeling instantly foolish at how fragile your voice sounded.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head, softer than you expected.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke barely above a breath: “Because I know that soon you’ll go back to being the same clown. The golden boy. The one who makes everyone laugh, who flirts with every Gryffindor that breathes… and somehow, every time you hook up with a Ravenclaw, it’s always near my room.”

Silence. Then his laugh — low, affectionate, almost amused. It made your fists clench.

“Shit… you’re so fucking beautiful when you’re mad… and jealous, Corvetta.”

You threw a pillow at his face, red with anger and embarrassment.

“Screw you, Hee.”

He laughed again, louder this time, and tossed the pillow back at you. “No, seriously… Are you jealous of them? After what just happened? You really think I could even look at someone else after seeing you like that?”

His voice dropped, more serious now, more intense, as he leaned in closer.

You lowered your gaze, curling deeper under the covers like they could protect you from everything you were feeling. You shook your head slightly, silently.

Hee didn’t say anything. Instead, he lay down behind you, his warm chest pressed gently against your back, his strong arms wrapping around you—not to hold you down, not to claim you, but just to be there. Just to hold you. He could feel you were still crying, your sobs small and quiet, so he started kissing your tears, one by one.

“Shhh… my little raven… it’s okay. Don’t cry like that…” he whispered, pulling you closer. “You’re not alone. Not when I’m here.”

He gently stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, your nose, your damp cheek. Every touch was a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Your eyes drifted to the silver necklace hanging from his bare chest, still warm from the love you’d just shared. You reached out and brushed your fingers over it, then held it in your hand, curious. On the back of the small pendant, you saw an inscription: 27/10/97.

“What is it?” you asked softly, your voice hoarse.

Hee smiled, a little shy now. “Don’t laugh at me…” he murmured.

“I won’t. I swear.” You lifted your pinky finger.

He chuckled, linking his with yours. “It’s… my parents’ wedding date. I grew up watching them so in love. I wanted to keep that with me. Like a reminder, y’know?”

You stayed quiet for a moment, touched. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He gave you that look—half smug, half sweet. “I’ve got plenty of surprises, little raven. Trust me.”

You let out a soft laugh, almost without meaning to. His eyes went wide.

“Wait… did you laugh?” he said, pretending to be shocked. “Did you really just laugh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“Well, then I guess I can tell you now…” He paused, looking up like he was thinking hard, then turned serious again. “I wanted to engrave another date, someday.”

You turned toward him. “What date?”

He bit his lip, his tone softer, more sincere. “My wedding date. If… and when that happens.”

Something inside you clenched. Suddenly the tears came back, but this time they were different. Full. Full of emotion, of love, of everything you’d been holding back for too long.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a rare tenderness. “And do you know who I want to engrave it with? You. Because fuck, Y/n… I love you. I love teasing you, I love how you always talk back to me, I love the way you try to act cold but start trembling the second I touch you. I knew you had a crush on me… but I didn’t realize just how much I had one on you.”

You looked at him, lips trembling, and softly, your voice breaking just a little, you whispered: “I love you too, Hee.”

He smiled like he’d been waiting for it. Like he already knew.

“I know.” Then he let out a quiet laugh. “And now that date I want to engrave… I’m really dreaming of it.”

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[ineed-to-sleep]

The problem isn't that "some people don't understand a diagnosis is just a part of someone", the problem is looking for an explanation for bad behaviour in a diagnosis in the first place.

Ok, if we look at it objectively. Do you honestly think "diagnosing" Donald Trump is going to help anyone? Do you think telling Donald Trump "hey man, you have NPD! You should get treatment!" Will make him seek out treatment? Do you think it'll make other people with NPD feel encouraged, or inspired to seek out treatment?

Maybe like, 10% of the people who see people doing this will. But the other 90% I'm pretty sure will just feel ashamed and be even more in denial about having any condition, because now they feel that the condition is associated with someone that so many people hate and see as a clearly horrible person.

And maybe understanding someone's relationship with their parents might be an interesting story to look at from the outside and all that, sure. But if we're being realistic, you'll never get the full picture on this man's life. You'll never get the full context necessary to really understand what's going on inside his head. You're probably millions of people far removed from ever meeting this man(hopefully. Thankfully) and trying to understand him on a psychological level is honestly just parasocial.

We all know Trump is a horrible person. Trump is not just a sad person with untreated mental illness. Trump is a selfish, abhorrent person who chooses to act the way he does every day. Many people with similar positions of power to him are just like that- willing to take advantage of people, enthusiastically doing so, trying to get away with shit because they think they won't suffer any consequences(and they often don't, because they have the money and influence to get away with their shitty behaviour), etc etc. I think it's really harmful to associate any of this with any mental illness. This is a problem of people with bad character and entitlement who can get away with taking advantage of others. Many of the rich and powerful are like this. Just look at JKR, or Elon Musk. There's no need to try to diagnose them with anything, you can see the common symptoms among them is that they're rich, powerful, entitled, and they can get away with hurting people.

I understand you have your own mental illnesses, I do too. But it's important to consider how this kind of thing might affect not only yourself, but others, and the way this influences(or feeds into) the negative light in which many people see us. I get that you're looking for a reason why, it honestly baffles me too that some people could be this terrible and I want to understand how someone can get to that point, but I don't think pinning it on a mental illness is ever the answer.

It’s weird that we keep trying to armchair diagnose asshole behaviour with mental health labels and in doing so throw people with mental health conditions under the asshole bus when we could just call a guy an asshole and leave it at that

It just seems far more straightforward, you know

[mattrempeswife]

MACK THE KOALA

requested: yes | req: macklin is the softest boy ever like he’s so so clingy you could be talking to someone for like two seconds and he’s hugging you waiting for your attention to be back on him

pair: macklin celebrini x f!reader

genre: romantic comedy, fluff, pure boyfriend chaos.

warnings: unapologetically clingy boyfriend behavior, public affection, mid-convo kiss attack, mild secondhand embarrassment for cousin.

summary: mack is the softest, clingiest boyfriend alive. you’re used to it by now that he turns into a human hoodie the second you talk to someone that isn’t him, especially when that someone is his cousin. you’re in the middle of a normal, grown-up conversation about jobs when macklin starts his signature move.

“So basically,” Eli said, lifting his drink,

“I either go back to school or I start a job I don’t really want and pretend I’m okay with that.”

You nodded.

“Classic ‘two roads diverged in a capitalist nightmare’ situation.”

Eli laughed.

“Exactly.”

You liked talking to Eli. He was smart in that dry, blunt way that made job talk feel like less of a crisis and more like a group project you were both half-assing together.

You were mid-sentence.

“But if you’re gonna hate the job by month three, is the paycheck really worth—”

A hand slid across your lower back.

You didn’t flinch. You just closed your eyes for a second. Took a breath. Counted to three.

“Don’t say it,” you warned Eli.

He smirked.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

“Mmhmm.”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Macklin.

His hand stayed there, casual but heavy, like it had always been there.

A second later, he stepped in behind you. Close. Too close. His chest lightly pressed against your back, his other hand sliding around your waist like it belonged there. It kind of did.

Eli, sipping his drink, glanced at the sky like he was being personally tested.

“I swear, man. You can’t let her have one conversation.”

“I was gone for, like, fifteen minutes,”

Macklin said calmly, ignoring both of you.

You felt his chin rest lightly on your shoulder.

“I’m literally talking about health insurance,”

You said, not turning around.

He hummed. “Sexy.”

“Be serious.”

“I am,” he said.

“What’s hotter than long-term stability and dental?”

Eli choked on his drink.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

“Do you need something? Or are you just here to leech body heat?”

“I missed you.”

“I was ten feet away.”

“Too far.”

“You’re a grown man.”

He kissed your shoulder. “With grown feelings.”

Eli groaned.

“I’m gonna go walk into traffic. Let me know when Mack stops clinging like a koala.”

“I’m not even doing anything,”

Macklin said, tightening his hold slightly.

“You’re latched,” you replied.

He didn’t argue.

He just buried his face into your neck like this was a completely normal way to behave at a family BBQ.

You tried to keep talking. You really did. You turned back to Eli, pretending Mack wasn’t slowly melting into your spine.

“Anyway, if you’re considering grad school, maybe take a year to figure out if—”

And then Mack kissed you. Soft, quick, just enough to completely disrupt your sentence.

You stopped. Turned your head.

“Seriously?”

He looked at you like he was the offended one.

“What?”

“I was speaking words.”

“And I was listening.”

“You kissed me in the middle of a sentence.”

“You were dragging out your syllables. Felt like a natural break.”

Eli, in the distance now, just yelled,

“I warned you.”

You sighed. Looked at Mack. Really looked at him. His hair still slightly messy from earlier, T-shirt wrinkled, arms around you like he didn’t even think about doing it but it just happened. Like his body had one setting is near you.

He wasn’t trying to be romantic. He wasn’t making a big scene.

He was just… Mack, Macklin Celebrini.

“You’re the worst,” you said quietly.

He nodded.

“But?”

You leaned back into him.

“But you make a decent human scarf.”

He smiled into your skin.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

Later when you sat on the edge of a lawn chair while he rested his head in your lap pretending to be subtle, you tapped his forehead gently.

“You ever gonna let me have a solo conversation again?”

He looked up at you, eyes half-closed.

“Nope.”

“Cool. Just checking.”

[goorgeousz]

paperwork for two | aaron hotchner

after hours au

paperwork for two | aaron hotchner

after hours au

pairing: aaron hotchner x profiler!female!reader

summary: you help a stubborn aaron with his paperwork.

content/tw: just pure fluff, reader wants to help, and aaron claims he doesn't need it (he desperately does)

word count: 1.3k

a/n: I don’t know if you people are into this kind of posts… but this au is a slow burn and I’m a sucker for relationships development so😭

anyway, you can ask me anything about their relationship or request a specific scenario (being in this au or not)

since some of you asked, i decided to make a tag list (for this au only and for all of my criminal minds x reader posts) ! let me know if you want to be in it :)

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

Hotch heard the three quick knocks on his door, and it was the first time he glanced up from his paperwork for the last couple hours.

Yes, you were counting.

“Come in.” he said, his voice hoarse from barely speaking. It was a dull friday at the BAU, the team had come back from a case in Atlantic City just a few days prior, so the most agitation they had that day was the ungodly amount of paperwork.

The rest of the team had left, all of them having worked extra time to try and minimize the amount of work on monday, but the tiredness got the best of them.

Except, of course, for Hotch.

One doesn’t become an Unit Chief by just giving the government the entirety of their days — their nighttime absolutely must be compromised too.

You opened the door, folding your arms close to your chest and leaning against the doorframe, staring at your boss in disapproval.

“Are you leaving anytime soon?” you asked, already knowing the answer. Hotch glanced at his watch, his eyes slightly widened in surprise — in that barely-noticeable way of his — and back at the stack of paper.

“Not really. The team?”

“They just left.” you explained. He nodded in approval. His team was fine, at least one less thing for him to worry about. Before he could ask when you were leaving — less in a “leave me alone” and more in a “I’m worried about you, go get some rest” way — you pointed at the stack of files on the right side of his desk. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

He looked at it, trying to estimate a time frame. The approximated results made him sigh loudly. “Too much.” his eyes turned back to you, who looked a mist of worry, pity and fear. With your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth in a pout (the one you unconsciously did when you were deep in thought), he knew you were thinking of a solution. So Hotch, the most selfless person on earth, stopped you. “But I might leave it for Monday. I’ll just finish this one to ease the load for then.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting with your life to not call on his bluff. Giving him a short nod, you wiped your hands on your pants in what he knew was stress, like your body itched by not being able to help. “Alright, I’ll leave you at it.”

“Thank you. Good night.” he said, and you nodded — still with your lips pressed together — before closing the door behind you.

He could still hear the clicking of your heels fading away — not too far away, his hearing wasn’t that good. There was no point in denying: you were right to be worried. It was late, and he was tired. And he couldn’t possibly finish that amount of paperwork before the sunrise. He really should get some rest. But somehow his body couldn’t physically let itself relax when it knew how much work was pending. It was best — at least not worse — for him to finish it all right now and then get some rest.

So, knowing that whining would get him absolutely nowhere but later to his oh, long awaited rest, he just sighed, shifted slightly on his seat and got back to work.

Again, he lost himself in his work, not even realizing how much time had passed until he heard another knock on the door. Three quick knocks. Which was weird because he knew for a fact that everyone on the team had already left.

“Come in?” he probably should’ve asked who was there first, but he would tell them to come in no matter the answer.

When the door was opened, Hotch was left with more questions than before.

You opened it with your elbow and closed it with your hip with an ease that only someone used to doing this could master. On your right hand you had a to-go coffee cup holder with two large and definitely sugary drinks from the nearby coffee shop, and on your left you carried a large takeout bag, its smell filling the office immediately. Last but not least on the lists of surprises, you had changed from your work appropriate clothes to a much more comfortable attire: leggings, hoodie and slippers.

“What…?” he dazed, not even knowing where to begin . You bit back a laugh “The coffee, the food or the clothes? Or me?” you asked, clearly amused by his confused look. “Yes.” you actually laughed at that.

“This is iced caramel macchiato. We’ll need the sugar as much as the caffeine. These are burritos from Derek’s go-to place. I figured I’d pick something we could eat using only one hand. You know, to save time and effort. See? I, too, can think like a boss.”

“You didn’t have to.” he said, blinking. His stomach growled like it wanted to beg for your help. You rolled your eyes at him.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal? Move those papers, please?” you asked, nodding towards the mess on his desk. He complied immediately, more to help and ease the weight you carried than to agree to your little late night picnic.

“Burritos and overly-sugary coffees are barely a proper meal” he teased. You narrowed your eyes. “You survived on burnt coffee, cashews and dark chocolate bars from the vending machine for the last three days.” Instead of pointing out how much you paid attention to him – because that would’ve affected him more than you, truly – he just surrendered. “Fair enough. Now, you should go home.”

“And miss all the fun?” you asked, sitting criss crossed on the chair in front of him – no, he would not think about your flexibility – and quickly tying your hair with a red claw clip. “Besides, I have nothing else to do tonight. Hand me the straws, will you?”

He handed them a pointed look. “You should go rest. You’re not on the clock.”

“If I’m not on the clock, all your orders are just stubborn suggestions that I’ll choose to ignore. Respectfully.”

“Saying ‘respectfully’ after an insubordination doesn’t automatically make up for it.”

“You could also just say ‘thank you’.” you raised your eyebrows, inducing him to accept it. His gaze softened and the tip of his ears blushed. He didn’t have to be so stubborn all of the time.

“Thank you.” he said quietly. You wouldn’t comment on how your heartbeat raced slightly.

You grabbed a few silence and you ate in silence, apart from some comments about the food and the drink. Although he complained about the coffee being ‘too sugary for his taste’, Hotch drank the entire 16 oz in it. Being a sympathetic employee and friend, you didn’t make fun of him. But you would keep that to yourself, just in case someone decided to pick on your sweet tooth again.

The night went on with small talk, a few laughs (!!) and much paperwork. You even managed to finish it before 3 a.m. It went surprisingly smoothly for a couple of people who hadn’t been alone for months.

Hotch wouldn’t think about the circumstances of that last encounter right now, with you in front of him. And he couldn’t dare to let his eyes wonder at how those leggings hugged tightly and perfectly those full thighs of yours. He chose to ignore the stubborn thump on his chest when you laughed, the sound echoing through the empty halls of the unit while you waited for the elevator to finally go home. He was even able to keep his body from jerking in ecstasy when you held on to his arms when you lost balance because of how hard you laughed at a particularly funny joke of his (he partially blamed the sleep deprived state you were in, but he let himself be a little proud. Just a little.)

He didn’t stare for too long (after the five first minutes) at the message you sent him to let him know you got home safe and wishing you a good night. And a smiley face. 

He was nonchalant like that.

[spiderb00bs]

You mentioned in your Shauna that you think about. Jackie and Shauna fighting over Beefy!reader sooo can you please make a chapter on it? I also wouldn’t mind a chapter of Jackie x Beefy!reader

Okay, ready?

ꕥ Be the reason Jackie breaks up with Jeff, like, before the plane even crashes! She doesn't even have to be in the woods to realize she doesn't like Jeff, she just has to look at you once!

ꕥ You were new to Wiskayok, and you tried to join the Yellowjackets, which quickly earned you a lot of stares from the captain.

ꕥ Jackie who thought she was being super discreet and indifferent, but in fact you always caught her staring at you.

ꕥ Jackie who watched you intently in the changing room. She felt like a pervert, but she still couldn't keep her eyes off you.

ꕥ The way your team shirt perfectly conformed to your muscles, or the way your top held your breasts so well, or the way your abdomen was exposed every time you lifted your shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead…

ꕥ Jackie saw it all! And the next second she was breaking up with Jeff.

ꕥ She couldn't help it, she'd never felt like this!

ꕥ her breathing quickened when she saw you, she was speechless around you, the heat she felt when she looked closely at your body. She'd never felt anything like that.

ꕥ Not with Jeff, not with anyone.

ꕥ Everyone thinks she's going to get back with Jeff. I mean, they've broken up a million times, of course they'd get back together sooner or later.

ꕥ Imagine the surprise of the whole school when they saw Queen Jackie Taylor clinging to the giant of the team. Walking through the hallways and flashing the smiles she never did with Jeff.

ꕥ How sweet!

ꕥ Now that you're officially dating, you're carrying her books. It doesn't matter, you're carrying all the weight, she doesn't need that shit!

ꕥ Carrying her bag, her training stuff, you'd carry her if she asked you to!

ꕥ Now, Jackie is the queen of that school, she likes to be the center of attention, so get ready, cause this girl is going to show you off.

ꕥ Talking to some girls in the school hallway and making you hug her from behind, just so the girls see that you're with her. Enjoying the envious looks some people give her when you're sitting next to her at lunchtime.

ꕥ Kissing you affectionately when some girl at another table starts looking too much in your direction.

ꕥ Putting your arm across her shoulders, only for her to take your hand and put it on her hips…

ꕥ Making out with her in the school parking lot, letting everyone see how proud she is to have you with her!

ꕥ Which reminds me…

ꕥ Jackie can't keep her hands off you! That girl's got her hands all over you 24/7.

ꕥ Hands on your biceps, hands on your back, hands on your leg, hands on your shoulders, hands on your abdomen…

Hands

Hands

Hands!

ꕥ Speaking of which, Jackie begs you to keep your hands on her during sex.

ꕥ Grabbing her hips, pulling her hair, rubbing her clit, teasing her nipples. Hell, anything. She just wants to have your big hands touching her all the time.

ꕥ I don't know, but maybe, like you who are dating Jackie instead of Jeff, Shauna and you had something weird going on at some point.

ꕥ DON'T GET ME WRONG! You certainly didn't have sex with her. I mean, like, you noticing stares or some weird stuff, and immediately staying as far away from Shauna as possible. You love Jackie very much and you would never do that to her.

ꕥ I don't have much to say when the plane crashes. But maybe the reason for Jackie and Shauna's fight is because Jackie found out that Shauna hooked up with Jeff after they broke up, and plus when she read the diary, she also found out that Shauna was trying to go for you now…

ꕥ I don't know, but you can be sure of two things.

ꕥ Either you'd bring Jackie into the cabin again after the fight, or you'd die next to her in the cold.

ꕥ Period. ꕥ

[dusty-shelf]

Ok listen. Not that I think this was a good choice, but I deeply respect the minds behind the flashy "new state fair foods" each year because they are tryingggg. And like, there is something so pure about being human and just fuckin making up new food y'know? For those asking "how" -> oftentimes they freeze the liquid-like-substance (see also deep fried ice cream), then batter/bread it, then fry it and that usually is enough to melt/warm up the thing inside. There are new food lists announced every year too, if anyone is curious!

Also, this was from last year and was actually a hit! And I don't wanna be that person, but it is a seasoned, creamy substance covered in salty batter/breading. Assuming they aren't huge pieces and you like ranch, this would actually probably slap. Like they aren't so far away from deep-fried cheese curds!

I love you @failsnail, but I also refuse to accept critiques from the land of sprinkles-on-white-bread because that feels similarly nuts but potentially tasty, yeah? :P

Finally, if you are going to be in MN and/or close by in the Midwest (maybe not soon, but in the future........), and you're here in late Aug to early Sept, I HIGHLY recommend hitting up the MN state fair! Come hungry, there is so much more than just these!!!

Maybe the Midwest isn't as good a place as I thought...

[janiehellion]

𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐎𝐟 𝐁𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Daryl Dixon's hands were made to kill—rough, calloused, and strong. But at the CDC, with electricity, a bottle of alcohol, and your lips wrapped around his fingers, he learns what it feels like to crave his woman's touch more than survival. Hot water. Red wine. Your mouth. And the man who owns it.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ S1 Feral Daryl Dixon ⋮ Wine Play ⋮ Pussy Worship ⋮ Primal Kink ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Oral Fixation ⋮ Finger Sucking ⋮ Dry Humping ⋮ Shower BJ ⋮ Teasing ⋮ Possessive Behavior ⋮ Marking ⋮ Spanking ⋮ Spit Play ⋮ Protective Violence ⋮ Language ⋮ Shane Walsh Being An Asshole

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 10.325 ⋮ 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S01E06 ⋮ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋮ 𝑨𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝑶𝒘𝒏

The CDC was so clean it almost made you feel dizzy. After days of mostly smelling decay, the sudden lack of it felt wrong—like you'd walked into another world. Even though the world you once knew hadn't ended that long ago, it felt different nonetheless.

After the doors sealed shut behind you and once the whole group was inside the building, relief went through everyone, though no one dared to say it outright. It was the kind of relief you couldn't trust anymore, not in a new world like this.

Having introduced himself by cocking a gun at first, with the words, "Anybody infected?" Dr. Edwin Jenner stood before you, explaining the rules—blood tests first with no exceptions. "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission," he'd told you before he asked why you were here and what you wanted, to which Rick had replied that you all just wished for a chance. Just one chance to survive for at least a little time longer.

As soon as you were all underground and gave samples of your blood away, you kept your expression neutral as Dr. Jenner drew a vial of it, but Daryl, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding his obvious annoyance.

"Can't say I blame him," you said quietly to yourself, watching as Jenner approached him with the syringe in his hand.

"Ain't no one stickin' me with nothin'," Daryl growled at him, but Rick stepped in quickly.

"We're all doing it, Daryl. He's just making sure none of us are infected, alright?"

"Yeah? That so? The hell do y'all know 'bout it?" Daryl shot back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And what's he doin' with it after, huh? Sellin' it to the damn government? Oh wait, that shit don't exist no more, does it?"

You couldn't help but laugh a little out loud, which made Daryl glare at you, but you simply shrugged in return, biting back a grin. "Oh, come on, Daryl. Afraid of a little prick now?"

That did it. He actually let Jenner take his blood, and when it was done, the man gestured further down one of the hallways. Dinner. Finally, you were about to eat food, something you hadn't had in days.

And as you followed the group, you couldn't deny the excitement of the luxuries around you, luxuries you all still had not that long ago. Running water, electricity, and not having to look back over your shoulder all the time in case a walker was about to attack. It was surreal as you kept looking around, and the thought of some normalcy, even as small as this, seemed too good to be true.

Daryl was still standing near a wall as Dr. Jenner and the rest of the group put the drinks and food on the table in the dining area, his eyes looking around like he was the only one preparing himself for a fight.

You approached him, leaning against the wall with a smirk. "Relax, Daryl. No walkers here."

"Place don't feel right," he grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, well, neither does eating squirrels, but look where we are now."

As soon as his eyes looked over at you, they seemed unreadable. "Ya gonna run yer damn mouth now, or what?"

"Depends. You gonna keep pouting and standing far away from everyone else like some crying kid?"

He stepped closer, his height in comparison to yours making your pulse quicken like it always did. "Careful," he grumbled with a quiet growl. "Might decide to shut ya up."

But before you could think of an answer, Daryl backed off, leaving you to follow him in silence.

The tone of his voice seemed so casual, but the way he said it sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but remember how it all had started in the first place before you even became a couple.

You remembered how you hadn't thought much of it at first—his hands. They were rough, dirty, and usually smeared with blood or grime. But somewhere along the way, those hands became an unholy symbol.

Maybe it was the first time you'd really noticed them, back near the quarry, when you twisted your ankle while trying to escape several walkers surrounding you. Daryl had come out of nowhere, crossbow in hand and that feral look in his eyes that made your heart race for reasons you didn't want to admit back then. The bolts flew fast, and the walkers were down before you even had a chance to scream for help.

Then he was there, pulling you up with those hands—big, calloused, and so strong they felt like they could break you in half.

"Dumbass," he'd said as he carried you back to the camp, but the way he held you so carefully told a different story.

From then on, his hands became something you couldn't stop noticing. The way his fingers gripped his crossbow, the way he carved up whatever animal he'd managed to hunt, even the way he wiped the sweat from his face after a long day of hunting. Every move of his hands seemed primal in a way, and it wasn't long before your imagination had started wandering to places it shouldn't.

The first time it happened—really happened—was during one of those rare moments you had alone together. While scavenging, you'd been holed up in a gas station just outside of Atlanta for the night, and Daryl had found you sitting on the floor, trying to reload your gun. He'd grunted something about you being useless, then sat down beside you and taken over.

It should have been boring, just another one of those simple gestures. But then his fingers touched yours as he wanted to take the gun from your hands, and without thinking, you'd brought them to your lips.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" He'd asked, both with shock and curiosity.

You hadn't been able to answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you'd let your lips part, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt and dirt on his skin. The noise he'd made, just a quiet and low growl, had sent a shiver through your body.

"Shit," he'd growled, pulling his hand away, then looking slightly disgusted. But the way his eyes stared at you, the way his breathing had slowed—he liked it. And when you'd grabbed his wrist and brought his fingers back to your mouth, he hadn't stopped you.

That was the night everything changed between you. What started as teasing and stolen moments in the dark quickly turned into something more over time.

The image of his hands had stayed with you afterward, creeping into your mind at the worst possible times. You couldn't explain it, couldn't really shake it, and you couldn't stop wondering what it would feel like if he touched you like that—not like a man helping someone up, but with need, with lust.

The worst part? He'd caught you looking one too many times, and Daryl certainly wasn't the kind of man to let something like that slide.

An actual time he'd tested you again was weeks later, after the gas station incident. You were filthy, exhausted, and too worn out to care about much of anything—until you'd felt the touch of Daryl's fingers under your chin.

"Ya been eye-fuckin' me all damn day," he'd said. "Think I didn't notice?"

You'd opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat as his thumb slid across your bottom lip. You didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, because all you could focus on was the way his thumb had pressed against your lip and the roughness of his skin that was making you shiver.

"Open up."

Those words made you obey without thinking, your lips opening up just enough for him to slip his thumb into your mouth. The taste of dirt was immediate, and you should've been disgusted, but all you could think about was how completely he'd owned you at that moment.

"Yeah... Knew it. Knew ya'd be like this. Thought I'd give ya what ya been beggin' for," he'd whispered as his hand still cupped your jaw. "Go on. Show me how bad ya want it."

Pulling out his thumb, he'd pressed two other fingers against your lips, his other hand now sliding down your waist to grip your hip. Your body had reacted before your mind could catch up, your mouth opening again to take him in, your tongue moving around his fingers in an instant.

"Mhm… Got ya all wound up now, don't I? Ain't even touchin' ya for real, and yer already greedy as shit," he'd said, his hips grinding against you. "Thought 'bout makin' ya gag on 'em... see how much ya can take…"

And it didn't stop from there. He used it further against you, shamelessly even, teasing you in moments when no one else was around. Those fingers, those strong hands—they became your undoing. Whether he was teasing you in the middle of the camp or in the woods, Daryl knew exactly how to mess with your head.

Sure, he was rough around the edges, a man who didn't trust easily and didn't know how to show affection in the ways most people would. But with you, he didn't have to. The looks and signs you gave each other were enough—his hands, your lips, and the way you both seemed like two different pieces that would surprisingly fit the same puzzle.

The group had caught on eventually, of course. But only due to a fight. A stupid fight that made sure everyone in the camp knew exactly what was going on between you and Daryl. Even though you weren't exactly hiding what you had, not with the way he would turn overly protective, sometimes even aggressive, whenever someone so much as looked at you wrong.

Back then, it had to be a supply run again. Of course, it had to be. Together with Shane and Glenn, you were searching for medicine and canned supplies while the rest of the group had stayed at the quarry. It should've been simple—quick in, quick out—but Shane's tendency to live out his frustration had been messing with your nerves, and you had just about enough of his bullshit when he'd decided to start running his mouth about Daryl.

"Dixon's a loose cannon," Shane had said, tossing a can of food into his bag. "Don't know why we keep that redneck asshole around. Probably gonna get us all killed."

You didn't always agree with Daryl—hell, sometimes he pissed you off more than anyone—but Shane didn't get to talk about him like that.

"He's done more for this group than you ever have so far," you shot back at Shane, making him turn around and glare at you.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," you'd answered, stepping closer. "Daryl's kept this group alive, got us food when we needed it, even after Merle was gone. What the hell have you done, huh? Other than bitching around and crying about everything at once?"

"Careful," Shane had growled back at you. "Accidents can happen all the time, you know..."

But you didn't back down. "What are you gonna do, Shane? Hurt me because you're just some sad and whiny shit that can't get his dick wet anymore? Leave me behind and get me killed because you fucked up that affair of yours? Yeah, that's right, I know. And I don't care. In fact, I couldn't even care less about you and your pathetic problems. But sure, go ahead. See what happens."

But Shane didn't get the chance to act on the thoughts that you'd put into his mind. By the time you had made it back to the quarry, Daryl already knew something had gone down. He could see it in the way your jaw clenched as you walked toward the fire, trying to act like nothing was wrong, but Shane wasn't done.

"Why don't you tell everyone else what you were saying, huh?" Shane yelled after you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "Go ahead. You got such a damn mouth out there; let's hear it now."

You froze mid-step, eyes narrowing as you turned. "Oh, you mean the part where I said Daryl's done more for this group than your sorry ass ever has? Yeah. I said it. I'll say it again, too."

Shane's laugh was bitter. "You know what I think? I think you two deserve each other. A bitch and a backwoods freak. Makes sense."

Those words weren't even fully said yet when Daryl was on him.

It was fast—him coming at Shane with his fists. Rick shouted something, Glenn went to help, but nobody moved fast enough. Daryl had Shane by the collar, dragging him down, fists hitting him again and again.

"Ya call her that again," Daryl growled. "I'll break yer fuckin' jaw so hard ya gonna choke on yer teeth."

"What the hell's your damn problem, Dixon?!"

"You," Daryl had spat, his chest heaving as he closed the distance between them. "Got a problem with me too, ya say it to my damn face! Don't run yer goddamn mouth 'bout us behind my back!"

He quickly pushed Shane away, and then his eyes went to you. "You," he snapped, walking toward you. "With me. Now."

"What?"

But he didn't answer anymore. Daryl grabbed your wrist hard, pulling you away from the group, dragging you toward the treeline like he owned you—and maybe he already did.

"Daryl—what the hell?" You hissed, stumbling behind him.

As soon as you were out of view, his hands pinned you back against a tree, leaving them next to either side of your head, caging you in. "Ya just gotta go pickin' a fight with that asshole, don't ya?"

"I was defending you, Daryl!"

"And I don't need ya damn defendin'!"

"Maybe I do! Maybe I'm tired of letting assholes like him talk to me like I'm some whore just because I'm not scared to want you!"

That did it.

In one rough move, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. "Ya wanna prove somethin' to me, woman? That right? Ya got somethin' else to say to me, too?"

"Yeah," you'd snapped back at him with a snarl. "I'm sick of you acting like you don't give a shit when it's obvious that you do!"

"Ya don't know what the hell yer talkin' 'bout."

"Oh? Don't I?" You'd shot back, your voice shaking with anger. "Just admit it, Daryl! Just do it! Admit something for once in your damn life!"

For a moment, he'd said nothing, just staring at you.

Then he had kissed you.

It wasn't soft or gentle. It was rough and desperate, like he himself was trying to prove a point. His hands had slid up your sides when he finally pulled back, and his forehead was pressing against yours.

"Stand up for me like that again, woman, I swear… I'll have ya on yer damn hands and knees and show ya what happens."

And show you he did. Right there against the tree, with the camp just out of sight and everyone else wondering what the hell had happened. By the time the two of you had returned, sweaty and disheveled, it was clear to everyone that something had changed.

"Guess we know where they stand now," Dale had sighed, shaking his head, his expression half amused.

Shane had been the second to say something, leaning against the hood of the RV with a shit-eating grin and holding a rag against his bloody lip. "Yeah… Never would've thought Dixon was the type to settle down with such a loud-ass slut. Sounded more like she was screaming for help out there, not begging to get railed," he'd said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Least when she screams, it ain't 'cause she's realizin' she picked the wrong brother."

That made Shane shut up. Glenn choked on his water. Rick furrowed his brow, confused—but Lori? Lori froze.

After that, the others were less loud about you both. T-Dog seemed more confused than anything, like he was trying to figure out what you even saw in Daryl, while Andrea gave you those knowing looks that made your face heat up and your cheeks burn red.

Back at the table in the dining area of the CDC, the food was already passed around as you pulled your focus away from the memories, along with an opened bottle of wine. The laughter and conversations felt uncomfortable for you at first, but then, slowly, you turned more relaxed as the rest of the group let their guard down as well.

You sat next to Daryl, who had barely touched his plate at first. Instead, you drank the alcohol and looked around with a smile that was barely there before he started to joke around, too.

"Keep drinkin', little man. I wanna see how red your face can get!"

The group laughed at his words, and you caught the way Daryl had relaxed. Liquid courage, maybe. Or just the comfort of not being the outsider for once.

"I thought you weren't a fan of the CDC?" You teased softly so that only he could hear. "Or are you now? Just like that, huh?"

"Shut it," he answered, but there was no real anger behind his words.

As the others continued to talk and laugh, you felt it all of a sudden—a quick touch of his rough fingers against your lips. It was so fast you almost thought you imagined it, but when you glanced at Daryl, you saw the corner of his mouth turn into a smirk again.

That bastard was playing with you.

He soon did it again, under the guise of reaching for his drink. This time, your reaction was instinctive. Your lips parted, your tongue sliding out to kiss and taste the tip of his finger.

You had to bite your lip to keep from reacting further as he then leaned back, closer to you.

"Careful, woman," he whispered. "Ya keep doin' that, and I might forget where we are."

This made you remember the last time he did exactly that—forgetting where you both were since you've been in a relationship.

A run gone wrong, the two of you holed up in a building with a barricaded door and walkers outside. It had started like everything did with Daryl: tension, silence, and then frustration when you'd made some idiotic remark.

But his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked on your mouth like he had wanted to devour you alive.

"Quit staring," you'd whispered, just to piss him off a little.

Big mistake.

In one motion, he had pulled you onto his lap, his hand pressing down over your mouth.

"Shut. Up."

His other hand was shoved inside your pants, fingers sliding over your pussy with zero warning. You moved, but he'd held you down, his lips close to your ear. "Told ya I'd shut ya up. If ya make a noise, I stop."

Biting his palm to muffle your cries, you'd felt how his fingers suddenly curled inside you, rough and thick. You hadn't made a sound—not when he pushed those two fingers deeper inside you, not when his thumb touched your clit just right, and definitely not when your body jerked on his lap as if he'd shocked you.

Outside, the walkers groaned. Inside, Daryl's breath hitched as you came hard on his hand, his growl vibrating against your skin. "Knew ya could be quiet."

Indeed, he was good at shutting you up whenever he wanted you to be silent.

Coming back to your senses again, you stole another glance at Daryl as you drank your own glass of wine in silence. His fingers tapped against the table, restless even now. Those fingers had become your undoing, and he knew it all too well.

It was almost cruel, the way he had brushed them near your lips only moments before, knowing exactly how your body would react. You tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the laughter and conversation around you, but his little smirk was still there.

"You two okay over there?" Glenn's voice made your heart jump as you quickly looked away.

"Fine," Daryl grunted in response, his tone still as gruff as ever, making Glenn shrug before he turned back to his conversation with the rest of the group, leaving you and Daryl to yourselves.

"Keep it up," Daryl then grumbled under his breath at you, seemingly out of nowhere, and his voice was low enough that only you could hear. "See what happens when we're alone."

You barely had time to process that threat as Dr. Jenner stood up, with the rest of the group suddenly following him. The group's laughter had stopped as he had explained the CDC's suicides, the desperation, and how everyone had lost hope. But you weren't listening. Not really.

Your skin still burned where Daryl's fingers had brushed your lips. Your pulse still hammered in your ears, having drowned out Jenner's words. All you could focus on were the memories of how it had all started with Daryl.

But what exactly would happen when you were alone and out of sight again?

The thought consumed you so completely that you barely noticed when Jenner finally started to walk down a hallway, gesturing for you all to follow.

"Most of the facility is powered down, including housing," he said, leading you all down a hallway. "You'll have to make do here. The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like. There's a rec room down the hall—just don't plug in the video games. Or anything that draws power. The same applies... If you shower, go easy on the hot water."

"Hot water?" Glenn asked in disbelief, and T-Dog grinned in return.

"That's what the man said!"

As quick as those words about hot water had left Jenner's mouth, leaving everyone in shock and relief, the group was already splitting off to claim spaces. But you? The second he was done talking, you slipped away—further down the hallway, past the rec room next, toward a room to claim and the promise of a hot shower.

But what you didn't notice? Daryl stayed behind, his eyes locked on you like a predator tracking down prey.

You didn't look back at him.

Because you felt it—the moment he followed.

The second you slipped away, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Daryl's presence was unmistakable, even without him making a sound. He was just like that—always close enough to be in your space, but never too obvious.

And he had no intention of letting you get away so easily.

Another full bottle of wine was in his hand as he moved silently behind you, and you paused, hand resting on a door, just as you reached one of the free rooms. You were so close to washing away everything—the grime, the dirt, everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

But then, without warning, you felt one hand on your wrist, spinning you around with enough force to make your breath catch in your throat. His face was inches from yours, and you could see the same look he always got when he was ready to claim something, and you knew it wasn't going to be easy to escape this time.

Daryl's lips were on yours before you could even think to answer, rough and hard, forcing a groan out of you as he backed you into the wall of the hallway. You didn't have time to resist, not that you really wanted to. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head back as his tongue demanded yours.

It was a kiss that left no room for doubt before his hand was moving down your neck and over your tits next. It was reckless, almost violent, but that was Daryl. Always untamed.

You let out a breathy laugh, not that it mattered to him.

"Don't need no damn shower," he said between kisses. "Waste o' time." His hand soon slid down to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh with a roughness that only seemed to make you want him more.

You barely heard the words—too caught up in the sensation of his touch, his mouth, and his body pressing against you. It wasn't just the kiss, not just the way his touch felt—it was everything. The way Daryl made you lose control, the way he could bring you to the edge without ever needing to say anything much.

Yes, he was always like that. Rough. Raw. No apologies. And it drove you wild. You didn't know if it was the isolation of the world now or just Daryl's overwhelming presence, but you'd grown accustomed to that hunger. His hunger. And to the way it felt when he took what he wanted, no questions asked.

"Not here," you managed to gasp quietly between kisses, though you weren't even sure what you were suggesting. "We're still in the hallway, Daryl…"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. Ain't got the patience for this," he growled in return, biting your lower lip and grabbing the door handle next to you. "Rather taste ya like this—dirty, mine."

Not giving you the time to answer, he shoved the door open behind you, pushing you inside, and kicking it shut again with his boot, before Daryl pushed you back against it, the wine bottle in his other hand pressed to your throat like a warning.

"Ain't no runnin' away now. Ya gonna drink first."

You nodded before he tipped the bottle to your lips, the red wine running down your chin, before he licked it off with a groan.

"Ain't 'bout gettin' clean," he growled against your jaw, his tongue licking along your skin. "Don't needa be clean for me."

"Daryl, please… Come on, just let me take that shower!" You managed to laugh, trying to hold your ground, but your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

"Ain't no damn shower worth this," Daryl answered, his free hand grabbing your jaw roughly, forcing your gaze upward. His thumb touched your bottom lip, and that simple touch made your heart beat faster. "Ya think ya can just go?"

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

But Daryl's grip on your jaw loosened anyway as he stepped back like the war inside him had pulled him in two directions—fuck you stupid right here or let you go just long enough to drive him even crazier.

He stared at you for a moment, then dropped the wine bottle to the floor next to the couch in the room.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Go wash off, woman."

Opening the door to the shower for you, he was then standing to the side but still crowding your space, his eyes staring at your body like he was imagining you naked already.

"But ya leave that door open, y'hear?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, heart racing. "So you are gonna follow me?"

He smirked in response, tilting his head just enough to make your thighs clench. "Ain't sayin' I will. Ain't sayin' I won't."

You gave him a playful smile—half daring, half pleading.

"Daryl," you whispered, your voice breathy as your hands moved to his chest to push him away from you. "You still want me?"

"Ain't that obvious?"

You didn't answer. Instead, you turned around slowly, letting your hips move and your ass shake as you reached for your shirt. One glance back over your shoulder told you everything—he was sitting on the couch by now, legs spread wide, chest rising with every shaky breath.

Your fingers slid under the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head in one smooth motion, and the air hit your bare skin as soon as you got rid of your bra, your nipples hardening instantly.

Your pants slid down next, you shaking your ass on purpose as you stepped out of them until you were standing there fully naked, hair messy, lips swollen. And God, the way he looked at you like he was a few seconds away from fucking you right then and there…

He was sitting there, one hand grabbing the couch like restraint was the only thing keeping him from standing up again.

"Think I forgot something," you then whispered before you stepped back toward him, straddling his lap without hesitation. Your naked skin pressed to his pants as you started to grind against him slowly—agonizingly so.

Daryl's breath hitched, his hands shooting to your waist, thumbs digging into your hips as he hissed, "Ya teasin' me now?"

You didn't answer. Not with words.

Instead, you leaned down, guiding his face to your chest, and when his mouth closed around one nipple, his teeth scraped along it just enough to make you gasp. Both his tongue and lips were needy, licking and sucking as if wanting to mark bruises onto your tits like he was starved—like he didn't care about anything else but tasting you.

"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, back arching, nails scratching down to his biceps, trying to hold on.

Then, when you knew he was ready—ready for more—you pulled back, grabbed the alcohol bottle that was still standing next to the couch, and brought it to your lips.

Red wine ran down your chin and onto your tits before you let some of it drip from your mouth into his, watching his eyes close as he tasted it and you all at once.

Daryl's deep groan hit you like a shock.

The second your wet lips let the wine drip into his mouth, you felt him twitch beneath you—his cock hardening under your pussy like it had a mind of its own. His pants pressed against your folds, the friction making your breath stutter as you ground down harder, slower.

And he felt it. God, he felt it.

His hips bucked up more, unable to stop, his cock straining so hard you rolled your hips again, dragging your soaked pussy along that thick, hard outline—once, twice, again, and again—until he was hissing loudly.

You smirked through your quick pants, teasing your clit against his bulge again with another slow grind. "Are you going to beg for it, Dixon?"

"Beg?" He smirked in response. "Ain't beggin'. Just takin'."

Daryl then snapped—grabbing a handful of your ass and lifting his hips to shove you down harder on his lap, so your pussy was pushed right along his cock again. You cried out, his pants now soaked through, his cock throbbing beneath you, twitching as hard as ever.

And he just watched you—breathing like crazy, his chest rising and falling fast as he stared at you with that wild look in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more.

You let out another cry—half-laugh, half-gasp—as he flipped you onto your back in one rough move, his face already moving down your body. He dragged his stubbled jaw across your belly, biting your skin just hard enough to leave little stings of pain and pleasure behind. His hands pushed your thighs open, spreading you wide without an ounce of hesitation.

"Wine," he continued, and you didn't have time to ask before he grabbed the bottle, pouring a slow stream down between your tits, then down your stomach, until he was letting it drip between your thighs.

"Daryl—" You choked out, body jerking, but he didn't answer.

Not letting you argue, his mouth was on you in an instant.

He licked the wine straight off your skin, groaning low in his throat as he tasted every drop. His tongue was hot and rough, sliding over the curves of your body, to your inner thighs—closer—until he was right there.

You weren't ready. You thought you were, but the second his tongue met your clit, you arched off the couch like he'd shocked you.

"Jesus—fuck!"

Daryl growled against you, holding you down as your hips bucked helplessly. "Thought ya wanted a shower?"

His tongue moved in a punishing rhythm—quick licks that made you try to squirm away, but his strong hands were like iron fists. He shifted lower, burying his face deep, letting his tongue slide through your folds and suck hard on your clit until your back arched and your moan broke in your throat.

"Daryl, fuck, Daryl—"

That just spurred him on. His nose pressed against you, tongue working deep. He poured a little more wine, this time straight down onto your pussy, and the cold mixed with the heat of his mouth made you cry out, legs trembling.

Then he pulled back just enough to say, "Ride it."

He shoved his shoulders under your thighs, grabbed your ass, and pulled you back with him and you down onto his face. "Ya heard me. Ride it. Fuckin' use me."

You gasped—whimpered—but obeyed, rolling your hips slowly at first, grinding down onto his tongue as he groaned into you like he couldn't get enough. It was messy and wild, with wine running down your thighs and his chin, his stubble soaked with it and your wetness before he slapped your ass.

"Harder."

You obeyed.

Fingers tangling in his hair and your moans coming out uncontrolled, you rode his face like a savage. His tongue never let up—licking and sucking you with his mouth until your whole body shook.

Your back arched as he spit on your clit, then slurped it up like he'd been dying of thirst, and he didn't give a single shit. His face was soaked by now, and when you tried to move? Tried to shift away, even just an inch?

SMACK!

He slapped your ass so hard you wanted to cry out loud.

Daryl's hands weren't just holding your ass now—they were playing. One hand cupped a cheek tight, spreading you wide open while his thumb traced along between them, dangerously close, just to tease.

"Damn fuckin' view," he groaned into your cunt, spit dribbling down his chin. "Gonna fuckin' die right here, suffocated in this damn pussy."

Then—SMACK—his palm hit your other cheek, hard enough to make you yelp. "Grind harder. Rub that needy fuckin' clit all over my mouth."

You obeyed, moaning some more, your pussy soaking his tongue. His nose rubbed your clit with each thrust while his tongue slid down, licking deeper, dirtier. Then you felt it—his thumb pressing lower.

"Bet ya ain’t been touched here, huh?" He growled, his voice muffled but clear enough. "Bet not. But still beggin’ like ya want it here like the rest o' ya."

You choked on a gasp, grinding harder on his face as he groaned. "Keep ridin' like that, woman," he snarled against your skin. "Keep that damn pussy on my fuckin' face."

He kept you right where he wanted—his hands wrapped around your ass, spreading your cheeks wide, squeezing and pawing. He seemed obsessed—grunting and groaning, licking everywhere, switching between tongue-fucking you and just dragging the flat of it up and down your slit all shamelessly.

"Fucking hell, Daryl—" You whimpered, your body trembling.

But then came the wine again.

You didn't even notice him grabbing the bottle once more—you just felt the sudden chill as he tilted it up and let it pour all over your lower back, your ass, and down to your pussy. The alcohol hit your skin in streams, ran between your cheeks, and right down into his mouth in the front.

"Tastes like mine…" He groaned like you were divine. "C'mon, woman. Gimme all o' that. I know yer close."

Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry, your pussy dripping on his face, the mix of wine and your wetness sliding down his chin and onto the couch.

And your orgasm hit hard.

You moaned—loud, raw, shaking on top of him as your body convulsed. "F-Fuck, Daryl—!"

But he held you down, licking and sucking you through it, eyes wild beneath you like he was praying for his own religion to unfold. His mouth stayed on your clit, tongue still relentless even as your body shook, twitching with aftershocks.

And even then, he didn't stop.

He just kept going.

Your hands searched for anything to hold on to—his hair, the side of the couch, the wall—as he brought you to the edge way too fast once more. Your thighs trembled violently, your body collapsing forward onto the couch, but his arms wrapped around your hips and kept your ass and pussy in his face.

"Fuckin' perfect," he growled, licking and sucking you slower now, almost lazy, not wanting to let you fall a second time on purpose. "Can't get 'nough. Never gonna stop wantin' this sweet fuckin' pussy."

You whined, too far gone for words.

There was drool on your chin.

Tears on your cheeks.

Wine everywhere.

Finally, finally, he groaned into your pussy, gave your ass one last squeeze, and let you slide off his mouth.

You collapsed next to him on the couch, catching your breath.

Daryl just wiped his face with the back of his hand, then licked it clean with a smirk. His lips were swollen, his eyes seemed satisfied, and his stubble was soaked with wine and you.

"Now go take yer fuckin' shower," he casually said after a while. "'Fore I fuck ya face down on one of 'em cots from the storage next."

Soon stumbling toward the shower, you looked like a woman who had barely survived the possessed man that was just between your thighs.

And Daryl?

He sat back on the couch, legs still spread wide, cock hard, and his tongue running over his teeth, watching your ass sway the whole way into the bathroom.

But even as you stumbled, legs barely working, you didn't close the door, just like he had told you. After all, you knew he was watching.

So you slowed your pace at the edge of the bathroom, just enough to give him a show. You paused, leaning one arm against the wall like you needed the support, and glanced back over your shoulder.

He was still there.

Still on that couch with his legs spread wide, that cock of his tenting his pants like it was ready to rip through them, and his chest was rising and falling like he'd been running from a horde of walkers.

So you dragged your hand slowly up the wall, the other down your hip, letting your fingers move through the wine still glistening on your skin.

"Are you really just gonna sit there?" You breathed, your voice wrecked and eyes half-lidded. "Or are you that scared of a little soap?"

"Ain't scared of nothin'," he snapped back at you with a smirk. "Don't mean I gotta like it."

You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head. "Guess that means you're just gonna sit there and pretend not to be scared?"

"The hell I am," he answered as he shifted, one knee now bouncing like a fuse had just been lit.

Then—just to make it worse—you turned around fully, facing him now, flushed and sticky, and ran your fingers down between your thighs, feeling the mess he'd left behind. You brought them to your lips and sucked two fingers clean with a soft, wet pop.

"Still tastes like your dirty, fucking, nasty mouth," you whispered, letting your tongue drag along your fingers again before you smiled. "Disgusting as shit."

That was it.

His boots hit the floor hard as he stood up, his chest heaving.

"Disgusting and nasty, huh?"

Not giving him the satisfaction of an answer, right as you moved inside the bathroom and turned on the hot water of the shower, you heard how he was coming closer, taking his time just long enough to take another look at you.

That hard cock of his, still straining against his pants like it was fighting to break free, was now a problem—one he seemed pissed about. Glancing back over your shoulder, you saw the way his jaw clenched and how his eyes narrowed at you like you'd just dared him to stay uncomfortable for a moment longer.

With a grunt, Daryl stepped into the bathroom fully, the heat from the shower already fogging the mirror next to him. He stepped out of his boots as if they offended him; his pants were hitting the floor next after his hands went straight to his belt, yanking it open as fast as he could.

"Fuckin' shit," he grumbled, almost to himself, before shoving his boxers down. "This what ya wanted, huh? Fancy-ass hot water and soap?"

His cock sprang free, thick and hard, slapping up against his stomach—and God, the groan that tore from his throat when it was finally free made your pussy ache.

His shirt? He ripped that off with one rough pull, letting it drop wherever, and you watched the muscles of his chest and arms flex with every move before he turned to the door, closing it but still keeping an eye on you through the mirror. His scars were there on his back—ugly, beautiful, everything at once—and all his, just like everything else he gave you.

But Daryl caught you looking. Of course, he did.

"The fuck are ya starin' at?" He asked, voice rough, eyes dropping down to your drenched skin.

"You," you breathed quietly, backing up a step under the hot water, beckoning him in with just a tilt of your head. "Always you."

You were expecting another comment, maybe a grunt—but Daryl wasn't saying anything.

"Daryl…" You started softer this time.

He was still only staring until he was moving quickly, pushing you against the cold wall of the shower, the water pouring down on him, and his hand gripping your chin hard enough to tilt your head up and shut you up all at once.

"Don't," he growled. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout that shit."

You opened your mouth—but he kissed you instead.

No warning, no tenderness. Just claiming. Tongue and teeth and water-drenched skin pressed to yours, making you taste the wine and yourself on his lips, making you feel the way his hands trembled as they held you in place.

You didn't even try to argue.

Not when one of his hands grabbed your ass and pushed his cock against you like a warning.

And definitely not when he whispered, "Ain't scared of no damn scars. And you? Ya keep lookin' at me like that, woman, and yer gonna learn just how much I ain't scared of you either."

Still, it didn't take long for him to give in to it all. Into you. His body soon relaxed, the tension going away as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the water run down over him and feeling the warmth of it on his skin. He wasn't used to this kind of comfort, but you could tell he was enjoying it in his own way.

Not giving him much time to lose his focus, you took one single step closer to him, the water streaming over your skin as you moved. His eyes opened when you reached for him again, but this time, your fingers slid over his flexing muscles, making him shiver under your touch.

"Shit," Daryl grunted, right before his hand shot out to stop you, his rough fingers sliding over your lips like he owned them. And you? You didn't even pretend to hesitate. Your lips parted on instinct, like they'd been waiting for his touch all along.

He watched you—those blue eyes narrowing as he slid his thumb into your mouth, slow, almost mocking you. You wrapped your lips around it and sucked, slowly, letting your tongue move around the tip of it like you wanted him to feel just how badly you needed more of him.

"That's it," he grunted as he watched you closely, that everlasting smirk returning to his lips. "Knew ya couldn't help yerself. Every damn time ya just gotta—"

He didn't even finish. It was as if the words got lost somewhere in the back of his throat before he pulled his thumb out and replaced it with two of his thick fingers. They pushed in deeper—past your lips, over your tongue, down until your jaw hurt, and you sucked on them just as greedily.

"Now actin' like ya were starvin' for it, huh?" He growled as his fingers stayed inside your throat, fucking your mouth with them. "Ain't the damn shower ya wanted. Nah. Coulda just fuckin' asked, ya know."

But you didn't wanna ask.

You never did.

Because with Daryl, it wasn't about asking—it was about taking. Anywhere. Even at a place like the CDC.

As the warm water continued to pour down, dripping off his head and running down his shoulders and chest, you looked down—truly looked down at him this time. That thick, veiny cock of his twitching, throbbing, leaking precum between his legs, and just begging to be touched.

With your hand immediately following your eyes, your fingers wrapped around his cock, and the hiss that came out of his mouth made your eyes widen.

"Fuck—" Daryl groaned out, his hips jerking forward the second you started to stroke him. It was slow at first, your fist tightening just a little near the tip to tease him a bit. "Ya tryna fuckin' kill me?"

But he didn't stop you. Didn't even want to.

Two of his fingers stayed in your mouth until you gagged lightly around them—but didn't pull away. His other hand came to grab the back of your neck, just enough to keep you there. Right where he wanted you to be.

"Look at ya… suckin' on my fingers like that while ya got yer hand on my cock... Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Drooling around Daryl's fingers by now, your lips feeling swollen from the pressure, eyes glassy as you moaned softly for him. You were grinding your thighs together again, barely breathing as you stroked him harder and faster, and he noticed—like he always did.

"Ya like that?" He asked, tilting his head as soon as he noticed how you were grinding and clenching your thighs together. "Like tastin' me while ya touchin' my cock?"

You nodded, or tried to, but his fingers pressed deeper down your throat and made your eyes water, long enough until he had you pushed down onto your knees in front of him.

Then he gripped his cock for a moment—just to line it up near your lips—and tapped the thick tip against them once. Twice. Smearing the water, his precum, and your spit across your mouth and chin.

"Open," he ordered, voice ragged. "Wanna see that mouth stretched 'round me."

Daryl looked as if he was close already. Due to need and by how your hand had felt on him, touching him like you never wanted to let go.

You parted your lips again, teasing him just a bit with the tip of your tongue.

"Hell, woman… I swear I'm gonna come just from this damn view," he growled. "Ya gonna swallow every drop I give ya?"

Biting your lower lip with a slight smile, you nodded slowly.

Your mouth opened obediently—eagerly—and your tongue moved out just to tease him once more, to taste the precum of him, and you knew he was trying hard to hold back.

He had one hand pressed against the wet wall behind you, the other in your drenched hair now, holding it tight enough to make it sting. "Bet ya been thinkin' 'bout this all damn day."

You didn't answer him anymore.

Instead, you sank your mouth down onto his cock, letting the underside of his shaft slide over your tongue until the tip pressed against the back of your throat. The groan that came out of Daryl was downright animalistic—deep, loud, and primal. He was already bucking forward before you even had all of him down.

"Shit—fuck—" He hissed, hips twitching as you sucked him in deeper.

You started to move—head bobbing, lips sucking tight, drool running down your chin as the water of the shower cleaned it away from above. Your hand worked what your throat couldn't reach, stroking the base while your tongue licked and flicked and worshipped.

"Yeah… just like that. Deep as ya can—don't stop."

His grip tightened in your hair, and he began to fuck your mouth a bit faster now, just enough to hear a few little gags.

"Got ya down on yer knees suckin' me off in a fuckin' shower like it's the only thing ya ever wanted."

You moaned around his cock—loud, needy—and the sound of it made him snarl, his other hand slapping against the wall, trying to hold himself together.

Knowing that he was right on edge already, since, after all, he'd been holding back so far, Daryl wanted to keep his focus only on what he worshipped the most. You.

But you felt it in every twitch of his cock, every groan, every grunt he couldn't bother hiding anymore, how much he wanted to let go. It made you suck harder, faster, one hand massaging his balls and the other gripping his trembling thigh.

"Shit, gonna—" He announced just as it was about to happen, shoving his cock in deep—just enough to make you gag one last time—before pulling back slightly with a strangled groan, hips jerking as he came hard, and his cum shooting onto your tongue and down your throat. But you kept sucking him, eyes looking up at him even though the water was still pouring down on you, tasting him.

Daryl's whole body shook, his chest rising and falling with quick gasps for air, with his mouth open as he stared down at you like he couldn't believe what you just did to him.

But before you could even swallow the last of his cum, he was grabbing you—pulling you back up against him with one arm around your waist, the other gripping your ass roughly. Your lips were still wet with him, so slick with drool and cum when he crashed his mouth onto yours.

He kissed you like a man starved. Tongue pushing in deep, tasting himself in your mouth, and growling like it turned him on all over again.

He didn't stop kissing you for as long as he could hold his breath, his hand sliding all over your ass again, fingers slipping between the cheeks, pressing right where you knew he loved to play and tease.

"Bet ya still want it," he then whispered against your jaw, pressing the tip of his finger deeper, not quite pushing inside, but just enough to make you whimper. "Even after takin' me down that pretty throat, ya still want it, don't ya? Wanting me…"

You moaned into Daryl's neck, clinging to him, your arms immediately wrapping around him as he held you like he was scared you might fall.

But he didn't push further. Not with your body still shivering, still breathless from how he'd handled you.

Letting go of you slowly, almost hesitantly, his eyes weren't leaving yours.

"Finish yer shower," he said after a while, that tiny smirk coming back onto his face again as he stepped out, still soaking wet, with the water dripping off him.

Not even reaching for a towel, he bent over, grunting as he took the shirt he'd ripped off earlier from the floor. It was wet, still dirty, and smelled like sweat—but that didn't stop him.

He just ran it down his arms and across his chest, barely bothering to dry himself off completely, though he didn't put it on, throwing it back onto the floor.

"Ain't closin' the door," he threw in, right before he grabbed his pants next, like anyone had asked. No boxers. He just shoved himself into his beat-up pair of pants like he hadn't just come down your throat like an animal. And then?

Then he dropped himself back on the wine-drenched couch.

Legs wide open. Shirtless. Still wet. One hand slid through his hair, the other resting between his thighs like he wasn't doing anything, but oh—he was doing everything. Just sitting there, smirking, and watching you.

Even when you thought he would maybe doze off from the heat and the exhaustion, you caught him looking from time to time—his eyes barely open, but still tracking you like you were prey.

You finished up slowly in the shower, dragging out every second just to see if he'd react once more. He didn't. But one hand did move just a little more south, his fingers resting dangerously close to where your mouth had just been.

And right when you thought he'd keep quiet, let you get that moment of silence, maybe even dry off in peace—Daryl was talking again.

"The hell are ya takin' so long in there for?" He grunted. "Ain't like ya gotta shave yer damn legs or nothin'. Who are ya tryna impress?"

"Maybe I just wanted a moment alone to clean your cum off my face, Dixon," you shot back, a towel half-wrapped around your waist as soon as you stepped out, not bothering to cover yourself much.

"Well, ya missed a spot," he grumbled, jerking his chin toward your mouth. "Right there."

Of course, you knew there wasn't anything left behind, but playing along, you licked the corner of your mouth just to taunt him and noticed how your legs were shaking again—but not from exhaustion right now.

From him.

From that man right there, sitting on a couch that smelled like sweat, wine, and you.

But you made no move to rush. No shame. No hurry. You walked toward him, still trembling, and without asking, you climbed right back onto him—straddling his lap, your thighs sliding over his pants as you sat down gently on top of him, like you were home there. His cock wasn't hard now—but it twitched under you anyway.

Daryl let out a low grunt when your ass moved into place, and one strong hand landed instinctively on your back.

"Ain't even dry yet, and yer sittin' on my lap like ya forgot how to stand straight…"

You leaned in, putting your arms loosely around his neck, brushing your nose lightly against his cheek.

"Neither are you," you whispered in return, smiling against his skin. "You'd say no?"

"Won't say 'no' to ya, woman. 'S the damn problem," Daryl answered, both his hands finding your hips now, holding you steady while you rolled them over his pants again. Then his mouth was on yours once more—brutal, with no warning, and slow, like he was trying to crawl inside you with just his tongue. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you, pulling your wet hair to tilt your head back.

And he didn't waste a second.

He bit down hard, just under your jaw, before sucking a bruise into your skin. Not a hickey—no, this was a mark. His mark. You felt your blood rush under the skin there, your pulse quickening, and the slight pain as his stubble scratched your neck and his mouth moved lower.

"Gonna wear that for me," he growled, his tongue licking over the bite. But before he could do anything further, you sat up straight, smiling, and reached for clothes of yours—wherever they'd landed earlier.

At least your shirt was within reach. Grabbing it quickly, you put it over your head as you stayed straddling him, and Daryl still watched, though he didn't speak. But those hands of his? They never stopped sliding over your body, even as you finished mostly dressing up.

Not knowing any better, you leaned into his ear and whispered, "Are you going to sit here looking like this, or are you gonna go get us another bottle?"

That got him.

"'Nother bottle o' red, huh?" He asked with an arched eyebrow. "Ya mean just like the one I poured down yer pussy while ya were all desperate for it?"

You grinned in return. "Maybe?"

He huffed—more laugh than annoyance—and smacked your thigh before pushing you off his lap. "Fine. But I ain't gettin' it just so we can talk feelings or none of that shit."

You stayed on the couch after he stood up, watching him as he went to grab his shirt again—the same one from before, dirty, soaked with some water, and wrinkled.

You half expected him to throw it aside again, but he didn't. He put it back on, scowling the whole time. "Fucked up my goddamn shirt."

"You ripped it off yourself, Daryl."

"Still counts."

He rolled his eyes—but a smile was there. Small. Tiny.

For another moment, the CDC was quiet. No walkers. No survival. Just you. Him. Another bottle of wine somewhere in the building. And the certainty that when he came back, you'd start all over again.

Then—because life clearly didn't know when to leave the both of you alone—you heard it.

A quick shout. Not far away. Muffled. Angry.

"Stay put," Daryl instantly said and walked out into the hallway.

That's when he saw him.

Shane leaned against the wall with several fresh and bleeding scratches across his face. He was clearly grumbling angrily to himself—pissed, drunk, and barely holding it together.

Daryl didn't say anything at first. He walked right past him like he wasn't even there, grabbed a new bottle from the dining area from before, and twisted the cap off to take a long sip as he walked back.

Then Shane opened his mouth.

"Dirty fucking redneck living off shit and actin' like he's got it all figured out…" He said to himself at first, right before coming at Daryl directly. "What are you looking at, Dixon?!"

"Hell, I dunno. Lookin' at some dickhead that got told ‘no' and got slapped the fuck down by someone who wouldn't piss on ya if ya were burnin'."

And just as Daryl answered, turning back to face Shane, you appeared at the end of the hallway. Barely clothed. Hair still wet. Lips swollen. And you were watching—just watching—in silence, with your arms crossed.

Shane looked you up and down—and then laughed. "That all you got, Daryl? That bitch will run away as soon as there's someone better! They're all the same!"

Daryl didn't answer right away.

He just stood there, the new wine bottle still in one hand. And his eyes? They were dead calm.

But calm on Daryl never exactly meant safe.

Then he took one long step forward. That wine bottle in his hand? He lifted it, right in front of Shane, and poured some of it onto the floor between them.

"Ya don't talk ‘bout her..."

Shane still laughed, but it was quieter now. "Jesus, what the hell's your problem?"

Daryl moved. Not his fist. No. Just got up in Shane's face until their foreheads almost touched.

"Ya wanna talk like a man? Act like one, 'cause right now? Y'ain't nothin' but an idiot that got turned down. I oughta rip yer tongue out and make ya choke on it along with yer damn teeth, just like I told ya 'fore. Ya hear me?"

One more look, and Daryl stepped away from him as if he'd already won. He walked right back toward you with that same death stare he got when he was about to kill a walker. Once in front of you, he took another long sip from the open bottle.

"C'mere…"

Daryl's fingers immediately gripped your jaw, tilting your face up as if to remind you—you're his. The kiss that followed wasn't gentle this time. He pushed your mouth open with his tongue only to spit the wine from his lips down your throat, making you swallow it all down as you grabbed his shirt, trying to keep yourself steady despite your trembling legs.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. Drunk off him more than the wine.

But Shane? Shane still stood there, snarling like he couldn't stand to watch something he'd never have.

"Bet she tastes like regret and low standards," he said loudly, but he was too cowardly to look into Daryl's eyes anymore.

And just like that, Daryl turned back toward him, handing you the wine bottle. One last drop of it ran down his chin, but he didn't even bother wiping it off.

"Ya ask what she tastes like?" Daryl hissed, voice low. "Tastes like me. Ya want some? Ya can suck it off my fuckin' cock if ya beg hard 'nough."

You gasped—whether from the words or the way Daryl said them, you weren't sure. But your body was feeling weaker, and the wine bottle almost slipped from your fingers.

Then—only then—did Daryl step back, like he'd finished what needed finishing.

"Cop polish," he continued with a smirk, "still can't shine up a piece'a shit."

Looking you up and down slowly, Daryl took the bottle back from you like it belonged there—and so did you. His arm slid around your waist again, pulling you closer to him. And this time, when he kissed you?

It was feeling like ownership.

[mirclealignr]

for the better | james potter [7.7k]

james potter x fem!slytherin!reader

requested by anonymous wherein james’ love for harmful pranks is the one thing that keeps y/n and james divided.

warnings; alcohol & food consumption, swearing, james being a bit james, mentions of someone like drowning a bit, she / her pronouns used for the reader.

a/n: i’m not really confident on the actual quality of my writing here or this fic at all really, but oh well. have it anyway xxx

James Potter elicited conflicting sentiments from Y/N. He could be selfish, conceited, and aggravating but, in spite of that, he could also be considerate, charming and amiable. Nevertheless, his fondness for immature pranks could infuriate her to the ends of the Earth. He and his friends could oftentimes overdo it, push it much too far, and Y/N could never understand the enjoyment they experienced from humiliating others. 

But on the other side of it, the side where James Potter could charm her into almost anything, she saw the sense of fun he sought from everyday life. She saw the young man who thought deeply about things, who could plan meticulously, who was strangely organised and clean. She saw someone who could make her feel as if the only adoration he relished was her own.

But, still, Y/N maintained her vigilance. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” called James, spotting her amongst the littered students of the Sunday morning breakfast rush.

Y/N stopped at the entrance to the Great Hall and exhaled, turning around to see the cocky grin stretching across James Potter’s face. With a quick sarcastic smile in return she continued on her way to the Slytherin table without so much as a word. 

She could barely admit to herself that she hoped he would follow. 

“Oi!” James called after her. “Can’t get away that easily, Y/L/N.”

James delighted in the thrill of the chase. 

“What do you want, Potter?” Y/N rolled her eyes, turning to face him before she reached her friends who would tease her endlessly for entertaining him in the first place.

James caught up to her with a little jog, ignoring the Slytherins giving him a distasteful eye as he whisked past them. 

He shook his hair about, letting it fall back into its natural place. “Er, just wondering if you’d…started the Potions assignment yet,” he shrugged, clearing his throat. 

“Really, James? You wanted to know if I had started the Potions assignment, due tomorrow, that much?” She cocked an eyebrow. 

Well, of course not, James thought. He just wanted to talk to you. “Yeah, thought you could give me some pointers, if you had.”

She shook her head, strolling further down into the Great Hall, avoiding her friends’ mocking stares. “Yes, I’ve finished it, actually. And no, why don’t you ask Remus?” 

“Lost a bet with him. Can’t get any help off him for another two weeks,” admitted James, sighing.

“Well, you’ll have to find someone else, then. Or just…do it yourself?”

James feigned a breaking heart and winced. “You’d do that to me?”

“You’re more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, Potter. Now piss off, I want to eat.”

James stood still.

“Go on!” She shooed. 

This time, he scurried off, obeying his instruction. But when he reached Sirius, Remus and Peter, he was not himself. They could spot it immediately and their eyes honed in on the Y/N across the Hall laughing with her friends. They turned quizzically back to James who was more than happy to reveal the reason behind his altered demeanour.

“She complimented me,” James swelled with pride. “I told you I’d get her to come round.”

Sirius didn’t believe it for an instant. Remus cocked a suspicious eyebrow, and Peter was busy eating his cereal. James looked at the three of his closest friends, the boys he would do anything for, and their disbelieving expressions with disappointment. It was betrayal.

“You’re all dead to me.” 

Remus sighed, putting his novel down. “Now, Prongs, what else did she say?” he probed.

James spluttered, scoffed and waved his hands. What did it matter? She complimented him and she meant it. Everything else was simply besides the point, a mere subtext to the main event. He picked up two slices of toast, buttering them rather aggressively as Sirius and Remus waited for an answer. 

“She told him to “piss off,”” said Peter between mouthfuls. 

James chortled in pure disbelief, almost choking on his first bite of his freshly buttered toast. He quickly looked to Remus and Sirius who hid their smirks rather pathetically. “How did you know that’s what she said?!”

“I didn’t, but that’s what she usually says,” laughed Peter, joined by Sirius and Remus. 

“Just you wait,” James promised.

It had taken nearly six years for James to seize Y/N’s attention. These days she’d actually have a conversation with him, she’d even laugh at the jokes he made just for that very reason. That, and to watch her smile grow. He hadn’t thought much of Y/N in the beginning, considering she was a Slytherin and he was a Gryffindor. But as he grew older, a little wiser, both him and his friends had realised these divisions weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Sure, some Slytherins really were evil, but a lot of them weren’t. Some Ravenclaws were rather dopey, some Gryffindor’s a little too cowardly. 

It didn’t matter to him anymore.

As Remus headed to the library and Peter to the dorms, James chatted with Sirius, bringing up the idea of a prank to shake up the Monday morning to come. Sirius wasn’t so sure, but he could easily be persuaded. They walked through the halls of Hogwarts brainstorming ideas all afternoon, winding through the corridors before finally heading outside to enjoy the June sun. 

“It’s perfect, Padfoot, we just need Moony and Wormtail in on it too.”

“You know them, they’ll be up for it,” winked Sirius, lying back on the patchy grass not far from the Whomping Willow.

James leaned against the trunk of a tree, fiddling with a daisy in his hand as he thought of Y/N, now that his distraction had taken its leave. If only he could make her see he was worth her while. He pulled blades of grass from the soil below, ripping them to shreds as he thought of some way to make her see that she was missing out by not giving him a chance. He could be utterly perfect for her. 

“What are you two doing being so quiet?” Asked Y/N, blocking the sun from Sirius’ face as she stood over him. 

“Relaxing, Y/L/N. You should try it some time, maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight,” remarked Sirius without even opening his eyes. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned to James. “Something on your mind or?” She nodded to the pile of ripped up grass at James’ feet. 

He looked down sheepishly. “No,” he said bluntly, unable to think of an excuse or a sarcastic response to keep the conversation flowing. 

Y/N felt a small pang of embarrassment and went to go on her way. Had she upset him earlier? They always spoke that way to each other, she thought, it was just part of their banter.

James hit his hand to the floor muttering a profanity under his breath as he shot up. He hesitated before going after her. Over the past weeks he struggled to know what to say to her like he used to. For a while he thought he was losing his touch or that something in her manner had changed his own. But she was just as she was before. It was him who had changed.

“Wait up, Y/N!” He shouted. 

Y/N spun around, scrunching her brows together in confusion. As she waited for James to catch up, she wondered what he could have to say to her that he couldn’t have said before when she was clearly making an effort to talk. 

“Sorry about before,” James said, “Don’t know why I just said that.” 

She melted into his apology. “It’s okay. Are you alright?” 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I’m all right. You just caught me thinking, that’s all,” James laughed, taking slow steps with her towards the castle. 

“What were you thinking about?” Asked Y/N. “Not your Potions assignment, surely?” She laughed. 

James laughed too. Merlin, he did love to hear her laugh. “Of course not, I’ll just get an extension for that or something. No, just thinking about what Sirius and I have planned for tomorrow.”

Y/N tensed. She hated that they were always scheming, that he was. “Not another prank?”

James quickly felt himself become defensive, though he wished he could have stopped it. “What’s wrong with that?” He snapped.

Y/N stopped, turning to James. Behind him was the view of the tumbling Scottish hills, shades of green spilling over onto one another, all the way down to the water that shimmered in the sunlight. She leaned over the side of the bridge, and James followed her.

“I just don’t get it, James,” she started. He loved it when she called him by his name, his first name. “School is hard enough, you know? We’re all just trying to make it through to the end when we can finally feel safe enough to be ourselves. For most people, they can’t be themselves here, they’re just trying to fit in so things aren’t so hard. You and your mates make it that much harder for all of us. You always seem to single out the people who just want to be invisible.”

James felt almost as if he was being attacked. She’d never said anything like this before. “You never seemed to mind before,” James grunted. 

“Just because I didn’t say anything doesn’t mean I didn’t have an opinion. Just thought you’d grow out of it, is all,” she shrugged, continuing her slow walk back to the castle. 

So really, this whole time he never stood a chance. She was baiting him? He couldn’t help but take this as a personal attack, as much as he wanted not to do so. “I don’t understand-”

“No, you won’t understand,” sighed Y/N. “I’m not trying to attack you.” 

She traced his thoughts as easily as a well-worn path. 

“I’m just saying I don’t think you realise how harmful your stupid pranks can be for people who already have it hard.”

“They’re just pranks.”

“But they’re not. Publicly humiliating people is not a prank, it’s cruel. Haven’t you ever thought, after all these years, there’s other ways to make people laugh without hurting them?”

James was taken aback. She’d suggested something no one ever had done before. Did he really do this sort of thing just for attention? Sure he liked the way it made him feel, the way people laughed because of something he had done, the way people greeted him in the corridors, knew his name before he had introduced himself. But he hadn’t realised it might have all started because he wanted people to see him. It was just fun, wasn’t it? 

That’s all it was.

But before he had the chance to tell this to Y/N, the person whom he needed to convince, she was gone, thinking perhaps it really was best to keep her distance.

- - -

James had spent days thinking over what Y/N had told him, about the can of worms she had opened inside him. He didn’t go through with the prank he had planned for that Monday morning, and had not thought of following through on any of the ideas the rest of his friends had come up with either. All he could think about was Y/N and what she had said. 

The hours he spent mulling over it had done some damage. Perhaps he was just in it for the way it made him feel, knowing so many people adored him or at least liked him. The way first years knew who he was before any of the professors, the way they looked up to him. The laughter he brought to the school and the swell of pride he felt in hearing it. But after he thought of this with much gratification, he lingered on the other side of it. 

How many people had he left crying in their dorms, frightened to come to class and see him again? He remembered one Slytherin he’d fed vomiting candy to - Merlin, they spewed their guts up all over the classroom. He had never once thought how he would feel if it had happened to him, because his friends would never do that. They were the instigators, not the receivers. He wondered how many students avoided him any chance they could. He wondered at the empty seats next him in the lessons he didn’t share with Sirius or Remus.

It was tedious, he had never had to think of all these repercussions before.

“James, mate, what is wrong with you lately?” Sirius asked, settling into an armchair by the common room fireplace. 

James shook his head, twirling his wand between his fingers, eyes pouring into the fire in front of him. “What if we changed the way we pranked people?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Sirius, waving Remus and Peter over.

- - -

The next morning James enacted his plan. It was elaborate in the way that he had to be up nearly all night with Remus, Sirius and Peter to make sure it worked. He hadn’t really spoken to Y/N much since their conversation nearly a week ago but he was desperate to see her smile. He was desperate to make her smile, in the hopes it would break the tension between them.

Being the reason for her smile made him feel as if he had accomplished something worthwhile. 

The four of them sat in the Great Hall, anxiously eating their breakfast as they waited for it to begin. Sirius was not at all confident - it was so unlike them, so ‘off brand’ as he had described it. Remus, on the other hand, quite liked the idea and was committed to its success. Peter hated it, but didn’t care as long as James stopped dragging through the days - for he had been awfully boring as of late, Peter thought.

James fought to look behind him to the Slytherin table, but at least twice every few minutes he failed. He watched her for as long as she permitted him to - for as long as he went unnoticed. It was Y/N, in fact, that alerted him to the beginning of their stunt. She turned to the doors of the Great Hall as the first of the owls swooped in, dropping various letters at a plethora of tables. 

“I’ve got a howler,” a student gasped from the Hufflepuff table. 

One of their friends consoled them with a pat on the back and a sigh. “Just get it over with.”

The Hufflepuff was about to rip open the sealed letter when another student behind them declared they had received one too. At first, they had imagined it as coincidental bad luck, but there began a chorus of students admitting the same fate. Y/N looked around in confusion as students began to stand and show their respective howlers. And then she knew. Her eyes flickered to James in a silent rage, knowing he had not grasped the gravity of her words, that he had absorbed nothing, and that her words that day had been taken by the wind, scattered amongst the hills of the highlands.

None of the students had opened their howlers as of yet, waiting for the last of them to be delivered from the owls still filtering in and out of the hall. She watched James through the rain of letters, keeping her eyes fixed on him until a letter of her very own fell onto her plate.

As the last owl departed, students began looking around apprehensively at each other, soundlessly deliberating on who would be the first to open their howler or if anyone would open one at all. But it was a Slytherin who opened theirs before anyone else, watching as the letter assumed sentience and hovered in midair. It said nothing, simply popped with a quiet bang and exploded in confetti. The Slytherin watched it, speechless and in shock.

One by one, students began opening their howlers, and the hall was soon filled with low pops and colourful confetti. The coloured pieces of paper hung aloft, painting the bland stone walls in coloured refraction as the sun shone through the tall windows. Y/N watched the scene with a radiant smile that had slowly drawn across her face. Finally, Y/N opened her own howler and watched it pop, exploding with confetti and flowers, floating down from a short distance above her table down over her hair and plate. 

She caught James’ eye across the room, laughing with her friends. She said nothing, mouthed nothing, gave him nothing but a smile. But to James, this was enough. 

They were talking again like they used to, becoming more intimate than they had ever been. Something had shifted within their relationship and James felt the more he learned about her, the harder he began to fall. Y/N felt as if distance from James Potter was the last thing that would make her happy.

He talked to her about music, muggle movies, even books, though he had read very few. They talked about their ambitions, about their favourite foods and hobbies, their favourite ways to spend a sunny afternoon.

“A bunch of people are going down to the Black Lake this Saturday,” Y/N said, looking at James, “Are you going?”

“I might be,” James smirked, “Do you want me to?”

Y/N blushed, shaking her head. “Don’t get too cocky, Potter.”

Yes, James thought, she wanted him to. Good.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he said softly.

“Good.”

James felt his stomach churn as a warm rush swirled through his body. His heart beat with such ferocity at the mere notion of Y/N wanting to be near him. He was both intoxicated and exhilarated from the mere presence of her. How he yearned for Y/N. If only he could prove himself to be worthy of her. He knew she would only bring out the best in him, he knew she would open his eyes to new ways of living which before, he could but dream of. 

James knew he needed her, he just wished she wanted him.

- - -

He could not wait another minute to head down to Black Lake. She was probably already there, and he was losing precious minutes. There were simply not enough seconds in the day for him to admire Y/N the way she deserved to be admired. He rushed with heat in his cheeks and warmth in his heart to the lake, his friends flagging behind. He saw her from a distance, lounging on a picnic blanket with her friends, a nearby tree providing them with shade, though the both of them sat in the sunlight that everyone knew was not to last in Scotland and must be taken advantage of. 

He felt his heart pumping the blood through his body. She looked truly beautiful. 

“James is staring at you,” Y/N’s friend teased. 

“Good,” she laughed. 

The sun shone through him, she could see his beauty even from this far. Though she knew the moment she woke up that this was going to be a good day, and that she was happy in the friends she had and the life that she had built, she didn’t really feel happiness until she saw James. Yes she was happy, but he made her feel so.

“He’s coming over,” her friend hissed in excitement.

“All right, Y/N?” Asked James, strolling over to their designated tree. 

“Just fine, Potter. You’re here a bit late, you know? All the good trees have gone.”

James laughed, looking around. “Shame. Wonder if anyone would be willing to share.” 

Y/N looked around at the many students that had flocked to the lake to enjoy the sun. They were all in their own worlds, enjoying their own days. “Doesn’t look likely.”

Y/N enjoyed the moments that led up to what she wanted. “Oh, you mean you want to share with us?” Y/N looked toward her friend who only rolled her eyes. 

She had given prior permission had James acted out this very scenario.

“I suppose you can share with us, if you have to.”

“My goodness, Y/N, how kind of you,” James bowed in thanks, eliciting a small chuckle from her. 

He waved his friends over and settled next to Y/N and her friend beside their tree. James sat nearest to Y/N. He stared at the side of her face, the way her neck accentuated when she turned her head, the way her cheeks plumped when she smiled. 

After nearly an hour chatting amongst themselves, Sirius and Peter left to walk down to the shore. The two of them were complaining of the heat and fancied a cool down. Soon after, Remus offered Y/N’s friend to join him in dipping his feet in the shallow shoreline. She obliged his request, winking at Y/N before she left.

Her cheeks flushed as she waved her off dismissively. 

“And then there were two,” laughed James. 

Y/N laughed too, turning to really focus all her attention on him for the first time since he had joined them nearly an hour ago. James suddenly felt under a spotlight, it was as if perfection was asking for him to imitate her to his greatest ability, and yet he knew he was to fall short. 

“Err, I- You look nice,” James stuttered.

It was amusing to see him this way, but she almost took pity. “Thanks,” laughed Y/N. 

She put him at ease, just the way she looked at him as she always did. He fell into his usual rhythm, chatting and teasing and joking with her. He felt more connected to her than he ever had been. He shifted closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. It ignited her with such an intensity she couldn’t help but shift uneasily, fiddling with her fingers and breathing a little more unevenly than before. James could think of nothing more natural to do at this moment. And as it so happened, there was nothing he longed for more than this.

He leaned in, breath hitching as he caught the scent of her perfume she’d applied hours before in the early morning. He watched the fine hairs on her neck stand up on end. As his eyes flickered to hers he realised her gaze had softened, her pupils wide, anticipating his next move. 

“James!” Sirius called from the water. “He’s gonna kill me!”

Upon hearing his name James turned to its origin. Peter was waterboarding Sirius. 

“Fuck,” he breathed under his breath. 

Y/N had already been snapped from her reverie, and was laughing awkwardly as Sirius flailed around in the water. James, though extremely disappointed, laughed along with her before dragging himself up and heading to the shoreline. 

The moment was lost.

Y/N watched intently as James stripped his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, for he had not thought he would be entering the water that day. He preferred staying dry. With her mouth agape, Y/N examined the grooves of his body and the way his skin stretched over his toned muscles. How she wished they hadn't been interrupted. It felt as if she had waited a lifetime to embrace James - there was always something in their way.

More often than not, it was James himself.

James launched himself in the water, coming up for air and sweeping his sopping hair back. After a few moments of tearing his friends apart, Y/N watched the three of them discuss something. She instantly became nervous, but checked herself and calmed down, believing James to have taken her advice on board. But as she watched the three of them lift their wands, she couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat.

Sprinkles and spirals of water danced above the students in the lake, forming creative and pretty shapes, conjured by James and his friends. While everyone was distracted by the shimmering water droplets playing a scene in front of them, none of them noticed the series of waves headed towards the body of students. 

In an unrelenting sequence, towering waves crashed the shallow end of the lake, filling it almost to neck height. Students screamed and laughed, swimming to safety. Some chuckled in annoyance, some in good humour. There were few who cursed James out and others who scurried away in a quiet rage. But Y/N, with her heart pounding and legs carrying her faster than they ever had before, was screaming in terror. 

“Stop! Stop!” 

She forced herself into the water, sinking below the surface, swimming with such purpose. James had not noticed her yet, too caught up in the heat of the moment with his friends, taking pleasure in their antics. It was Remus who first caught a glimpse of Y/N waving frantically before launching herself back under the water, seemingly searching for something. 

“James! Stop!” She pleaded.

Y/N searched desperately for the Slytherin girl. Desperately in fear. Finally, with one more piercing scream for James to stop what he was doing, he heard her, and put a stop to the incoming waves in an instant. Y/N looked around the water, searching and searching for signs of movement as the height of the lake slowly decreased and returned to normal. 

A hand reached above the surface, silently pleading for some sort of relief. Y/N rushed forward, grabbing her with such a force, pulling her to the surface. The poor girl coughed and spluttered, accumulating as much as oxygen as she could in a single breath. 

James and the others rushed towards her, helping Y/N drag her out of the water. Though the girl clung to Y/N as she reached safety, she left her in the capable hands of her friend. 

"Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

“What is wrong with you? She can’t swim!” bellowed Y/N. 

She threw her hands to her head, shaking it in shock and disbelief, trembling with adrenaline and fury. She really thought James was susceptible to change. “I thought you were done with this sort of shit, James. She could have died! She could’ve-”

Oh, but it didn’t matter. What was the point of screaming when it all fell to deaf ears? Sometimes people weren't meant to intertwine.

But still she felt so disappointed in someone she saw such capability, such potential in, that she thought she could cry there at that very moment in front of everyone. The moment she felt as if he really was lost to her.

“This is over, Potter.”

- - -

James had not been himself for weeks. 

He could not forgive himself for what he had done - to the girl, to Y/N, to himself. He cursed that day as his undoing. He was unkempt, uncaring and could think of nothing but Y/N, though now she would not even grace him with a look. He had never seen someone so disappointed in him, had never cared for others disappointment in him. He had never learned the type of humility that came with adhering to the expectations of those who esteemed him. 

He had never wanted to.

He enjoyed where being selfish got him. At first, Sirius tried to persuade him that James shouldn’t want Y/N to change him anyway, that he shouldn’t have to, just for some girl. And he was right, he shouldn’t have to change. He didn’t want to change. He wanted to be better, for her. But at the same time, he didn’t want to lose what made himself James Potter.

Pranks had become the way in which James expressed himself. And it was the only way he knew how to communicate with Y/N now. 

After weeks of self pity and wallowing, James pulled himself together, more determined than ever before. This wasn’t about a feeling he wished to maintain, about a popularity he desired to be upheld. It was about admitting he was wrong and that he could do better.

He started off slow, cautious. He knew this was important to win back her trust. He started by pretending to be McGonagall’s secret admirer - flowers, chocolates and love letters written on her black board all causing sniggers in class whenever it was brought up. Harmless fun.

Then he moved onto bigger things. 

James managed to steal a few personal items of some fellow students. A pair of shoes, a quill, a textbook. When people finally began to realise, James announced at dinner that he had hidden these personal items and would offer a Galleon to all those who managed to locate the whereabouts of their personal belongings. If they did not succeed in the next twenty four hours, they were not to fear, James would return them all safe and sound. 

James’ efforts had not escaped Y/N’s notice, not in the least. She wished beyond anything it could be enough to fix what he had broken, to mend what he had handled so carelessly. She had almost resigned herself to the notion they didn't belong, but a glimmer of hope kept her awake during the nights, hoping she might be wrong after all.

She could feel him watching her, gauging to see whether her feelings toward him were changing. She kept her cards close to her chest, and gave nothing away, hoping James would not see through her carefully constructed shield. 

While she valued his efforts, it was not enough. She still felt as if she had overstepped her boundaries and that she should have left well enough alone. Besides, she couldn’t begin to trust him again until he did the unthinkable. 

“Apologise?!” James scoffed. 

“It’s a completely logical solution!” Remus retorted. 

“I know! Don’t you think I haven’t thought of that? But I- I can’t. I wouldn’t know what to say,” James sighed and shook his head. 

He’d never had to apologise above more than a quick, half-hearted “sorry, mate” with a slap on the back and a swift moving on. He didn’t know how to truly convey his feelings into an apology, how to make it sound like he meant it. 

“All you’ve been talking about is making it right with her,” Remus reminded him. “This is your chance.” 

James knew he was right, but this did not take away from the fact he still did not know how. 

- - -

Y/N had been trying to study for three hours now, but was always distracted by something outside the castle walls or some sound within the library. She couldn’t concentrate, she could think of nothing else but how much she wished James could understand or at least show that he was trying. But, as violently as she craved this, she didn’t want to force some kind of change on him and end up being resented for it in the end. 

She shouldn’t have to change someone in order for them to fit her standards. And James shouldn't feel obliged to change for her either.

If she wanted him to change at all, it was only to see him succeed.

Change. So complicated, so understudied. What did it mean to change? What really was it, at its core? What did it mean to her, to James, to love and to hate? How closely and blurred the lines of love, hate, desire, and resentment really were.

For another hour she tried to write notes on the theory of Charms. In the end, Y/N thought, she just wanted to talk to him, to hear his thoughts and listen. Even if nothing came from it, she yearned for some sort of closure. At least then, she might be able to move on.  Nonetheless she pushed James to the sidelines, pushing that small sliver of hope down into the depths of her memory.

Meanwhile, James was pacing the Gryffindor common room. Everything sounded wrong, fake and disingenuous. Regardless, James began to search the grounds of Hogwarts for his target, practicing some sort of speech in his head as he did so.

“Y/N?” Someone pulled her from her day dream. 

James himself. 

“Oh, hey.” 

“Can we talk? Can I talk?” James asked. 

Y/N nodded to the seat in front of her. She closed her textbook and waited for what he had to say. 

“Look, I’ve always been a bit…selfish, a bit shallow. Never really thought to be anything else ‘cause everything’s always worked out for me the way I wanted it to,” he began. “I-” James shook his head. This was pointless. 

“Fuck. Okay, I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what happened. Not just because it upset you and it might have ruined my chances, but I’m sorry about the girl and for what I did to her. I’ve already set things right in that respect and don’t get me wrong, it felt good to do that, but I’ll never be right until I fix things with you. Or at least try to,” he explained, rambling. “I don’t want you to feel as if you’ve changed me or that I have to change for you, I don’t think that’s how it should work. But since I’ve gotten to know you I’ve wanted to be better and I have been. I like the way you make me feel, I’ve liked the way I’ve felt from doing things differently. Merlin, anyway, now I feel stupid. I’m just sorry.” 

Y/N listened without judgement, without interruption. She thought for a moment, letting James absorb the silence. He was certainly going lengths to make amends, and she appreciated his candor, his efforts. She couldn’t help a small smile perch upon her lips as she looked over at James, so sullen. What she was afraid of was not coming to fruition.

The person she desired could still be hers if she wanted him to be.

“Thank you,” she smiled. 

James lit up. “You forgive me?” He asked. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think too. I think it was unfair of me to put those kind of standards on you. And I don’t think it was your intention, for once, to hurt anybody that day. It was reckless but it wasn’t malicious. Yeah, I forgive you.” 

“Thank Merlin,” James let out a sigh of relief and he knew he could put his final plan into action. Something he had been planning since the day he met her, he just didn’t know it. "By the way, you didn't force anything on me. I didn't change for you, but you showed me the person I could be and I liked the way he looked."

Y/N didn't know what to say, only smiled softly.

“I um-” James rubbed the back of his head. “I missed chatting with you.” He could actually feel the heat burning in his cheeks. 

“Me too, Potter.” 

She felt the familiar feelings she had for James bubble to the surface once more. She was no longer concerned with keeping them in check. So easy it was for James to earn her forgiveness.

- - -

Y/N saw James again the next day at breakfast, just as she was finishing up. She headed over to his table, greeting his friends before asking if she could sit. 

James found this a little odd, she’d never bothered with his mates before. 

“All right?” James asked, playing it cool. He didn’t want to embarrass her, whatever she was doing. 

“Yeah, thanks. So listen, my friend is throwing a small party tonight down by the Forbidden Forest. I know, I know, probably a bad idea but there’s a few people going, not just Slytherins,” Y/N eyed the four of them. “She said we could invite people, so I wondered if you guys might like to go?” 

Remus and Sirius smirked at each other knowingly, while Peter eagerly accepted her invitation. James stared at her, a brilliant smile adorning his features. 

Merlin, she was beautiful. And she wanted to spend quality time with him.

“Yeah, we’d love to go,” James answered for the rest of the group. 

James spent the rest of his day deciding what he should wear and thinking about the possibilities this party could present. Down by the Forbidden Forest, Y/N drenched in firelight. His mind swam amongst the potential. 

“Ready to go, Prongs?” asked Remus. 

James nodded, flicking the collar of his jacket up. He was as ready as he’d ever be.

Y/N waited by the fire, eyeing the direction of the castle, keeping her eyes fixed to the last piece of land the fire illuminated. She’d been waiting a mere ten minutes but it felt like an age. Where was he? 

She didn’t quite know why she had been so bold as to invite him and his friends to this party. She wasn’t sure what she thought it would achieve, if it would achieve anything. What she knew was that she liked the way James made her feel, she liked that she felt important to him.  

“Can you chill out? Have a beer or something,” her friend offered her a freshly opened bottle.

Y/N took it off her hands and took a swig, turning from the empty abyss ahead and instead focussed on the party. Her friends were already a few beers down by the time she had arrived; she had a little catching up to do. 

Meanwhile James had taken a shot of firewhiskey on the way down as liquid courage. Sirius was patting him hard on the back, hoping this would somehow help the spluttering that followed his single shot. 

“Wimp,” Remus sighed. 

“Fuck of, Moony.” 

Remus shook his head in disappointment, taking a swig of firewhiskey straight from the bottle and moving onwards towards the Dark Forest. Peter caught up with him, asking for a drink, but Remus only laughed. 

James recollected himself, smoothing down his hair and flicking the collar of his jacket up once more, ignoring the burning in his stomach. He continued down the hill to the Dark Forest, seeking the light of a blazing fire until finally, he saw a flicker of orange in the distance. There, Y/N would be waiting. 

“Why do you even bother with Potter?” Asked her friend. 

“I don’t know. There’s more to him.” 

“There’s not much more, lad’s a kiddy pool.” 

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” 

“Whatever,” her friend laughed. “If you’re hung up on him, then I’ll support you.” 

“Hung up on who?” asked James, approaching. 

Y/N smacked her friend’s arm, she’d done that on purpose. “No one!” Y/N lied, turning to face James. 

He looked…nice. 

James let it go. “All right?” 

Y/N nodded. “I’m a couple bottles down, so yeah, I’m pretty good,” she laughed. “Want a drink?” 

“I’d love one.” 

James and Y/N all but abandoned the party for each other’s company. They talked more than they had for quite a few weeks. James was elated with how easily they fell back into rhythm. It was so easy to talk to her, he felt he could reveal his deepest secrets without even knowing he’d done so, even if she hadn’t asked. But, he didn’t really have any. He was, for the most part, an open book. 

And this is what Y/N liked. James was all on the surface. And because of this, sometimes it was hard to see who he was, because he laid it all out on the table, everything mingled together, everything messy and unorganised. One really had to look at James to understand him. 

But she read him like he was a language only she knew how to translate. 

The embers of the fire still burned hot, but the fire itself had long fizzled out. The cold summer air nipped at Y/N’s skin, and James could see the shivers trembling through her body. Most had returned to their dorms, but there were the odd few still sitting around the fire, chatting with their friends. 

“Here,” James wrapped his jacket around Y/N’s arms. 

She shifted closer to him as he wrapped his coat around her, looking up at his flushed cheeks and messy hair. He looked like someone she could love. Y/N had been waiting at a crossroad, stoic in this stillness as she waited. James, sometimes lost in the detours, had finally reached her. This moment had been building to its peak for an age.

“Y/N-” but he was brutally interrupted.

“Filch!” 

Everyone scattered. James took Y/N’s hand and led her behind a tree on the edge of the Forest away from the light of the fire and safe from Filch’s wandering eyes. He’d no idea where his friends had gone, and Y/N had no idea where hers were either. What she was agonisingly aware of, was that James had pushed her against a tree, watching the surrounding areas for any movement. He hadn’t realised how close to her he was. But she had. 

She felt James’s entire body flush against hers. His hand wrapped around her wrist, his neck pulsing with concern. The snap of a twig sounded in nearby proximity, and James instinctively brought his hand to Y/N’s mouth, silencing the gasp he knew was about to pierce the silence and alert someone as to their whereabouts.

Y/N felt her blood pumping in her veins, the heat rising to her face, her heart pounding in her chest.  She wanted him.

“Prongs? Is that you?” Someone whispered. 

James seemed to know what this meant, and responded with a low ‘yes.’ 

The marauders and Y/N snuck their way back into the castle without being caught and James left the rest of his friends to escort Y/N back to her common room. She thanked him at the door, finally letting go of his hand that she had been clasping ever since they had been hiding in the Forest. 

James wished he could have kissed her then, but he let her close the door behind her, and walked away with a quiet ‘good night.’ 

The next morning however, he spurred his plan into action. He spoke to people he never thought he’d have to, and never wanted to again. But it was worth it for the outcome he was hoping for.  

He knew this was to be his most elaborate “prank” yet. And if it was successful, it would be his most rewarding. 

The weekend could not come fast enough. Throughout the week he and Y/N shared lingering looks, caught each other staring from across the classroom, passed stupid doodles, laughed at cheesy jokes and pick-up lines that James had learnt from Sirius. He sat in the library with her while she studied; he watched, mostly.

And while the week had been one of the best he’d had so far, he couldn’t help but wish for it to go faster. And when Saturday morning finally arrived, he was more than ready. 

Y/N woke early in the morning, preparing for a day of studying, again. She showered quickly, got dressed and headed out of her common room for the Great Hall. 

“Hi Y/N,” her friend greeted, handing her a rose. 

“Uh, what’s this?” she asked. 

“A flower? Are you stupid?” 

“Bite me,” she chuckled. “Thanks?” 

But she only smiled and walked away. Odd. 

She carried on her way, heading up the great staircase, happening upon no one else until she reached the top. 

The Slytherin girl said nothing, simply handed her another rose and scurried off. Y/N stood dumbfounded for a moment, looking at the two roses in her hand before shrugging it off and walking onwards. People are weird, so what? 

When she reached the Great Hall doors, one of her Ravenclaw classmates called out to her. 

“Wait up!” He called, holding out a rose for her when he caught up. 

“What the Hell? Are you asking me out or something?” 

“No,” he sniggered. 

Y/N took the rose and watched him walk off, more confused than ever. She almost wanted to turn back to her common room and stay there for the rest of the day, safe where no one could find her. Something was off. 

But upon hearing her stomach growl, she braved the Great Hall and entered cautiously. Big mistake. Before she even got to her table, she’d received three more roses, practically holding a bouquet now. She just couldn’t understand this. Was there some kind of holiday she didn’t know about? 

Quickly shoveling down two pieces of toast, Y/N took herself and her roses out of the Great Hall and all but ran to the library where she could study in peace. But on her way she encountered two more people with two more roses. She couldn’t take this anymore, what was going on? 

It wasn’t until she saw Remus, Sirius and Peter standing at the doors in the library, a rose in each of their hands, that she realised this was all a joke, a mindfully constructed prank. She couldn’t help the smile that rose to her lips as she neared the boys. Accepting each of their roses, she thanked them. Following her thanks, they each outstretched their arms, inviting her inside where James awaited. 

Rose petals adorned the library floor, all the way to the aisle she had been studying in for weeks now. There, upon the desk that was wedged between the bookshelves, was a bouquet of roses. And James. 

He smiled effortlessly, a single rose in hand. 

“Hey,” she laughed in disbelief. 

“Hello, Y/N,” James smiled. 

“How’d you pull this off?” She asked, in awe of his efforts for her affection. 

“Doesn’t matter, love. What matters is whether you will agree to go on a date with me,” he said, handing her the last rose as an offering. 

“Where?” 

“That’s for you to find out, if you accept.” 

Y/N laughed, giving into her instincts. She wrapped her arms around James’ neck, inhaling his scent, feeling his skin against her face, his arms holding her, running up her back. 

“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes, holding him tighter, relishing in the feeling of finally having him.

Such relief. Y/N felt her new peace, her home wrapped in skin and flesh and a heartbeat. James.

She could feel him pulling away from this embrace, and she loosened her grip to look at him. His eyes were hooded, taking all of her in. 

“Finally,” he laughed, connecting his lips with hers in a fiery embrace that set their bones on fire.

tags 🏷️: @foolexby

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[zevrra]

𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: the last thing you had expected in your years of peace was to see a ghost from your past; joel miller. a man you had known years ago, who had left you years ago, and one you had tried your hardest to avoid since you ended up in jackson. but none of that mattered now when he shows up on your doorstep with a pale face and a wounded leg.

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

𝐟𝐭: jackson!joel x ex-gf!reader

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: mdni, one shot, angst, hurt/comfort, tw blood, tw injuries, tw needles, ex established relationship, slight age gap, medic!reader, eventual fluff, mentions of joel being a smuggler, joel is on the verge of tears in this, he’s a lil insecure if you squint.

𝐚/𝐧: this probably isn’t any good but i couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head AAA

“H-hey, uh, can I come in?” Joel half ass chuckles before sucking in a breath from the pain, leaning against your door to support himself. 

You quickly glance over the pale man, immediately catching the scarlet staining his pants from what you assume is a pretty deep wound. And in your heart you know you’ll never turn him away but dammit if you don’t consider closing the door, stepping away, and leaving him this time. But you couldn’t. No matter what, he was still Joel, and you couldn’t leave him to die. 

“This way. Just try not to get blood…everywhere.” You say with a roll of your eyes before moving to his side, taking up one of his arms and laying it across your shoulder and guiding him into your home. You carry him off towards the bathroom, the cleanest place you can think of, settling him down on the edge of the tub. “Take off your stuff.” 

“Not gonna help?” Joel teases but the look you give him shuts him up, for the moment. He begins to strip to the best of his ability while you rummage under the sink for your damn first aid kit. Finding it right about the same time he’s attempting to shed his durable jacket. 

You set the first aid kit on the closest ledge to the bathtub before begrudgingly helping Joel out of his clothes. You toss his brown durable jacket onto the floor behind you before your fingers head straight for the buckle on his belt. You twist and turn it, like you’ve done…far too many times, before discarding it along with his coat. Your nimble fingers quickly work on his jeans next; using your own knee for support as you strip him of his stained jeans, finally allowing you a decent look at what he’s gotten himself into.

“Shit…” You swear under your breath, slightly turning his badly wounded leg to the side, just to see how far the knife wound goes. 

Joel laughs though, despite the circumstances. “That bad, huh?” He groans at the first press of your fingers, sucking in another sharp painful breath.

You don’t answer him, ignoring him for the moment as you continue to look at the wound. Blood bubbles under your examination and you needed something to stop the bleeding an hour ago. You move back to the bathroom sink, grabbing a towel and drenching it in the warmest water you can manage before moving back to the battered man. You press the soaked towel into his wound as hard as you can, fishing for another towel at your feet and handing it to him. “You know what to do with that.” 

Joel takes the towel you offer him, wrapping it around the thicker part of his thigh, right above the wound, and ties it tight around his leg; a late attempt to stop the bleeding while you work your magic. “Damn hunter,” Joel grunts through the pain, tightening the towel with every word. “Didn’t see him. Caught me on my way back to town.” 

You weren’t that interested in how he got to this point. Knowing what happened would just make your fingers tremble and your heart hurt. So you try your best not to indulge him. “You’re just getting old.” You mutter back before you press hard into the wound, your other hand rummaging with the lid of the first aid kit beside you. You retrieve a thin needle and the sutures needed for stitching the wound, nodding your head for Joel to replace your hand with his as you attempt to thread the needle as quickly as you can.

Joel starts to chuckle but the pain spreading across his thigh has him trailing off into a groan. Once successfully threading the needle, you return to your work, peeling off your now ruined towel from Joel’s wound. 

“You know I was, uh, never…good with words,” Joel frets, picking at something invisible under his nails. Dull and dim from years of working with his hands. “But uh…thank you. For this.” 

“Yeah, you made that a little too obvious, Joel.” You hum back, hoping to hurt him as much as his knife wound did, before continuing to work on the task at hand. Your fingers trail along his inner thigh, smoothing over the edge of his wound, sizing it up once more. “Now, no more moving. Or talking.” You add before placing the needle on some clean gauze, reaching for alcohol to sterilize the wound and the needle. 

Silence falls between the two of you, allowing you to focus entirely on fixing him up. With a deep breath, you steady your hands before pressing the tip of the needle directly into his skin. You move skillfully, having also done this a time or two, pushing the needle in, stitching it across, threading it back down to tightly seal the wound. You keep your gaze locked on the work you do. Watching every press of the needle and the sutures that follows suit. You may be upset about some other old wounds of your own opening up— but at least Joel wouldn’t die to this one; not this time. 

“Just like…old times, huh?” He says through gritted teeth, tossing his head back when you press the needle through his skin.

You exhale an annoyed huff through your nose at his statement. Trying your damned best to quickly do the rest of the stitching needed to keep him from bleeding out everywhere. You didn’t want to linger too long anyway.  “Heh, yeah, before you left me in the middle of the night, right?” You say, biting your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. No, you couldn't break down crying…not right now, not in front of him.

After what feels like maybe forever, with just a few more twists of your needle, you’ve managed to completely sew up his knife wound. Quickly, you knot the edge of the thread as tight as you can, clipping the suture with a pair of metal scissors before tossing the entire kit back into its box. With a slam of the lid, you forcibly close it, turning to put the first aid kit back where it rightfully belongs— for next time. Why you would ever hope there was a next time…you didn’t know. Didn’t really need to get your hopes up. 

What you needed was a fucking drink. 

“You’re still angry at me.” Joel weakly says, clearing his throat in an attempt to try and not make everything so damn awkward…it obviously wasn’t working. 

In that moment, everything comes back to you in a rush. The feelings, the sleepless nights, the tears you shed…everything rushes up like a punch to the gut; knocking the air from your very lungs. “Dammit Joel!” You yell, turning on your heel to stare him down, unable to stop the tears from forming this time. “Of course I’m still angry! I spent months waiting on…fucking anything from you! You left me in a world full of shit!” You choke out, picking up his coat and throwing it at him with as much force as you can manage. It almost pisses you off more that he easily catches it without so much as a flinch. Your next target is the bloodied towel as you pick it up with a tight grip.

And you think the silence that stretches for mere seconds right then and there was going to be the end of it…but your thoughts just keep spilling out. 

“You would rather throw your life away than tell me goodbye! You didn’t care if you died tomorrow while I sat waiting, hoping, praying for your god forsaken safe return.” You cry out, pointing an accusing finger his way. “But what hurts the most, damn you, is that I could never stay angry at you! I knew you had your reasons! Knew in my heart I…I would always forgive you!” You finally snap, slamming down the blood soaked rag into your sink. You turn away from him once more, tension lining every inch of the muscles in your shoulders as you grip the edge of your bathroom sink for any semblance of balance. You wished you could keep going, to yell at him some more to make up for all the lost time the two of you had but your words are quickly replaced with broken sobs and hot tears streaming down your face. 

The silence, once welcomed, is now suffocating. The only sound echoing inside the room was that of your pathetic sobs. You think for a split second that maybe he’s going to just gather his things and leave you, to flee into the night, never to be seen again…but instead of listening to him run away, you feel a shaky hand press into the small of your back. 

Joel stands beside you, hazel gaze full of sadness and worry as he looks down at you. He leans heavily against the vanity, trying his best to keep up off his hurt leg for the moment. 

“I’m…an idiot. And sorry.” Joel whispers as he retrieves his hand from your back, moving it to caress the side of your face— and like a fool, you let him. “I can’t apologize enough. I just…dammit, I was scared. I’m not a good man, darlin’. I was a smuggler back then and was…terrified you might end up hurt because of it. I’ve lost too fuckin’ much. I couldn’t…lose you too.” He admits with a weak tone. 

If anything, at least you knew he was genuine about the entire thing; you truly had never seen such a vulnerable state out of Joel before. It was evident that the years had changed him; and you. 

“So you just left?” You ask with that wobble to your lip, tears still streaming down your face. 

Joel frowns, swallowing a lump in his throat, as his thumb moves to brush along the trails of tears left behind on your pretty face. “Yeah, I left. It was wrong. And I’m…a fuckin’ coward for it but I was fallin’ for ya, too hard and too fast and it scared me.” 

You want to say something, to stop him from speaking, but all you can manage is a whine followed by a sniffle. With the back of your free hand, you wipe across one of your tear filled eyes, trying to return to your previous cold-like state. 

But before you can, Joel with his other hand, catches your own in a firm grasp. His fingers press gently into the cup of your palm, smoothing along your soft skin while butterflies dance in your stomach. He brings the back of your hand up to the curl of his lips, placing a gentle but forgiving kiss against your skin. You watch his eyes fall close for just a split second, as if he’s gathering the strength to continue. “You may never be able to forgive me for that and…and…I’m so sorry.” He mumbles apologetically. He was never able to find the right words so all he could muster was to apologize. And he would, until his very last breath. 

Now you really can’t find the words to respond to him. Cotton in your mouth, choking you, keeping you from further speaking your mind. 

He takes your silence as an answer though. 

He coughs slightly, clearing away the pain that lingers in his own chest. “I’ll leave and this time…uh, I’ll stay gone.” Joel finally says, promising to never return. Didn’t want to hurt you more than he already has. 

And yet, he lingers letting go of you. His warm hand catches one more tear from your reddening eyes before he slowly begins to slip his hand from your face. Sculpting you— as if he wanted his hands and his heart to never forget you, if this was to be the last time he ever saw you. So when his hands finally fall away, untangling entirely from you, it feels like the weight of the world slams into your chest. You watch as he stumbles back to the edge of the tub, fishing after his stained jeans. 

Time slows as your gaze follows him. You watch him move sluggishly towards his clothes littering your bathroom floor. You imagine him leaving, for good, this time, limping his way back to his little corner of Jackson, leaving you, avoiding you for the rest of your numbered days, never to see each other again…and that thought hurts more than anything.

You were not losing him a second time. 

You reach out for him. A firm hand stretches out quickly and you grip around the thick of his bicep; stopping him in his quest for his clothes. Tears spring free once more before you can stop them, and now it’s your turn to caress his confused face. You shake your head and thankfully, without any words, Joel seems to know exactly what you mean. His hand slips over your own, tangling his fingers into yours once more, while his other hand returns to press flush into your back. He moves like a man not wounded as he sweeps you up into him; closer and closer, he needs your body against his far more than he needs anything else. Pain, to be forgotten, as his lips crash into yours. He kisses you, full of longing and passion and need and all sorts of want. As if he had been waiting for ages to get the chance to kiss you once more. 

A sob slips from your lips and into his own but you kiss him back nonetheless. He gently squeezes your hand as you reciprocate his yearning, kissing you deeper and you accept it all. Falling into a perfect rhythm, as if you two had never parted in the first place. Twisting and turning, stitched together, made to fit perfectly for each other. 

You’d never admit how many nights you had lied awake, hoping for another moment like this with him. Never once had you sought out someone to fill the hole he had left. There was never going to be anyone else— it was always going to be him, and deep down you knew that from the moment you two had met. 

You’re the first to break from the kiss. Sucking in a sharp breath, tilting your head down and away from him for the moment. A laugh bubbles in your throat but it never comes out, so Joel oddly laughs for the both of you. 

“I don’t deserve this.” He admits, shaking his head in disbelief. As if he truly cannot grasp that whatever this was, that it was happening. 

“Maybe so,” You respond, finally clearing your throat of every obstacle from before. “You’ll just have to do a really damn good job of making it up to me.”

“I’d…like that. To make it up to ya.” He echoes your request, brushing his thumb once more across the high of your cheekbone, collecting any tears that he possibly could. His gaze is softer than you had ever seen it before; even when it had just been the two of you, surviving in Boston. Regret, sorrow, and love in those damned hazel eyes of his as he looks so sweetly at you. “I wrote…letters. Tried to, anyway, was just never good at words.” Joel chuckles, restating at how bad he truly was with words…and his feelings. That much was obvious, again.

This time, you finally manage to laugh along with him. “Mhm, tomorrow, I’d really like to read them.”