myprettylittlemind3

[myprettylittlemind3]

Tangerine x best friend fem!reader

Summary: When you're teased by your friends for your inexperience sexually, you ask Tangerine to show you what you've been missing.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: university age!Tangerine, innocent!reader, experienced!Tangerine, protective!Tangerine, reader's friends aren't good friends, teasing, slut-shaming/virgin-shaming, intoxication, p in v, protected sex, cockwarming, dry humping, lovey dovey sex

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

The music is so loud that the walls feel like they're shaking when you walk into the pub. Inside, the air is thick, and it smells like sweat and beer. You have never liked the pub near your University, it was gross and loud—just like now.

However, your friends insisted that you couldn't spend your Saturday evening in your dorm, hidden away, like you usually do. So you'd come along, and when you see a familiar figure in the back near the pool table, your mood lightens. 

"Tan is here," you lean in to whisper to your friend, Mary. Mary spins around and looks where you're pointing, and she grins. 

"Oi!" She calls louder over the noise, waving her arms until Tangerine and his friends see her. The group makes their way over just as your other friend, Carmen, returns with three shots she'd managed to order in the few minutes you've all arrived. You can't exactly blame the young bartender for letting her skip the line, not when Carmen probably tossed her shiny blond hair over her shoulder and gave him a glossy-pink smile. 

"Hi boys," she smiles and hands you and Mary the shots. Tangerine's friends smile back at her, their boy-ish grins leering, but Tangerine is only looking at you. He moves closer until you're both pressed against the wall a little outside the circle of friends that has formed, his shoulder brushing against yours.

"What'cha doin' out at," Tangerine checks his watch teasingly, "11 pm? Don't ya have a good book ya wanna read?" 

You smile up at him, still holding the shot, and narrow your gaze playfully. "I don't always stay in like a loser, y'know." 

"Could've fooled me." 

Tangerine is the only person you've known longer than University. You went to the same secondary school, and you were neighbors with him and his brother up until they went to a new Foster family in sixth grade. Still, you stayed close friends with them.

"And you aren't a loser. Yer just a little weird," he adds, tugging on a strand of hair that frames your face, and your stomach flips in a way that only he has ever managed to elicit. He's smiling warmly as he looks at the shot you haven't taken. He knows you, so he knows you won't drink it, and he takes it and outstretches his arm, hitting one of his friends in the stomach. The guy grunts but happily drinks the liquor, laughing. 

"Hey, that was mine."

"You weren't gonna drink it, and I'm the designated driver," Tangerine points out, still wearing that infuriating smirk. "Louis over here isn't driving." Tangerine looks at his friend, who is clearly moving from tipsy to drunk, and even hefrowns a little. "Oops, well, I'll cut him off soon." 

"You're so bossy," you laugh, smiling. Suddenly, the bar doesn't seem so loud or gross anymore because your attention is only on him.

"I'm just sayin'." 

"Y'know who probably does that all the time," a voice interrupts your peaceful moment with Tangerine. The group has now turned their attention to both of you, and you and Tangerine twist your bodies so you're looking at them. 

They're all looking at you. 

Mary is leaning against one of Tangerine's roommates, Adrien, and she's grinning behind her hand. Oscar, Tangerine's second roommate, and another boy you don't know are hanging around Carmen and she's clearly the one who made the statement. 

"Yeah, she seems like she'd like it," The unknown boy smirks, causing Carmen to giggle drunkenly. Your stomach sinks, and you feel like they're laughing at you and not knowing why is making it a thousand times worse. 

You can feel Tangerine tense beside you. 

"Like what?" You ask, feeling your cheeks become warmer. 

"Cockwarming," Carmen adds, and more laughter erupts. If your cheeks had been warm before, they're on fire now. You aren't the most experienced sexually, and you know Carmen and Mary, especially Mary, know this. You look at her, and Mary looks a little sheepish, but she's still laughing. 

"Guys," Tangerine warns, clearly not finding this conversation amusing in the slightest. 

"Oh, relax, Tan," Carmen waves her manicured hand at him, using the nickname Tangerine only likes when it comes from you, and he frowns.

Oscar wraps his arm around Carmen's waist, rubbing her side with his thumb. "We're only teasing her because we know she's never done anything like that," she adds.

Your ears feel like there's cotton in them, but you can't help asking what cockwarming is. If you showed interest, perhaps they'd stop teasing you. Your question only makes the group's laughter louder, and Carmen covers her mouth, her gaze darker. "See, what did I tell you?" She turns towards the other boys, "She acts like she's a virgin." 

Carmen isn't known to be the kindest, but when she's tipsy, she becomes plain mean. She'd told them about your sex life behind your back? To what? Take the piss?

Their laughter is ringing in your ears, but you can't hear them now. You look up, mortified that Tangerine has to witness this, and you see that he's speaking. His eyebrows are scrunched in a way that only happens when he's truly angry, but because of the loud music and your embarrassment, you can't make out what he's saying. 

Carmen doesn't seem to like it, though, and the rest of the group looks awkward. Mary's hand on your arm snaps you back. "Hey, Y/n, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" She genuinely looks remorseful as her big green eyes pierce through you, but it doesn't help the embarrassment. Your eyes are still glossy with tears when you feel someone else's hand in yours. 

"C'mon," Tangerine says, his voice strained, as he leads you out of the pub. You feel like you're moving on autopilot as you push through the students and weekend regulars. The music slowly dies as the heavy doors of the building shut, the sound replaced by the laughter of those huddled outside the pub, and the cold, autumn air swirls around you. You hold your arms as Tangerine takes your elbow and pulls you across the street. It's starting to rain. 

You hide under the hood of a closed shop. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice causes a shiver up your spine, and you look up at him. You finally feel like you can breathe again. 

"Y-yeah," you say as you turn your head, listening to the rain hit the pavement. "We didn't have to leave, they were just having a laugh—"

Tangerine chuckles darkly, unamused by you downplaying the situation. "Love, those girls aren't your friends. Especially that blond cunt—"

"Tan!"

He holds his tongue. "Sorry. But my point still stands, darlin'. They shouldn' have been making fun of you like that. It isn't right. I oughta smack Adrien and Oscar for—" he drawls on again, but you shake your head, a small chuckle escaping your lips. 

"It's really okay," you shrug, "Plus, it is kinda pathetic that I don't know much about sex, yeah? I mean, I've had it—" you cut yourself off, "And anyways, they're all drunk or tipsy. I'm not angry."

Tangerine's jaw clenches and he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The rain is pouring louder now. "Still, it's not right, innit? To laugh at someone who just doesn't know somethin'. You deserve better, darlin'. So much better."

You're a little surprised by his seriousness. Sure, Tangerine is always serious, but this feels different. This feels protective, and it makes your stomach flip. The shift in the air is suffocating, and you feel uncomfortable in this new emotion. You need to cut this tension somehow, so you break into a smile and joke, "You're right. And it's a normal thing not to know, isn't it? I mean, have you ever done it? Cockwarming, I mean?"

Tangerine's cheeks turn pink, and your smile fades. Shit, did you make things worse? 

"Well, no," he says and then clears his throat behind his hand. He looks embarrassed as he explains. "I mean—yes, I've had it done to me. Cockwarming is when someone sits on someone else's dick without movement," he explains. 

You frown, crossing your arms as you shiver again. "Oh," you say, a hint of curiosity in your tone. "And was it pleasurable?" The question slips out, and Tangerine almost chokes on his spit as his blue eyes widen. 

He nods slowly, cheeks still pink. "I mean, sure. Y-yeah, it was."

"Oh," you say again, now more invested in understanding. "And what exactly does that do when you're cockwarming someone? It doesn't seem pleasurable just in definition—"

Tangerine holds back a smirk. "You want a sex-ed lesson now, darlin'?" he teases. 

You narrow your eyes at him, a more playful atmosphere surrounding you both now. You rub your arms again, and this time, Tangerine sees your shiver. He casually removes his jacket and throws it over you, rubbing your shoulders for some extra warmth as he looks at you fondly. You smile, accepting the gesture happily as you wait for an answer. 

"It's about intimacy," he explains, looking you in the eyes. "Being close to someone you love. Kissing them, teasing them," his voice becomes deeper as he drifts off, his gaze still on yours. His eyes flicker to your lips for a moment, but it's so quick you think you've imagined it.

Your breath catches in your throat as something stirs inside you at his words. You pull his jacket closer to you, smiling. The noise from the rain drowns out any other noise as you stare at him. He looks so different tonight. 

Something has changed. You can feel it in the air.  

You aren't even sure you both register that you're leaning in until your lips gently meet his. Time seems to slow as his hand moves up to cup your cheek, pulling you in closer. Tangerine smiles against your lips, turning his head as he deepens the kiss.

You want to blame the alcohol you never drank for the kiss. You really do. But you can't. You wrap your arms around his neck, his jacket slipping from your shoulders until he prevents it from falling by holding your waist and pulling you in closer. 

Once he pulls away and breaks the kiss, you're stuck staring at him. His cheeks are pink, but he's smiling.

"Can you show me?" you suddenly ask, a little breathless from the intensity of the kiss.

"What?" his voice sounds light, almost a whisper, as if he can't believe what you're asking of him. 

You tilt your head, your eyes wide and innocent in a way that makes Tangerine want to ruin you. He's so close to losing his composure, and he can't allow that with you. Because you're—well, you're you. "Intimacy. Please, please," you whisper, leaning in and kissing his cheek, your lips soft and inviting, and that's all it takes to break his composure completely. 

His apartment is neat, not a glass misplaced, and it smells like his cologne. The city lights from outside his large windows and the yellow light from the lamp beside his sofa are the only things illuminating the living room, and the only sounds are your soft breathing as you rock against his thigh, legs splayed, skirt lifted around your waist, panties soaked. His hands are settled on your hips, and his lips are gently peppering kisses across your collarbone, the strap of your tiny shirt falling over your shoulder. 

Tangerine tilts his head, catching sight of the wetness on his jeans, and he groans. "Hey, hey, hey, we should—" He doesn't finish the sentence because he doesn't know what he wants. Stop? No, he doesn't want to stop. But it's you, he keeps reminding himself. He should stop.

You look up at him, eyes glossy from the emotions and your arousal. "Can I try it?" you ask, curiosity laced in your voice. Tangerine feels his cheek heat. 

"T-Try what?" he asks against his better judgement. He shouldn't encourage you. He's already taken things too far. 

"The thing," you whisper conspiratorially, lips pressed to his ear. He tightens his grip on your hips as your rocking becomes slower.

"You have to be more specific, love," Tangerine chuckles. He has an idea what you mean, but he wants you to say it. 

You pull away, your hands wandering up to his cheek and then his hair. "Cockwarming," you say with a straight face. You lean in again and kiss his lips. "I want to feel you, be close to you, please." 

Tangerine is so screwed. He groans, and his jeans tighten almost painfully. "You do?" he rasps. 

"Mhmh." You drag your hands down his chest to his belt buckle. You fumble with it, opening it up. You peek at him from time to time, making sure he wants this, and he makes no move to stop you. Gently, you palm him over his pants, enjoying the little sounds he makes. 

"You're such a tease," he grumbles, head falling against the backrest. 

Your small laugh sends a jolt of need through him, and he groans again. You're stroking him, making sure he's hard. You hold out your hand for a condom and Tangerine senses your shift and looks up. "You think I carry those on me?" he asks, a little scandalized. 

Looking up, you narrow your eyes. "I know you. You're my best friend. Now give," you say with a wiggle of your fingers, and Tangerine grumbles. He lifts his hips and fetches a condom from his pocket. This is humiliating. He feels like a pervert. He'd only brought one because he knew he was going out tonight. You never know what could happen, and he likes to be prepared. You smile and unwrap it expertly. As you slide it onto his dick, you lean in and tease him a little. "For next time, you should know the outline is kind of visible through your jeans." You giggle and kiss under his jaw.

"Fuck," Tangerine moans, his cheeks flamming in embarrassment.  

You smile and lift your hips, sliding down your panties with some difficulty, but once they're abandoned on the floor, you pause and look at Tangerine again. His chest is heaving, his eyes are wide, and his cheeks are pink. "Can I?" you ask, making sure he's okay with this. 

Tangerine nods, his dick twitching with need. 

You guide his tip to your folds, slowly sinking down onto him. You groan, going slow. He's bigger than anyone you've been with. Tangerine's hands find your waist, and he rubs soothing circles as he looks at you with heavy eyelids. Once you're fully seated, you rest your palms on his chest and look at him. 

After a moment, you lift your hips, ready to move, but Tangerine keeps you still. He smirks, chuckling deeply as his arms wrap around your back, moving you into him so your head rests under his chin. You're a little surprised until you remember what cockwarming is. 

"Shh, just relax, feel me," Tangerine whispers.

The first minutes or so are enjoyable, the feeling of his body so close and intertwined with yours feels so deeply connecting. You smile as his fingers play with your hair, your toes wiggling both from pleasure and because your legs are becoming a little numb from the position you're in. You shift, and Tangerine chuckles again. 

"Impatient, are we?" he teases. 

You groan, shifting again. "Mhmhm," you mutter into his chest.

"You said you wanted to try." 

Your hands find his shoulders as his dip down to your hips again. "I have tried it, and now I want to move," you huff and lift your hips, finally feeling his dick against your walls the way you want to. You moan, bouncing a little faster. Tangerine's moans intertwine with yours as he holds your hips, helping your movements.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes against your ear, fingers tightening.

You hold him closer, rolling your hips. "You're so beautiful."

Tangerine never thought he'd like being called beautiful. You kiss along his jaw as his hand intertwines with your hair. His back is off the sofa now, and he's helping you move as your movements become sloppier and needier. He finds your lips and kisses you. You both become louder, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.

You come first, squeezing around his cock until he curses. You catch your breath, riding your orgasm as you continue to lift your legs and hips, watching Tangerine come undone, and it's truly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. His hair is a curly mess, and his cheeks are flushed.

 He looks absolutely wrecked. 

He finishes inside the condom, groaning as he does. You lean against him, feeling his dick soften inside you. Tangerine smiles and lifts your hips, pulling himself out as he quickly discards the condom in the small trash near the sofa. His other hand finds your cheek as you rest against him. You tilt your head and look up at him, a soft smile on your lips. He never wants this moment to end, and as much as he knows he shouldn't, he can't bring himself to regret a single thing. 

"Hey–we should probably—" 

You press your finger to his lips, still smiling. "Later," you whisper and then kiss him again, your hand stroking his cheek. You leave small kisses all across his face, and then you nuzzle into his chest, tucking yourself under his chin again. You move your legs into a more comfortable position, this time lying over his knees. 

"They were wrong," you say, that grin still on your face.

"Hm?" 

"Cockwarming. It's meh," you scrunch your nose and fiddle with his shirt. "I much prefer this as intimacy."  

Tangerine matches your smile, resting his chin on your head gently. "Yeah. So do I."

[myprettylittlemind3]

Jamie x best friend fem!reader

Summary: After some drinks, jealousy, and peer-pressure, you somehow convince Jamie to let you come with him to the mainland.

Genre: hurt and comfort

Warnings: post-apocalypse, set years before the movie, non-canon based, Jamie and reader are in their late twenties, hunting, near death experience, injury, protective!Jamie, reckless behavior by reader :/

~ this is SO shit, but i still needed to write it ~

One hour in and you're starting to feel the whiskey kicking in. Your limbs feel lighter and your smile brightens as the music seems to become a thousand times louder, and the salty pretzels you've been snacking on start tasting less bland. Perhaps Jamie has a point—you really can't hold your liquor. You turn your head, his laughter catching your attention. He's in the middle of another one of his stories, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he prepares to drive the ending home.

"And then, I pulled my arm back," he gestures, exaggerating, and pretends to throw the arrow at one of your friends, "and I hit the motherfucker square in its eye socket. And downnnn he goes, dead."

You zone out again, having heard a different variant of the same story countless times before, and focus on the pretzel in your hand. You hesitantly lick the salt and grimace. It tastes funny now.

"You're truly amazing," Isla, the tall blonde Jamie's been hanging around with lately, smiles. She leans in and touches his arm, causing his grin to widen. Your attention is snapped back to the group.

"I've never seen anyone so willing to put himself in danger like you do. We're real lucky to have you," she continues, leaning in closer. Your eyebrows crease. She's flirting with him. An uneasy feeling stirs in your stomach.

"Yeah, real brave—" you mutter, slurring your words. The group falls silent at your comment, and everyone's eyes land on you. Jamie looks the most offended, and he swings his muscular arm around you, pulling you into his side roughly.

"What's that supposed to mean, Worm?" he asks, using the nickname he's been using since you were children, and warmth spreads across your cheeks. You elbow him in the ribs, earning a chuckle from him as you force some distance between yourselves. You glare at him.

"How bad can the mainland really be?" you ask drunkenly, and everyone, especially Jamie, looks at you like you've lost your damn mind. Jamie's large, calloused hand presses against your forehead as he steps closer, and he shakes his head.

"You're burning up."

"If it's nothing," Tommy, another one of your friends, pipes up, "why don't ya go out onto the mainland?" Drunken laughter and nods follow.

"Aye, shut your mouth," Jamie snaps.

You stagger in his arms, now glaring at Tommy as you point at him. "I think I just might!"

"Shut up," Jamie holds you back, now sounding more annoyed. "You won't, Worm." He turns to Tommy, his gaze hardened. "She's a teacher, not a damn hunter. Leave 'er alone."

"Yeah, don't be a cunt," Isla adds, also glaring at Tommy. Childishly, it only makes you more upset because she's defending you.

"I can do it," you mutter. Jamie shakes his head, smiling a little, and he keeps you still.

"Nah. Don't be a fool. You stay where it's safe, ya hear me?"

"I know how to defend myself," you groan, hating how everyone is treating you like a damn child. You aren't thinking clearly, and Jamie knows this. You have no clue what the mainland is like anymore. Still, he looks at you, and he can't help but find your expression adorable. You seem so determined. He wonders what made you say something like that. He grabs your chin, stroking your skin with a small smile.

"Sure ya do," he mocks, his smile heard in his voice.

You and Jamie have been close since you were children. Well, since you found refuge here. You were thirteen when the outbreak happened. You haven't seen an infected since you came here. Jamie has, and he'd be damned if he ever let you put yourself in danger. Not you. He loved you too much. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

"C'mon, let's get you home," he says and wraps his arm around your waist to help you walk. You mutter something under your breath, and then you turn around, calling out to your friends, "Jamie will take me to the mainland with him tomorrow! I'll show you!"

"Shush. No I won't," Jamie says and pulls you back to him. His jaw clenches when all he hears is laughter and encouragement to your statement. Did everyone think it was funny? Because the hell it is. Jamie groans. He has a hard time helping you into your house as you drunkenly stumble around. You're fighting him, which is making this worse, and mumbling under your breath.

Finally, once he has you safe in your bed with your bedroom door shut, he collapses onto your couch and prays that this idea you've gotten in your head will disappear as soon as you've sobered up.

He should have known better. After all, it's you.

That morning, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon, and you look adorably cute in your outfit. Large leather boots and a large coat—which looks like it belonged to your father—dwarf you. You're wearing one of your father's old bows and some shitty-looking arrows. Your friends find it hilarious, but Jamie doesn't look amused.

"What the fuck are you wearing? Go home. I am not entertaining this." He crosses his arms, glaring.

"Take me with you. You promised," you lie stubbornly.

Jamie looks scandalized. "I did not," he hisses.

"Take 'er with ya," one of your friends, who have gathered around to send Jamie off, calls and chuckles. "She's clearly desperate to come." You turn and see them sending you thumbs up. You feel uneasy, but you swallow the feeling and look at Jamie again. You know he sees right through you—he always does—but you don't care.

"I'll just go alone then," you say, sounding determined, and just the threat that you'd venture into the mainland alone has Jamie's blood running cold. So he nods. The air feels salty as you step out of the gates, your boots slipping a little on the wet ground. Your hand tightens around the bow you're carrying, and Jamie sends you a sideways look as you walk further away from the village.

"You can still back out, Worm."

You shake your head. "I can defend myself," you tell him, and he sighs.

"Then keep up," Jamie adds sharply, walking faster into the green hills. The further you walk, the less confident you feel. You haven't shot an arrow in a while, and while you hadn't been completely shit at it, there was no guarantee you would hit an infected. At every creak, you jump, and at every sound, you move closer to Jamie. The latter feels just as tense as you, if not more. He's worried for you, and it keeps clouding his judgment. He hasn't found a single animal to hunt.

Suddenly, his hand shoots out, and he grabs your arm. He yanks you to his chest, pressing himself behind a tree as he holds his hand over your mouth and nose. You clutch at his forearms, fear settling in your stomach. Had he heard something you hadn't? Lips press against your ear.

"Quiet. Don't move and stay here."

He drops his hand and gently moves you so your back is pressed to the trunk of the tree. He fishes an arrow and turns, disappearing from view for a moment. You can hear distant snarls and grunts, and you squeeze your eyes shut. This was the stupidest idea you've ever had. The sound of arrows in the air and distant screams cause your heart to pound, but you focus on your breathing.

That works until you hear a shrill cry and then Jamie's desperate voice:

"RUN!"

You break into a run, having no clue where or why you're running. Your mind is fuzzy, and there is a loud ringing in your ears. You push through the trees, sharp branches and leaves scraping at your limbs. Jamie's words, as well as a distant memory, bounce frantically around your head. It had been a few years after the outbreak; Jamie was a little older than you, and he'd promised you something.

You remember his boyish face, promising you that he would always look after you. Always. And that he only ever asked for one thing in return—that you listened to him if you were ever in danger.

And you had. You ran.

You gasp, your boots catching on a root, and you fall forwards, stumbling down a small hill. Leaves and sticks and dirt stick to your skin as you stare at the blue sky. The pain in your knee is a distant feeling, and you blink away tears. What on earth had possessed you to be this stupid? You can still hear distant screams and shouts, and just as you prepare to accept your fate, Jamie hauls you up by your shoulders and drags you under a half-collapsed tree.

His dirt-covered hand returns over your mouth, muffling the scream from the pain in your knee. You lower your eyes and see blood soaking your jeans, white bone peeking through the skin. Jamie's voice in your ear grounds you as you prepare to let out a curling wail.

"Shh. I know, I know it hurts. I'm right here. Stay quiet, and they'll run by us. I promise."

You lean into him, more tears slipping past your eyes. You feel lightheaded. You fall in and out of consciousness from the pain, the sky eventually turning darker. You don't remember much but the feeling of someone's hands under your thighs, their warmth, and the sound of their harsh breathing.

When you wake, you're in your bed. Your injured leg is elevated, wrapped in bandages. You blink, taking in your surroundings. You're in your room. You're alive? You turn your head, seeing Jamie asleep next to you, his head in his arms. He looks so peaceful like this, his breathing even.

"J-Jamie?"

His name wakes him up instantly, and he looks up, his blue eyes wide.

"Y/n—"

He pulls you into his arms instantly, careful not to injure your knee more as he props you up, and he inhales your scent.

"You stupid fool," he grumbles into your ear. "I—I should have never let you come with me."

You hug him back, still feeling weak and exhausted. "I'm sorry," you admit, tears wetting your eyelashes. "It's my fault."

Jamie hugs you harder. "Yes. Yes it is." He sounds as concerned as he is angry.

You only want to cry harder. "I—I don't know why I did it. I was angry. Angry that she was taking up all your attention."

Jamie inhales a breath and pulls away, his blue eyes shining, and he looks confused. "Who was?"

You bite your cheek, eyes wet and red-rimmed. "Isla."

Jamie is quiet for a moment, and then he bursts into a laugh. His head drops onto your shoulder as he laughs, and you only feel more horrible.

"It's not funny," you croak, trying to find the words to tell him you're in love with him and that it isn't fair that he likes someone like Isla. No one should be that pretty! You tremble, unable to push him away as his warmth overwhelms you.

"Ja—"

You're interrupted by his lips on yours, his calloused hands gently holding your cheeks. He kisses you like a starved man—as if this was the last kiss he would ever have. Your heart is pounding, and you panic a little, kissing him back hesitantly.

Jamie smiles against your lips. "Don't think too much," he teases and continues to kiss you. His hand dips down to squeeze your hip. "Just feel," he whispers and presses open-mouthed kisses on your neck and near your collarbone. You shiver, making a sudden movement and wincing in pain as you move your knee.

Jamie pauses and looks at you with a frown. "Yer okay, ya?"

You nod, still feeling breathless. You must look like a mess. However, Jamie only smiles. He strokes his thumb against your cheek, marveling at the softness underneath his fingers, and a strong sense of protection ignites inside him. He wants to beat himself up again. He should have never allowed this to happen. He's the damned fool.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. "You've always been mine, Worm. Always. No one compares to you—not now, and not ever. Nothing, not even death, can change that, ya hear?"

Your stomach twists in all the right ways, and for once, coming from a man who tells obnoxious stories, whose words are often meaningless, you hear something deeper than the regular chatter. It sounds like love.

So you believe him.

[myprettylittlemind3]

Joe Macken x fem!reader

Summary: Hate and love are so similar they can often be intertwined, sometimes in the worst possible ways.

Genre: angst/hurt and comfort/happy ending(kinda?)/enemies to lovers

Warnings: character from the movie Albert Nobbs (2011), set in 19th century Dublin, Joe is an asshole, manipulation, illusions to sex, sexual themes, slightly naive!reader, also unlikable!reader, cheating, cursing, based in canon but differs from the original storyline, inspired by WILDFLOWER by Billie Eilish

~ annnddd another atj character unlocked ✔︎ ~

The day Joe Macken arrived was the day your best friend was stolen from you.

Helen has been your best friend since you were little girls, running under your mother's skirts as they worked. You'd both taken this job to stay together, as sisters, and now some bright-eyed, over-confident, boy was trying to ruin that. 

You hate him. 

You hate the way he walks into a room and Helen's smile widens, how she'll lean into his hand when he walks by her, his fingers brushing her waistline, or how she had moved her clothes out of the room you shared and into his room after what? A month? 

You hate Joe's slimy smirk, the way his dark brown hair compliments the dust and grime that would sprinkle his skin from working in the boiler room. When he'll stretch his arms up high, yawning, and give all the maids a view of what's hiding under that shirt of his. You know he does it on purpose. 

And worst of all, you hate that sickenly sweet smile he sends you when no one is looking— 

"Y/n/n," Helen calls, her voice small. It barely rouses you from your thoughts, the broom loose in your hand. She's so soft-spoken she has to walk closer and touch your shoulder. "Y/n/n, you're daydreaming again," she smiles. You blink away the haze and look at her. She's dressed for an outing. "Joe and I want to go to the farmer's market across town," she says, "I want you to come. He says we can use his money."

You narrow your eyes and hold the broom to your side. Helen has always been naive, but even this was new. "What money?" you ask, your tone harsh. She frowns, blond wisps of hair falling from her small blue hat, and her pretty lips pout the way they always have. 

"I know you dislike Joe," she says quietly, averting her gaze, "but I want you both to get along as I love you both."

Your mouth falls open. "Leni? You love him? It's barely been two months."

"That is a long time to be with someone."

"No, it is not," you counter, your nose scrunched in disapproval. Perhaps she is right, perhaps two months is an acceptable time to tell someone you love them. After all, you wouldn't know, you've never been with anyone. Helen is too sweet to use that against you and still, you don't want to admit your ignorance. You'll let her love anyone else—anyone but him. 

"Y/n, one promenade? Please, sister," Helen looks at you pleadingly, with the same look she uses whenever she wants something from you and you simply can't say no.

The air is crisp and the wind is still as you walk outside. Perhaps you should have worn a different dress, one with a little more color than just a mousy tan so it could match the endless flower stands. You pull at the itchy sleeves, the ribbon of your Doll Hat unbinding from behind your curls as the hat falls forward. You pause, eyebrows creasing as you reach behind your head to tighten the ribbon, but you feel a cold, fingertip on your neck. 

"Leni—" Your lips close as you take a breath. Helen is looking at one of the flower stands in front of you, which means, unless someone else has been so brazen, "I can manage," you snap, and lean forward, your hands skimming his as you tighten the ribbon and glance behind your shoulder. 

Joe's dressed the same he usually is. A woolen black coat, his old black Newsboy cap, and that peach-colored neckerchief. He's smirking, his hands still mid-air. "So haughty," he chuckles, dropping his hands to his side, "I don't bite you know."

You straighten up, turning to him. "Highly doubtful," you sneer. You hold your tongue, knowing if Helen heard you she'd be upset with you. Joe is still wearing that horrid smirk of his.

"Speak up." He leans forward, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know you have something to say. You always do."

Your cheeks burn at his words. He's so infuriating. "Fine,"

"Fine." Joe shrugs, that malicious glint is evident in his eye. 

"You're a snake. I can see right through you. Helen deserves so much better," you hiss, your voice low. "You'll ruin her and then leave her, I know you will and I despise you for it."

For a second, Joe's smirk falters, but then he grins wider. He seems to enjoy tormenting you. He glances up to make sure Helen isn't watching him and leans in again, his lips ghosting your ear. "Who says I haven't ruined her already?" His Irish accent is thick and raspy. "And y'know what, I don't think you despise me." Your eyes widen and before you can smack him, Helen's innocent voice pulls your attention back to reality and you back away from Joe. 

"Roses or Lilacs?" Helen asks you both, holding up the bouquets. 

She doesn't seem to mind or has even been paying attention to how close Joe was to you, but your cheeks are still burning. It was improper of him. Bastard. 

"Roses, m'love," his sultry voice says, pulling Helen in by her waist. He makes a show of it and that uncomfortable feeling bubbles in your stomach. His other hand rests on her cheek and his thumb strokes her cheek and he attempts to kiss her, only for her to turn her head away and laugh happily. Instead, he nuzzles his nose in her neck. "I adore it when you smell like roses."

You feel even sicker to your stomach now. No one should show this amount of affection in public. Still, something akin to jealousy burns in your stomach. You push it down, trailing behind the lovers as they continue their walk. That afternoon, you return to your room and don't even come out for dinner.

A week later, you're helping the cooks in the kitchen. Your apron is covered in coal as you kneel by the fire, heating the oven. Hair sticks to your sweaty skin as you concentrate on not burning yourself. You hear footsteps and then a familiar voice interrupts your thoughts; "Hiya," the man says happily and you jump up. Edward—Eddie—the gardener stands behind you, looming over you. You smile. Eddie is kind. He's holding a bouquet of daisies from the garden. 

"These are for you, Miss Y/l/n," he says and crouches beside you by the fire. You scoot back, hand incredibly close to the burning coal, but you pay it no mind as Eddie's soft brown eyes look into yours. You accept the flowers with a smile, and you expect to feel something stir in your stomach, but nothing happens. Disappointment grows but you still smile.

"Thank you."

"Aye, anythin' for a pretty lady," Eddie grins, moving closer. Your instinct is to move away from him. He's too close. Your smile disappears, replaced with an uneasy frown. Eddie only inches even closer, unaware or unconcerned by your clear rejection.  

"Eddie—"

"Oi—"

"Ow!"

You hiss in pain, your palm burning. You've backed into the coal, and your hand now throbs in pain as you clutch your wrist. Eddie backs up, feeling the newcomer's hand on his collar as he's lifted and shoved away. "Can't ya see she's uncomfortable?" Joe snaps, shoving into Eddie again. He's provoking him. You grimace, still holding your injured hand as tears threaten to spill. It hurts so badly. 

"Mind your business, Macken," Eddie growls, clenching his fists. He's taller and larger than Joe is, but Joe's unpredictable and that makes him all the more dangerous. Cooks and maids rush in, causing the men to disperse, and Joe rushes to your side. He crouches down beside you, reaching for your injured palm. Reluctantly, you let him.

He looks up and frowns when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Don't ya cry now, c'mon," he helps you up, nodding to the cooks and maids, "I'll fix ya up, Poppet. Helen would kill me if she knew I let this happen to you." 

"It's not your fault," you manage to croak through the pain. For once, it isn't his fault. 

Joe chuckles dryly. "'Tis my fault. After all, you're just like Helen when I met her. Ya don't know men, not really, it was only a matter of time before that ol' bastard tried something with ya."

"He didn't try anything," you argue, too preoccupied with proving Joe wrong to realize he's led you to his room. He drops you onto the bed and goes to wet a cloth in his wash bowl. Joe returns and wraps your hand in the cold cloth, soothing the burn. He laughs this time. "Perhaps. At least not outwardly, but he would have if I hadn't come in and you hadn't gone and burned your hand." Joe gently runs a thumb over your palm, smiling at you. 

It's a different smile that you're used to and you feel your cheeks warm. You look away. 

After a minute or so, he opens the wrap and applies some lamp oil to your burn. "This will help with the pain," he says. You watch him work, dark hair falling over his eyes and you feel something stir inside you. Embarrassment heats your cheeks. Not again. Not with him. 

Joe drops your hand to your knee and rests his on your wrist. He catches your gaze and time stands still. Your breathing is heavy. The lighting in the room is so dim you can barely make out his expression, but that infuriating smirk is back. His hand inches up your knee towards your thigh and you let out a small gasp. 

Helen. You should be thinking of her. 

"I'll stop if you want me to, darling. Although, I don't think you want that, hm," Joe teases, his hand inching higher as he leans in. You don't lean away. You should, God you know you should but you don't move. His other hand finds your cheek and he tilts his head, his breath warm on your lips.

"Have you ever been kissed?" 

His question causes you to squeeze your thighs together and you shut your eyes. You shake your head.

"No."

"Good girl."

His lips find yours with passion, his hand curling in your hair and messing up your bun. Your maid's bonnet falls and Joe pulls you closer. You kiss him back, your lips moving clumsily with his. The pain in your hand is long forgotten and replaced with a dull ache in your chest. How can this feel so right when it's so wrong? 

You pull away, shaking your head. "Helen—"

Joe just kisses you again, smirking into your lips when you kiss him all the same. Your uninjured hand grips his shirt and he lets out a laugh. He pulls away just enough to mutter, "I knew you weren't who she said you were. You sneaky girl. Kissing your best friend's lover." You let out a whimper and you feel him whisper in your ear. "You hate me because you're just like me. We deserve each other."

Finally, you push him away and scramble up. Your legs feel shaky and your lips tingle. You rush to the door and scramble down the stairs. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you feel sick. That night, you lock yourself in your room. All kinds of confusing emotions swirl inside you but one thing is clear, you would kiss Joe Macken again. You're horrible. 

Joe doesn't leave Helen, not that soon at least—it takes weeks. Weeks that you spend in his bed, behind her back, kissing and touching someone that shouldn't be yours but is. He is yours in every way but the one that truly matters. 

A month later, he eventually leaves and when you tell Helen you've started seeing him, she's as sweet as she ever is. She understands, telling you all she's ever wanted was for you to be happy, and that only breaks you more. You don't understand.

You got what you'd secretly wanted, but at what price? 

Now whenever you kiss him, you see her.

And whenever he holds you, you can see him holding her before.

And everything feels tainted in a way you can't escape from. 

Because after all, you still have him and she doesn't.

[myprettylittlemind3]

James Potter x fem!reader x Sirius Black

Series Summary: You have been best friends with the Marauders since you were in nappies, and you've loved James Potter for just as long. However, when he start dating his long-time crush Lily Evans everything is different now.

Summary: One Quidditch incident makes an already messy situation even more complicated…

Genre: Fluff, angst

Warnings: friends to lovers, unrequited love, injury, hint of Wolfstar, Jily, things are messy lmao…

ONE / 2 / 3 / 4

December.

Amidst the Christmas chaos and the winter chill, Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement for the end of Quidditch seasons. Because the end meant the Champion match. And for the fourth time in a row, it was Gryffindor VS Slytherin.

You wrap your scarf around your neck, nuzzling into the warmth as the game continues. Lily claps loudly, jumping up, her deep cherry-colored hair bouncing flawlessly around her shoulders, as James bumps a Slytherin midair, sending him spiraling off his broom and under the stands. You wince. 

With practiced ease, James snatches the Quaffle and smiles triumphantly. You hold up the binoculars, your cheeks warm. His dark curls fall over his face, his cheeks a little pink from exertion. 

You wonder if there's ever been a time James Potter wasn't stupidly beautiful. You lower the binoculars, lost in a memory of a younger James; playing in his parents yard, mud all over his trousers. You don't think there has been.

Suddenly, gasps erupt from all around you and Lily shrieks. You snap out of your daze and look up just in time to see someone plummeting from the sky. James? you think, heart dropping into your stomach. The boy looks enough like him to freeze your blood. A shaking hand covers your mouth as your vision blurs. 

"Bullocks," Remus mutters. Remus never swears, but this time he does, and he looks worried. If Remus is worried, everyone should be worried. Peter holds onto the sleeve of your woolen coat, as distressed as everyone else. You turn your head, poor Lily looks like she might faint. 

Terrified, you sprint down the stairs, pushing past students and leading the way for your friends to follow. The grass crunches against your shoes as the first fall of snow sprinkles across the greenery. You see two figures in the distance, more players huddled around them. The closer you become, the clearly the scene is;  

It's not James. But it's just as horrifying. It's Sirius.

Your heart shatters as you see him on the ground, clutching his arm as groaning in pain. You gasp and suddenly breathing feels impossible. "Oh my—" your voice cracks, drifting as you pause. You don't dare run up to him. Sirius is crying now, and his arm is twisted in a way that makes you feel like vomiting up your breakfast.

You can't look at him anymore. So instead, you turn and look at Remus.

Unlike many of your other friends, Remus Lupin always seems in control. He never looks scared, never anxious, and certainly never looks unsure of himself. James once told you the only time Remus has ever truly looked terrified in front of him is during the nights under the Whomping Willow—the nights they never let you join in on. But now? Remus looks petrified. His body trembles and you throw your arms around him.

"It's okay," you whisper, gripping him tight. Remus wasn't ever really good with bodily injuries, especially when they involved Sirius. "I'm here. He's okay. Promise."

You don't know if Sirius is okay, but your words slow Remus's shaking, so you say them anyway. More arms wrap themselves around you and Remus, Peter's sniffles calming you in the chaos. 

The walk to the Hospital Wing is silent. Even James isn't speaking as he tries to listen to the murmurs of the professors as Madame Pomfrey rolls a miserable Sirius's into the dim and cold room. It's snowing hard outside.

Madame Pomfrey doesn't let you all in the room. She only lets James because he makes  a fuss when he can't be with Sirius. You, Remus, and Peter wait outside while Madame Pomfrey works to heal Sirius's arm and other injuries. It takes hours and by the time she calls you all in, Peter has fallen asleep on Remus's shoulder and your eyes are bloodshot. When Madame Pomfrey leaves you, the only other person in the room is James. He's sitting beside Sirius's bed, head resting on his arms, seemingly asleep. He's still in his Quidditch uniform.  

Sirius's skin is pale—too pale. His eyes are shut, his nose scrunched like he's in pain. But he looks like he's sleeping now. "James," you murmur, approaching him. He lifts his head, blinking groggily. He blinks again, sitting up and touching his chin and cheekbone. His cheeks are marked from the sheets. When James sees you all, he beams.

"Bug," he breathes. He smiles at Peter and then his gaze flickers to Remus's worried expression. "Moony, it's alright. Pads just broke his arm and he has a small concussion. It's nothing super serious. He'll live."

James stands on wobbly legs and walks over. He places a hand on Remus's shoulder. "You can sit with him if you want."

Nodding, Remus moves to Sirius's side. He toys nervously with his fingers, his lip caught between his teeth as he looks at Sirius's bandaged arm and the bandage on his head. You glance at James and guilt hits you, making you feel ill.

You're ashamed.

You're so ashamed that some part of you is glad it wasn't James lying in that bed. Your James. You feel like a horrible person. Your eyes land on Sirius again and you walk by James, kneeling beside Sirius on the opposite side of the bed, pretending not to hear Lily knock and enter the room. Pretending not to notice how James brightens the second he hears Lily's voice.

You take Sirius's uninjured hand—pale and cold—and feel your heart break all over again. "I'm sorry," you whisper, tears falling now. How dare you think of James when Sirius is here, unconscious and hurt? You let out a breath. You are so happy he's okay. 

Warm tears drip onto Sirius's hand as you kiss it.

"Hey, Y/n, don't cry," Sirius suddenly croaks, one eye fluttering open. "Someone might think you actually care about me."

Your eyes snap up and a smile curls your lips despite the shame you'd been feeling. You lift yourself up and throw your arms around Sirius's neck, pressing kisses to his cheek.

Sirius laughs, rough and raspy. "Ow—that hurts."

Remus gently pulls you back. "You're hurting him," he whispers.

You glance at the sling holding Sirius's arm and mutter, "Sorry."

Sirius looks at you, his eyes warm and soft. You look away because you don't deserve the warmth in his gaze. You step aside and let Remus talk and hug Sirius. They seem closer than you've ever seen them as Remus smiles brightly, laughing at some stupid joke Sirius made in his sickly state. 

"Black, I'm happy you're okay," Lily speaks up from behind you, her tone kind. She's all shimmering emerald eyes and glossy pink lips, and you hate how well she fits in James' side, his arm around her. As if she was made for him. You feel another wave of shame at your feelings. 

"Mighty kind of you, Evans," Sirius says, grinning. He sits up fully, groaning a little and he moves his attention to James. "Prongs, who won? Because I swear if Slytherin won, I should've just died from the fall."

"Isn't that a little dramatic?" Remus mutters

"We won." Peter interrupts and walks closer to Sirius. He squeezes Sirus's arm and Sirius grins up at him, patting his arm in return. 

"Wormy's always the bearer of good news, thanks, mate."

"Bloody hell, this hurts," Sirius then adds with a grunt. You look back to see him trying to move again. His shirt shifts slightly upwards, revealing his lower stomach and the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. Eyes wide, you reach forward and gently press on his shoulders.

"Pads. No. You're hurt," you chide. 

Sirius suppresses a moan of pain and winks. "Heartbroken, honey," he teases, bringing up your conversation from a month ago. The one you'd told him never to mention. You freeze. Your cheeks warm and you wish he hadn't said that. It had been weeks since any of your even hinted at it. But he's smiling, and that smile is intoxicating so you can't even be upset with him.

"Heartbroken?" Lily asks, and you want to scream at her to shut up.

"It doesn't matter," Sirius interrupts her, eyes still on you. "Y/n, don't you and Jamie have Charms right now?" 

You know he can tell you're annoyed by his tease and he likes it.

You send him a little look as you walk out the doors with James, his hand on your upper back. Sirius leans back, drowning out Remus's words. All he can think about is you. How he wants to kiss you, hold you, mark you as his. And he knows you feel something. You feel the tension, the wanting— but you're in love with James.

And Sirius knows it.

To be continued… NEXT PART

Taglist: @lexy-com2, @alice07ea, @sweetstrawberrianne, @rosed-rouge, @hoerauders, @leena12, @kingsandqueens12345, @whyucloudingmymind, @watersquirtpewpewboomm, @asillysimp, @dreamybabbyy, @ladybirdz, @corawithfanfiction, @mischievousmoony

[myprettylittlemind3]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: You really do enjoy teasing your cute pool-boy…

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: popular!reader, cocky!reader, hints of dom!reader and sub!dave, suggestive, sexual tension, handjob, reader is a MENACE!

~ A continuation of CRUEL SUMMER, requested by a lovely anon who inspired me to write this, I hope you enjoy 🫶 can be read without having read Cruel Summer ~

Dressed in your bikini top and small shorts that rest low on your hips, you pad downstairs from the cool confines of your air-conditioned bedroom.

You reach for a tall glass, absentmindedly pouring yourself some orange juice. You're humming a tune your best friend has gotten stuck in your head, and you lift your gaze, catching a glimpse of movement in your yard from the window.

You see non-other than Dave Lizewski carefully lock your gate behind him, making his way towards your shed for his supplies, and then walking toward your pool. Your stomach flips and you grin. 

A while later, Dave is leaning over the pool, reaching over to wash and clean the filter. He groans, wiping his forehead from the heat. His shirt is sticky and he frowns. He looks around. It doesn't seem like anyone is home and blushes. He hesitates and looks back at the shimmering water. He prays you're out at your job as he removes his shirt and leaves it on one of the sun loungers, returning to the filter.  

He's seen you waitressing at the local diner and his mind can't help but drift to the image of you in your uniform, that skirt hugging your—

"Mm, I do love a good strip tease," your voice breaks his fantasy and he snaps his head towards you. You're walking towards him, your hair freshly combed, a straw bag swung over your shoulders, and two fresh orange juices with tiny pink umbrellas in your hands. "Thanks, Lizewski," you add with a wink, standing over him. "Orange juice?" You outstretch your arm. 

Dave jumps up, his cheeks scarlet. He almost knocks into your hand, almost spilling the orange juice in the process, but he recovers and takes the glass from you. "T-Thanks," he says, looking sheepish as he eyes his shirt on the lounge behind you. "Sorry, I- I didn't mean to s-strip— it's just so hot outside."

You laugh and walk to the lounge, folding his shirt neatly and dropping your bag on the deck of the pool. You take a slow sip, staring at him intensely. "No need to be so jumpy, Davey. Dad's out golfing with his friends and Mom's never around anyways. It's just us."

"Oh, o-okay," Dave says and crouches back down on his heels to finish cleaning the filter. He sees you from the corner of his eye and he can't stop staring.

He feels like his entire face is on fire as he remembers that day. The last time he'd properly spoken to you. When you had kissed him and let him feel you up. 

"Davey?" Your voice snaps him from his thoughts again and he looks up, blue eyes wide and questioning. You've lost your shorts and he almost chokes on his own saliva as he sees your legs.

He feels like such a pervert.

You're rubbing sunscreen into your skin, on your collarbone, your hands dipping underneath the cup of your bikini. You smirk and Dave inwardly groans. He remembers how much you loved teasing him the last time. 

"Yeah?" he asks, clearing his throat. 

"Can you get my back?" you ask innocently, holding up the sunscreen bottle with a smile. 

Are you trying to kill him? Dave looks around as if there would be hidden cameras or your Dad hiding behind the bushes. Still, he stands up and nervously wipes his hands on his shorts. "U-Um, y-yeah, sure—where do you want me to start?" 

You beckon him over, adjusting yourself on the lounge chair so you're laying on your stomach, ass up. Completely unnecessary, Dave thinks, but he doesn't mind the view. He sits down on the chair opposite yours and takes the sunscreen from you. You point to your shoulder blades and the rest your head on your arms, looking at him as he pours a generous amount of sunscreen in his hands. You smile as he leans forward, having to bend his knee beside your waist. He starts massaging across your shoulders and neck, making sure not to miss a spot. 

Your skin feels soft under his palms and he bites his lip. You squirm under him, your voice sugary sweet when you prompt, "Lower, please. Here." You reach behind and untie your bikini strings, allowing the flimsy fabric to fall at your sides and Dave's breath hitches. He falters but continues his way down, applying more sunscreen this time on your skin.

You twist awkwardly, letting out an uncharacteristic giggle. "That's cold," you exclaim, still smiling.  

"Sorry," Dave says, putting the bottle down beside him as he continues massaging it in. He smiles, liking that he's gotten a genuine reaction out of you.

Dave reaches your lower back, pausing at the dimples, and he waits for instructions. 

"Lower," you whisper, looking at him over your shoulder, "Don't be shy now." 

His hands slide down, his fingertips just under your bikini bottoms as he rubs. His eyes are glued to your ass and he feels like he should pinch himself. There is no way you—popular, kind, beautiful you—is allowing him to touch you like this. He must be dreaming. 

Once he's finished, he's so hard it's uncomfortable and very noticeable through his shorts. He stands, wanting to turn and hide his predicament but you call him back.

"Can you tie them for me?" you ask, lifting yourself up on your elbows a little to keep the cups over your breasts and Dave immediately nods and fumbles with the strings, his fingers shaking. He even double knots them just to be sure.

You turn back onto your back, smiling. "Thanks, Dave."

Entranced by the way you look, skin glistening from the sunscreen, Dave had completely forgotten about his boner and when your eyes drift downwards, he panics and squeaks. He spins around, covering himself with his hand. Fuck. 

"I–" he begins, unsure what to say. 

All you do is laugh, the sound bright and cheerful and Dave's ears burn. 

"Want me to help you out?" you ask suddenly and Dave freezes. Slowly, he turns to look at you, his mouth dry and his mind somewhere filthy. His embarrassment only grows when you're just holding up the sunscreen. Your smile had quickly turned into that insufferable smirk. 

"O-Oh, um, yeah," he nods in agreement, not knowing what else he can do. 

He walks over and sits on the lounge chair, presenting his back, but you shake your head and guide his shoulders down so he's practically laying on the chair. He looks up at you, his blue eyes shimmering. You lean over him, hair falling over your shoulders. You smell like sea salt and vanilla, probably the sunscreen he assumes but he can't help the way his eyes are stuck on your lips. 

"Stomach first," you grin, gathering sunscreen on your hand and gently massaging his collarbone. Dave tenses, his breath hitching. You look so concentrated he doesn't dare stop you when your hands move lower, now gliding over his abs. He's worked hard for them and he feels a slight pride in how much attention you give them. 

"So, this is an excuse to feel me up." He hears himself saying, his voice oddly teasing. 

You pause, and Dave's eyes open wider. Had he said something wrong? 

"Cheeky, hm?" you just say, dipping your hands lower and skimming the waistband of his shorts. "Didn't think you'd have it in you, but I see I am proven wrong Lizewski. My only question is, can you keep it up? Or will you fall apart, hm?" You pause at his waistband, still looking at the noticeable tent in his shorts. Dave looks too and his leg twitches, reaching to push it down–cover it—anything. 

"Has anyone ever given you a handjob?" you ask calmly, looking into his eyes now. 

"W-what?" Dave chokes on air and sits up a little. 

You wait for his answer. 

"N-no–" he admits bashfully. 

"Do you want one?"

Dave's hand twitches now, itching to pinch himself. This can't be real. 

"O-Oh, um, yeah—I mean, if you want to—"

Your hand slides into his pants, gripping his dick and he lets out a surprised whine. His hands tighten around the lounge chair. You smile, slowly stroking, teasing him. "You're already leaking," you say and pull him from his shorts. You lean a little closer, admiring him. "Gosh, Davey, you're so pretty," you look up at him, seeing his flushed face and your grin widens. 

Pushing your hair to the side, you lean over his dick and, making sure he's watching, you slowly spit onto his engorged tip. It's pornographic and has exactly the reaction you wanted. Dave mewls.

"Oh, fuck, Y/n, please," Dave throws his head back, overwhelmed by the new sensation. He's suddenly hyper aware he's in your yard, exposed, and moaning. You're gonna get fired, his mind keeps screaming at him but at this moment, he couldn't care less. 

With one hand, you stroke his dick, watching him grow even harder under your hand. With your other hand, your hand is in his hair, touching his soft curls and his forehead. He groans, arching up into your hand. His lips find your palm and he can't help himself as he kisses it. A thank you of some sorts. 

His legs shake, more precum leaking from his tip. 

"I- I can't hold it much longer—" he admits, eyes teary as you caress his cheek. Your hand pumps faster on his dick. 

"Really? So soon?" you tease.

Dave looks like he's about to cry. "'M sorry." He thrusts his dick into your hand again. 

Your smile softens and you lean down and kiss his lips softly. You don't give him the chance to kiss you back because you're pulling away and whispering in ear. "It's okay. You're a good boy. Come for me." 

And he does. All over your hand and his shorts. Tears slip past his eyes, as he catches his breath. He feels dazed, all his muscles suddenly relaxed. The sun above him twinkles and he blinks. Slowly, he turns his head and groans when he sees you lick your hand clean of his cum. You're smiling.

"You did so good," you praise and it's embarrassing how much that little bit of praise made his stomach erupt into a thousand butterflies.

He sits up, catching his breath. You sit back down on the other lounge chair, calm as if you hadn't just given him an earth shattering orgasm, and you grab a magazine from your bag. "You better clean yourself up before my Dad returns. Time is ticking, Davey," you tease, opening the magazine but watching over the top how Dave's flushed expression morphs from relaxed to anxious. 

Frantically, he stands up and grabs the shirt from your lounge. He uses his shirt to wipe himself, blushing furiously as he avoids your gaze. You smile behind the magazine, your own arousal pulsing as you squeeze your thighs. You'll go inside in a bit and relieve the ache, but for now, you want to watch him some more.  

Someday, you'll give him everything he's dreaming about. Hell, you'll even let him take you out on a proper date—and you never date—but for now this is more fun.  

[myprettylittlemind3]

James Potter x fem!reader x Sirius Black

Series Summary: You've been best friends with the Marauders since your first year, and you've loved James just as long, however when James begins dating his long-time crush, Lily Evans, suddenly your entire world crumbles. And as usual, Sirius's timing is horrible.

Warnings: everyone is 17/18, their in their seventh year, friends to lovers, love triangle, unrequited love, misunderstanding trope, dubious consent kissing (kinda?), James is oblivious, James x Lily, Snape is a weirdo, reader is going through the motions in this chapter and acts like a normal teenager girl lol

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

September

There's something bittersweet about the way autumn looks in the evenings. The humid air smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon and it reminds you of him. Too many things remind you of him lately: like books that smell like worn out parchment, or the sound of the branches snapping on window shutters in a warm, welcoming, childhood bedroom—

This summer was the first summer you had spent away from them. It hadn't been the same and no matter how much you could pretend you haven't, you have missed all of them terribly.

This meant that the very moment Sirius Black's arms crushed you in a hug, you burst into laughter and squeezed your arms around him. You grin, your smile hurting your cheeks as the sounds of chatter from the train platform melts into the background.

"Hi, Pads," you say and Sirius mirrors your grin as he pulls away, still holding your waist.

You've heard rumors of Sirius Black's infamous charm, almost all the girls in your year say so, but being his best friend you had never experienced it yourself—Sirius had been too busy throwing mud in your hair for you to care about his looks. 

However, watching him now, at seventeen and taller; his normally pale skin slightly tanned from the summer sun at Potter's vacation home in Cornwall, with his dark hair falling around his shoulders in faint waves, you suddenly see what the student body could have meant and it sends heat through your cheeks. 

You feel someone else's presence behind you and you turn around. Remus Lupin is holding both his trunk and Peter Pettigrew's as the latter ties his shoes clumsily. Remus has also changed over the summer, he almost towers over you now, but your eyebrows furrow when you see some new scars across his cheeks. He's never told you why he has them and the others have warned you not to ask. Still, they worry you.

Instead of mentioning them, you point to his ankles and whisper, "Remy, you've outgrown your pants. Do you need new ones? I can ask—" 

Remus helps Peter up and chuckles. He ignores the comment and smiles, nudging Peter over. "We missed you," Peter says, interrupting your worry as he hugs you with a wide smile. Unlike Sirius and Remus, he hasn't changed much and you're happy for the familiarity. One summer couldn't have changed that much. You hug him, pulling Remus in by his sleeve to have him join, still smiling. 

"I missed you both more." 

The train honks and you all wince, laughing as you cover your ears. You look around and just as you open your mouth to ask, you're snatched from Remus and Peter. The scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and oak fill your nostrils as a warm cheek skims yours, muscular arms circling around you. 

James Potter presses feathery light kisses on your cheek and then tousles your hair in a way that has always driven you crazy. "Merlin I missed you, bug," he exclaims, his voice so quiet only you were supposed to hear him. Once he finally releases you from his clutches, you look at him, and he smiles. It's not James's usual smile. It's your smile, the one he has reserved only for you. 

You duck under his arms quickly and escape his hand, groaning as you comb your fingers through the mess he's made of your hair. You send him an annoyed, and reluctantly amused, look as Sirius, Remus, and Peter laugh in the background. 

James's smile turns into his boyish smirk as he laughs. You look at him closely, your eyes squinting as you take him in. His hair looks slightly longer and he looks much more in shape than when you'd last seen him. Perhaps things can drastically change over the summer.  

"What have you been doing over the summer?" you ask, your gaze locked on his arms. He's holding his robe over his shoulder casually, which is causing his forearm to flex and Merlin's name it looks practically sinful—

James bursts out laughing. Your cheeks now burn hotter and it only becomes worse when Sirius puts his hand on your shoulder, "You like 'em? Prongs worked hard for those babies over the summer," he remarks and wiggles his brows in James's direction as his best friend obnoxiously flexes. He looks ridiculous.  

"Oh, fuck you," you say and push Sirius's arm off you. You look at James again and shake your head, biting your cheek. You don't want to encourage him but he does look good. So good your mind wanders.

Suddenly, James's attention moves from you as he calls out a name, one name, one normal, unoriginal, name but the moment the name leaves his mouth, you feel ill and you hold your breath. "Lily!" 

Lily Evans, beautiful and kind Lily Evans. You don't hate her. How could you hate someone so sweet? And still, whenever you hear Lily's name something inside you crumbles into dust and you don't know why. It's like your chest suddenly becomes too small for your heart. Slowly, you turn as James drops everything and pushes by you and some other students simply walking by to meet the red-head. 

"Lily-Flower," he exclaims dramatically, swooping in low and wrapping his arms around the smaller girl's waist, hoisting her up into his arms. You half-assume James will lean in to kiss her— he's always looked like he wants to kiss her, Lily has just never given him permission. 

However, this time their lips connect and the air in your lungs feels like it's been jerked from your chest. Remus moves closer to you, his hand skimming your arm to steady you. You look up at him, your eyes wide. You don't even need to ask. 

"It happened this Summer. Prongs won her over." Remus explains in a whisper, "It all happened so quickly he must not have had time to send you an owl."

Remus making up excuses for James isn't new. He'd tell them in class, during dinner, in the courtyard, during Quidditch matches, anywhere, but he'd never told them to you. James has never been dishonest with you, or hidden something from you. Not you. Up until now, when it must have slipped his mind to tell his best friend something as important as a new girlfriend.

"Oh," is all you can say. 

"James! Not here! Your friends—" Lily squeaks with embarrassment, pulling away and hiding in James's chest like a love-sick school girl. Lily seems to be more relaxed and easily embarrassed. It's weird. 

"No one minds, right, guys?" James asks, looking over at you all. Sirius shrugs, clearly unimpressed and Remus and Peter shake their heads. James's eyes meet yours, looking at you expectantly and you feel cornered. All you can do is strain a reassuring smile with your stomach sinks.  

James returns his attention to Lily, fussing over her as she blushes and clearly enjoys the attention. Your other friends must sense the mood shift because Remus loops his arm in yours, Peter coming to your opposite side, and Sirius isn't far behind as he mutters a spell and your trunks, having them float behind you all. "C'mon, I'm starving," Remus jokes, lightening the mood. 

"I hope they have pudding," Peter thinks aloud, causing a snort from Sirius behind you. 

"They always do, Wormtail," he teases, his tone light, "you just eat it all up for everyone else—" 

"Oi, you shut up, you're already a pain in my arse," Remus snaps at Sirius, who barks another laugh, and for a while, the pain in your stomach from seeing James with Lily becomes a distant memory. 

* * *

Dinner passes fast and you didn't eat with them. You usually don't. You're not a Gryffindor and you have your own friends, friends that you also haven't seen all summer. Jane Hughes, one of your roommates, keeps pestering you about James—to which you only brush her off. There is nothing to say, especially since he's dating Lily.

Your mind wanders as you walk to your Common Room. You don't even hear someone approach behind you until it's too late. "Ow," you suddenly hiss as someone yanks your hair from behind. 

Your cheeks burn with anger as you turn and see—Severus Snape. He's smiling, which leaves your palms sweaty and makes your stomach twist. Perhaps it's the way he hates you, or the strange thing that's always existed between him and Lily Evans, or perhaps it's how even breathing next to him sends James into a fit.

"Snape," you say, soothing your scalp as you move away from him a little. 

"Y/l/n," the boy drones back. You frown. He looks even angrier this year. 

"What is your problem? You can't just pull someone's hair. What are you, a first year? It's childish," you snap, crossing your arms.

Severus looks unamused by the scolding. "You talk too damn much. I have a proposition. I want to date you," he says like he's rehearsed it a thousand times in the mirror. You feel ill.

Your eyes round in shock. You move back again until your shoulders hit the wall. "Excuse me? You want to what?"

"Date you," he repeats, his voice still emotionless. It's becoming awkward. He steps closer and panic rises in your chest. Damn it, you should have just walked back with the others. 

"No."

"No?"

"Yes. No. I don't want to go out with you, Severus."

"Potter would be furious," he says it casually but his gaze flicks over you like you're something to be won. You frown. You don't understand what that has to do with anything. "Don't you want him to be furious? Dating you would make him crazy, Y/l/n, he thinks your his—"

His words are cruel, and it's pathetic. Your gaze hardens as you stand your ground. You're not some pawn he can use to mess with James. "I said no."

"You heard the lady," a voice says behind you—and then James is there, grabbing Severus by the collar. "Why don't you mind your business, Snivellus?" he asks, his tone harsh, as he brushes imaginary dust off Snape's collar as he grins. "You're clearly not wanted here. What a surprise."

Severus shakes his head but his fists are clenched. For a second, you think he'll swing.

He never does. Instead, he shoves James away and the latter lets him. James crosses his arms as Severus mutters a curse behind his breath, "Consider my offer, Y/l/n," is all he says as he turns away.

You watch him slink away, your expression disgusted. You relax once he's gone.

"Bloody creep," James mutters. He turns to you, also relaxed. "You okay?"

You nod, smiling a little. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the Common Room already? I saw you and the boys leave the Great Hall hours ago."

"I was concerned, and as Head Boy it's my duty to investigate any concerns I have," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose I have a sixth sense when it comes to you." He smiles.

"We're not in the same house, you knob. And maybe you're just a stalker and I should be worried."

James only laughs, he's unfazed by your words, and simply holds out his arm. "Can I walk you, m'lady?" You smile and take his arm, happy for normalcy. 

The walk toward the Ravenclaw common room is silent in the beginning. You want to ask so many questions about Lily, but you don't want to sound jealous. Still, James is your best friend. He is your best friend no matter what and you shouldn't walk on eggshells around him because of his girlfriend. Knowing Lily, she wouldn't want that anyways. 

"So, you and Lily, huh?"

His eyes light up. Your stomach sinks.

"It happened this summer. She came over when you couldn't, I invited her," James pauses, sounding a little sheepish but he continues, his tone becoming lighter as he tells you, "and well, she kissed me one evening. Just happened."

"She kissed you?" You look genuinely surprised.

"I know! I mean, I never thought the day would come." James is beaming and you should be happy, but you aren't. "Who would've imagined she would make the first move? I mean, technically I made all the moves, but—"

You tune him out.

Left, right, left, right.

You focus on the rhythm of your steps instead of the ache creeping up your chest.

"You okay, bug?" James's voice pulls you from your thoughts and you realize you've made it to the Ravenclaw Common Room. James is looking at you with those puppy dog eyes and you strain a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm really happy for you, Jamie."

The smile hurts.

James smiles back, leaning in and kissing your cheek lightly. Like he always does. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Oh. Okay. Sure." 

James pretends not to notice your fake smile or that you had completely tuned out his rambling. Pretends, because deep down, he knows. He knows what it really is and he won't allow himself to admit it. "Goodnight," he says simply.

* * *

October

"You look awful," Sirius says, eyeing the half-hidden state of your face as you groan against your desk. It's been weeks of no sleep and endless exposure to James's lovesick nonsense. The start of this year has been absolutely  horrible. You turn away from Sirius, who is supposed to be your Potions partner but you haven't been listening. Hair shields the dark circles beneath your eyes.

"I'll hex you, you arse," you mutter.

Sirius ignores you and turns you towards him. When he sees your eyes, how blood-shot they are, he panics. "Bloody hell, did someone—"

You snap up, your head pounding. It isn't Sirius's fault but he's there and you've had enough. "Don't touch me,” you snap, yanking away.

Sirius blinks, confused by your explosion. You stand and shove your books into your book-bag. The entire class has grown silent but you're much too upset to stop now. Your emotions are everywhere. "Can't you shut up for one bloody second? Ever?!" you snap, the words hurtful, and storm out.

Sirius doesn't let it go. He follows you out into the hallway, his voice sharp behind you, "Y/n?!"

You spin around and find him standing close. He's so close your noses almost touch and his cheeks are flushed. His grey eyes are sharp as he grips your shoulders and pushes you against the wall. You gasp. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

You laugh bitterly. "Oh Merlin, Sirius. Grow up."

You try moving away from him but his grip holds you firm. You're so overwhelmed now that your eyes squeeze shut, hiding the tears that threaten to spill.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks.

You open your eyes. He looks different now. He looks genuinely upset that you look so hurt and sad. Sirius's hand touches your cheek and suddenly the world stops. His hand is warm against your skin and your heart skips and you don't know why. Suddenly, you can't look away. Sirius looks at your lips and you look at his.

And then he kisses you.

His lips move with certainty, brushing against yours as his hand tightens around your cheek. This shouldn't make you feel better but somehow it does. You kiss him back and your body leans in without permission. You hear a sound behind you and instantly, you snap your head away and look behind Sirius. No one is there. Thankfully. 

Sirius tilts your chin towards him, smiling a little. You laugh, but it's shaky. You laugh until you almost cry. "What was that?" you ask, your voice small. 

Sirius shrugs. "I wanted to kiss you."

Your stomach flips. "This can't happen again, Sirius," you croak, your throat dry.

His smile fades and he drops his hand from your face. He moves away a little. "Why not? I fancy you, Y/n."

Your breath catches. What? Since when? You feel sick. How did this happen? How could you have allowed this to happen? This year is already a mess and now you've kissed one of your best friends while being madly in love with another?

No.   

"Un-fancy me, then."

"I don't think that is how feelings work."

You stare at him. Sirius has never liked girls like you, Merlin's beard you've never even heard him mention a crush! You shake your head. "I'm sorry I let you kiss me. I shouldn't have. But, Sirius, you and I, it's never gonna happen."

Sirius looks gutted.

'I'm so sorry," you whisper, only feeling more horrible than you had been.

Sirius exhales. "It's alright. I get it." He looks into your eyes, his knuckles skim your cheek, smiling a little. "And just so you know, this doesn't change how I feel, hm? And if you ever change your mind, I'll still be here. Waiting," he says and pauses. "This doesn't have to change anything," he whispers.

You don't want him to wait for you, it's unfair. But knowing Sirius, nothing will change his mind right now. You exhale. You really want to believe him that nothing will change. You do. But he’s wrong. Things have already changed. You feel like you're swimming in muddy, uncertain water, and you're not sure how much longer you can stay afloat.

"Yeah," you whisper, your voice shaky. "Okay."

To be continued…. NEXT PART

[myprettylittlemind3]

Pietro Maximoff x mutant!fem!reader

Summary: A little misunderstanding almost drives away the one person you feel the safest with.

Genre: hurt and comfort

Warnings: misunderstanding trope, reader is traumatized, reader doesn't have control of her powers, illusions to Hydra's torture, friends to lovers, platonic Bucky Barnes x reader, Pietro is lovesick <3

~ @thewinterv this was based on your Pietro ask from a while back! I really hope you like this 🫶 ! ~

PIETRO MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

The very first time Pietro saw you, you looked like a fallen angel. 

The day you had arrived, you'd been as quiet as a mouse. You didn't speak to anyone—Pietro wasn't even sure you spoke english. All you did the first week was keep your head down, your gaze away, and your mouth shut.

The large metal cuffs caged around your dainty wrists looked heavy. When Pietro asked Clint why you wore them and he learned it was to dampen a power you couldn't control, a power you hadn't asked for, his heart ached for you. 

In the beginning, you stayed in a room alone and away from everyone. You looked so gloomy, but even behind those saddened eyes, Pietro thought you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. 

Pietro couldn't stay away. It was simply impossible. Afterall, he was never good at minding his own business—ask his sister. 

"Nechte ji na pokoji (Leave her alone)," Wanda kept warning her brother when she would see how he looked at you, but Pietro never listened. 

It started slowly, with little visits to your room. You'd hide, simply staring at him like he would hurt you. It took him a while, many bars of chocolate, and a little show of his own powers, but finally, you opened up to him.

You seemed to like how he could make himself vibrate or how fast he was and Pietro remembers how warm your hand had been when you touched him after he'd vibrated his hand. You sat criss-crossed in front of him, a concentrated and curious look on your face as you watched him. Up close he could see the scars on your skin. His stomach twisted. It reminded him so much of his younger self. Of those years of torture.   

He could only imagine what you'd gone through.

As weeks turned into months, you opened up some more.  

One night, Pietro heard screaming from your room. The entire team had woken up, but Pietro was faster. He sped in, locked the door behind him, and stood in the room as he watched you crawl on the floor, hands cut from your glass of water that had fallen from your bedside table. You were looking for something as you wailed, hands shaking. Pietro knelt beside you, grabbing your wrist, but he recoiled as a jolt of warmth shocked him and caused his arm to throb in pain.

You had burned him. 

You gasped, eyes teary, and he finally understood that we were looking for the metal cuffs. He'd convinced you a week ago that you could control your powers now, that he would help you, but whatever made you scream had sent your powers into a frenzy. It was only a matter of time until you burnt something—most likely yourself.   

Pietro quickly sped to the closet where you keep your cuffs. Gently, he helped them onto your wrists and held your hands as they stopped shaking. The intense warmth vanished. 

"Shh, malá myš (little mouse), you're safe." 

That night, you'd let him hold you for the first time and you hadn't let go since. 

Pietro was worried he might have gone too far. That you're too attached. And yet, imagining himself pulling away hurts more than he'd like to admit. 

You have started to feel more comfortable around the team, which Pietro usually likes, except when it's to see you sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of hot cocoa, as you chat happily with Bucky. 

Pietro's jaw tightens and he halts near the door, hiding from view. He doesn't know why he hides instead of just joining in on the conversation, but for some reason the sight of you and Bucky standing so close makes him feel sick and he doesn't dare come in. 

"I heard you're close with Pietro, kid," Bucky's voice is light, the smirk obvious in his tone. Your legs dangle from the counter, absentmindedly kicking forwards. Pietro presses his head against the wall. He can't see your expression but he thinks he hears the hint of a smile when you answer. 

"Yeah. We are," you say, sipping your drink. 

"Hm, do you like him?" Bucky asks and Pietro's heart skips. He should walk away. It isn't right to eavesdrop. Wanda would remind him of that if she was here. Still, he doesn't move. 

"Mhmh, he's nice. He's always around me though," you add, a different tone in your voice and insecurities bubble in Pietro's stomach. He knew he was taking things too far. His hands clench. Why hadn't you said anything? Hurt blossoms in his chest and he speeds off, not listening to you finish your answer—

"It's different."

"Different how?" Bucky insists, much too invested. He knows how Pietro feels, everyone does, but you're much harder to understand. The entire team has been dying to know and it was Bucky's turn to ask. After all, you trusted him the most after Pietro. Your circumstances were quite similar. 

You tilt your head, thinking for a moment, and then you beam. "He's different. He makes me feel safe, like I want to be around him all the time."

Bucky chuckles and crosses his arms. "Sounds like you like him," he teases lightly. 

You sip on your drink, considering it. 

"Sounds like you may even love him," he continues, gouging your expression. 

You don't react like Bucky thought you would. You don't deny or ignore your feelings, instead you keep considering his words and when your eyes lock with his, your smile has grown even wider. 

You nod, innocent and cheerful. "Yeah. I think I do."

* * * 

You haven't seen Pietro in three days. He's never in his room when you knock and he's never around the common areas either. Wanda doesn't know anything, or she doesn't want to tell you, and neither does the rest of the team. Your mood has become gloomy. You miss him. 

It's midnight and you're tossing and turning in your bed, unable to cool your body. A horrible side-effect from your powers. Sometimes your body feels like it's on fire. You whimper, sweat beading at your hairline. Pietro's name falls from your lips, desperate. 

Shakily, you stand up. Your vision is blurred, the heat from your palms is intense, and you don't dare touch anything as you stumble down the hall. Your mind is too hazy to think clearly, to find your cuffs and take a cool shower like Pietro always advises. Instead, the only thing on your mind is him. 

You reach his door and call his name. Your throat feels dry and you fall to your knees. You're breathing heavily, your skin burning up.

You're barely aware of someone scooping you in his arms until the icy water from Pietro's personal shower falls down on your skin, soaking your pajamas and causing steam to lift from your skin. Hands cup your cheeks and icy blue eyes fall into your line of vision. 

"What were you thinking?" Pietro's voice is strained. "What have I told you?" 

You blink, taking in his appearance. He's shirtless, goosebumps across his skin as the cold water falls on both of you. He's holding you so close, silver hair sticking to his forehead as his chest rises and falls rapidly. His thumb rubs the skin on your cheekbone. "You have a shower in your bathroom. When this happens, I told you you need to cool yourself down," Pietro's hands fall to your wrists and he frowns. "Where are your cuffs? Y/n, you can't keep misplacing them—"

Your fingers curl around Pietro's wrists instead, the water still falling over you and taming the heat inside you. You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you cling to him. "Where have you been?" you whimper into his neck, your breathing slowly returning to normal. 

Pietro tenses. "What?"

"I missed you," you admit. Your body temperature is finally lowering. 

Pietro's heart flutters and he reaches for the shower knob, turning off the water. You're both still kneeling on the cool tiles and Pietro pulls you in closer to his chest, his hand resting on the back of your head as he caresses your hair. He feels guilty. He had been ignoring you. 

"I didn't want to overwhelm you," he whispers, still stroking your hair. He helps you up, grabbing towels and wrapping you up. In a blur, he's sat you down on his bed, went to your room, and found your cuffs. Gently, he wraps them around your wrists and smiles up at you. "There will come a time you won't need these, but for now, it's okay that you do. They don't make you weak, okay?"

You nod, looking up at him with wide eyes. You're still stuck on his previous words. "Why would you overwhelm me?"

Pietro joins you on the bed, sitting criss-crossed in front of you. He rubs his neck awkwardly. "I don't wanna be clingy—"

"Why not? I like it," you say quickly.

"Well because I don't want to—wait what?"

You smile softly, fumbling nervously with the cuffs. "I like it. When you're clingy. I like being around you."

Pietro's cheeks turn pink. "You do?"

You nod, reaching for his hands now. "I think I may love you," you admit.

Pietro almost chokes and his face is now crimson. He doesn't even know what to say. He feels like he's in a dream. "You do?" 

You nod and play with his fingers. You're beaming. "Yeah. You're my best friend and more. I love you." You lean in, close to his lips. You're looking at him with such adoration he doesn't know what to think. 

"I love you as well," he whispers and cups your cheek, your wet hair dropping water onto his hand. He smiles. "Can I show you how much?"

Your eyebrows furrow a moment but then you recall some conversation you'd had with Nat and Wanda, about men and love. You'd spent almost your entire life captured by Hydra so this was all so unknown to you, but something feels right. You think back to their conversation and nod, allowing your eyes to flutter shut so that Pietro can kiss you.

It's soft and sweet and when he pulls away, there is so much love behind his eyes. "You're an angel," he mutters and kisses your forehead. "I won't leave your side again. I promise. You're stuck with me, Princezna (Princess)."

Your lips feel funny from the kiss but you can't help but grin at his words. Hesitantly, you lean and kiss him again, your hands cupping his cheek now, and Pietro kisses you back, pulling you into his lap, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips. 

Despite the cuffs, your body temperature seems to spike again—but this time not for the same reasons. Your hands feel cooler than they've ever felt, but that heat in your gut spreads across your body with every kiss Pietro bestows upon your skin. 

For once, you don't want the heat to disappear.  

[myprettylittlemind3]

Dad!Tangerine x wife!reader

Summary: Tangerine and your daughter go grocery shopping.

Genre: Just fluff <3

Warnings: jealousy (nothing super serious)

~ in honor of Father's Day 🤍 and this is officially an apology for breaking your hearts with Last Kiss… ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

There was nothing Tangerine hated more than grocery stores. No matter how clean, they always smell like dust, and no matter how empty, they are always loud. 

This afternoon, the new, hip, pop music is blasting across the store's multiple speakers and Tangerine almost considers covering his poor daughter's little ears because of how loud and obnoxious it all is. But, she's sleeping so darn peacefully, he's afraid that touching her more than the firm hand he has on her little head will disturb her.

He walks down to the baby food aisle, pushing his shopping cart with one hand. Thank God you had insisted on buying this ridiculously expensive baby carrier. It makes life so much easier and it's snug around his hips, keeping Maisie secured to his chest. Tangerine looks at all the brands on the shelves, taking his time, as he tries to find the ones you like best for her. After all, you spend more time with Maisie than he does—because of his job and all. Which is exactly why when he's home, he likes doing all the things you usually do—including shopping. 

Maisie makes a little sound, indicating that she's stirring awake and Tangerine smiles. "Hiya, Pipsqueak," he whispers as her round blue eyes blink up at him. Her small mouth forms into an 'O' and she hiccups, blinking rapidly. Tangerine bounces her in the carrier, his hand patting her back, anticipating her crying and, distracted by the movement, Maisie giggles. 

"There ya go," Tangerine praises, his smile widening. 

"She's very cute," a woman's voice interrupts the happy moment and Tangerine looks behind him. She looks around his age, early-thirties, with chestnut brown hair and wide hazel eyes. She's pretty, he makes the observation—objectively, of course. No woman compares to you in his eyes so he doesn't linger on the passing thought. The woman has her own child, a rowdy little boy who is half-hanging off the shopping cart he's strapped to. 

"How old is she?" 

"Almost seven months," Tangerine answers politely and turns to his food choices. Maisie makes a little sound and he coos, "I know, Pip, don't these all look so good?" as he caresses her wisps of hair.

He holds the little jar of orange pudding over Maisie, watching her eyes move with the jar, and he reads the label; Apricot and Beef. His nose scrunches in disgust. "Bloody hell," he mumbles and shakes his head, discarding the jar back onto the shelf.

"Are you a single dad?" The woman asks again, her son making loud car noises and Tangerine's mood instantly sours. 

"Oi, what kinda question is that?" he turns back to her, sounding offended. He's still bouncing Maisie, his gaze narrows at the woman, hoping his wedding ring becomes obvious. 

The woman pales at his tone and she raises her hands in a surrendering motion. "I- I didn't mean any harm," she mutters and her gaze drops to his hand. "Oh," she finishes, her cheeks becoming pink. Tangerine's gaze hardens as he becomes increasingly annoyed by this entire interaction. 

"I think she only asked because it's rare to see a man in this position," another woman interrupts cheerily from his opposite side. She is also wearing a baby carrier, but her daughter is much older than Maisie and she rests against the woman's back, her small hands hitting her mother's shoulder.

This woman is older and her eyes look tired. "I sure wish my husband would offer to take the children and do the groceries once in a while, if only so I could have a moment to myself. How long have you been married?"

Tangerine's expression softens as he looks between the women. What an fucking odd situation, he thinks. "Four years," he says. He smiles. He truly takes any chance given to talk about you and his marriage. "Been together for a little more than eight now though." His smile widens a little, your beautiful face popping into his mind. Maisie bables, drool getting on his chemise, but he just chuckles. "Quite a long time, huh, Pip?"  

The older woman smiles, wrinkles crinkling near her eyes. "Ah, the honeymoon phase—although, I'm sure it will last if you keep this up." She gestures towards him. The younger one, who is now holding her boy as he fusses in her arms, nods as well and she sends Tangerine a strained smile. She's looking at him with envy, but he can't blame her. His gaze drifts to her wedding ring. Her husband must be a real bellend. 

"It'll last," he says, grabbing some baby crackers and dropping them in his cart. "And a bit of friendly advice for ya." He looks back at the younger woman, smiling without his eyes. "Tell yer good for nothing husband to man the fudge up or leave his sorry arse. Kay?"

She seems speechless and he pats Maisie's back as she makes another gurgle and he rolls his cart past the woman. He pauses and reaches up higher than she can, grabbing some squeezable apple sauce from the top shelf. He'd noticed her debating on how to reach them, her eyes flickering to them during the conversation. He hands them to her and her eyes widen. 

"Oh, how did you—"

"By paying attention," he shrugs, looking between the women again. "Evenin'," he nods his head and walks away. 

He can't deny the thrill of being better. Better than their husbands, better than most men. It makes him feel superior and the closest to perfect he can be. He beams. He can't wait to tell you this when he gets home.

Maisie keeps on babbling at him, her tiny hands reaching for the lapels of his suit. He looks at her adoringly and nods, "Daddy did good, didn't he? Yeah," he chuckles and looks around, until he catches the plant section. "Now what kind of flowers do ya think Mummy would want, hm, Pip?"  

* * *

You've fallen asleep on the couch by the time Tangerine and Maisie come home. Your book is resting open on your chest as you snore slightly, your hair slightly damp from your shower.

Still, no matter how quietly your husband closes the door, you hear the sound. You've trained yourself to hear every little noise around the house because of Maisie. 

"Sorry, luv, I didn' wanna wake you," he says with a smile and unclasps the carrier, one hand under Maisie's bum as he slips the strap down his shoulder. You stand, yawning behind your hand as you walk over to him. He leans down and kisses your cheek, handing you the roses he'd picked. You take them, thanking him immediately as you smile brightly. Tangerine kisses your lips and then you bend down to pick up the groceries from the floor. You blink the haziness from your vision as Tangerine secures Maisie in his arms, the carrier put away. You caress your daughter's cheek and smile, walking into the kitchen.

Once you're inside and have found a vase, you arrange the pink and red roses. Tangerine buckles Maisie into the reclined infant seat, cooing sounds at her and it makes you smile. You move to the brown paper bag. "Oh, you found the ones I like," you hum, starting to put away the food. You hand Tangerine the baby crackers and he takes a sticky baby-plate and arranges some for Maisie. She gurgles happily when she sees them. 

"You were very specific, darling." Tangerine chuckles, breaking the crackers into smaller pieces for Maisie. 

He walks behind you, his hand skimming your stomach as he presses his chest against your back. Your eyes flutter closed and you lean into him, sighing. Exhaustion falls over you again, your body tired and relaxed. "How was your snooze?" He whispers in your ear. 

"Perfect," you say with a smile. "Thank you for going."

"Anything for you."

Tangerine rests his chin on your shoulder and you reach up to cup his cheek. "Was she fussy?"

"Nah, she was an angel," he smirks against your neck, pressing a kiss to your skin. "Although, some ladies seemed quite interested in 'er. And me, I suppose," he says with some cheek, hoping you take the bait.

When you spin around, your back pressed to the counter, he knows he won. His gaze flickers to Maisie, making sure she's okay, and then he looks at you again. 

"What happened?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. Not out of suspicion that something did happen. But simply because he's wearing that expression. You poke his cheek. "You're smiling like something happened," you tease. 

Tangerine shrugs. "What can I say, married women seem to love me. Some of them asked if I was a single dad."

Now your gaze hardens. "They what?"

Tangerine laughs and cups your cheek, kissing near your eye. "Don't look so gutted, my luv. Told 'em about you. Showed 'em my ring and all. They did sing my praises however, best husband or what not—" he winks, a smug grin creeping up his face. 

You cross your arms, now holding in your smirk. "Oh, they said that? For what? Grocery shopping for me? For our daughter?" 

"Guess so. Some husbands they must have. Miserable, innit?" Tangerine rolls his eyes. 

You laugh wholeheartedly now, placing your hands on his chest. "Aren't I lucky," you say it with a hint of sarcasm, but behind the playful tone, you do mean every word.

You are lucky.

Tangerine hums and leans in, his lips almost touching yours. He's still smiling, his eyes soft. "So lucky."

You nod, kissing him. "Mmm. The luckiest."

The sound of crackers falling from Maisie's hand interrupts the moment and you pull away, fussing over her as Tangerine continues to put away the groceries. You pick Maisie up, handing her a new small cracker. She gnaws on it happily, her consistency softening in her mouth. She's smiling up at you as she chews, babbling at you. 

"So damn talkative," Tangerine hums from behind you, closing the fridge.

 You nuzzle into Maisie's head, wiping some cracker crumbs from her lips. "He is such a complainer— you're just a little chatterbox, hmm?"

Another gurgle and a grin. 

"Heard that," Tangerine calls. 

You playfully narrow your gaze, ignoring him. You kiss Maisie's cheeks, putting her back into the chair and turn to ask Tangerine to prepare one of the fruit purées for her but he's already stirring the small spoon in the glass jar. You smile, your gaze softening. "You're such an overachiever," you say with a laugh.

He grins. "I'm adaptable. I think ahead."

"Show off."

"You love me."

You nod, "I do."

"And I love you."

"I would hope so," you say as he walks towards you and captures your lips with his again. 

"I love you more than anything," he says and then his gaze drifts towards Maisie behind you, her wide eyes staring at him and he smiles softly. "Maybe not anything," he adds and you turn your head as well, your smile obvious.

"Mm, of course."

Tangerine straightens up and smells the jar, his nose wrinkling. "You promise we aren't killing our daughter by feeding her this shit? Smells proper nasty."

"Promise. Now give it here you big drama queen," you say and take the jar from him. You take a spoonful for Maisie and bring it to her mouth. "Daddy is such a drama queen, isn't he, Maisie?" 

Tangerine rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Oi, stop bad mouthing me to our kid." 

"Sooo dramatic." 

Maisie makes a little sound and both your hearts melt on the spot. The banter dies and you both look at your daughter with love and adoration. Tangerine glances at you and you lock eyes, simply smiling. 

And at that moment, nothing else matters.

[myprettylittlemind3]

Tangerine x fiancé!fem!reader

Summary: On a mission, your worst nightmare happens.

Genre: angst, no happy ending I'm sorry :(

Warnings: character death, blood set in canon, established relationship

~ this is basically just a re-writing of what happens in the movie… I was listening to The Prophecy by T.S when writing this is... ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

You had been foolish to assume the worst pain you ever experienced was being shot in the stomach. Sure, you had been in pain for weeks after that, but you'd take that bullet wound over the pain that currently cuts into your chest. 

You've been trying to return to where you'd last seen them for what feels like hours now. The bullet train had been eerily silent on your end and you had this sudden gut-instinct that you had to find the boys because something had gone horribly wrong. 

Entering another train compartment, you gasp. The moment you see the man with the bucket hat, you spin around and hide behind the door as you unlock your gun. You hold it behind you as you peek through the glass of the door. You frown when you see someone familiar behind him. 

Lemon's shirt is drenched in blood but he looks unharmed. "Lemon?" You croak out, tucking your gun away as you walk out. Suddenly, everyone's attention turns to you and you feel uneasy.

Bucket hat mimics your frown and the other two men look concerned, "Shit, is this?" The blond man starts to ask Lemon.

"Yeah." Lemon interrupts and he sounds exhausted. You stand still, feeling the tension in the air. You look at Lemon for reassurance when he walks closer but your heart sinks when you see the pendant around his neck.

"Where's Tangerine?" You ask quickly. 

Lemon doesn't answer.

"Lemon," you warn, lifting your palm up at him. You squint. Lemon's eyes jump solemnly to the simple, yet pretty, diamond ring you have on your ring finger and you feel nauseous. "Lemon, where is he?" you ask in a hurried whisper, conscious of everyone's eyes on you. 

"Hey," Lemon starts. You realize his own cheeks are damp with tears and when he reaches you, he just hugs you, "It's okay."

You shake your head furiously, refusing to hug him, "No," you croak, feeling that familiar horrible pit form in your stomach. You knew the moment you saw Lemon something had happened, but this? No. "No, please," you whimper and you start to feel shaky.

"Come 'ere" Lemon holds you into him but you resist and start to punch his chest.

"I want to see him! Lemon! Let me see him!" you feel crazy now as you hit him. It's not enough to hurt him so you do the best thing you can think of and slap him across the cheek. The sound resonates around the train car and you fall silent. When you see Lemon hasn't even reacted to your hit, you just feel hopeless.

"Lemon, please," you hiccup. "I- I just want to see him."

"No, you don't," he insists. You stare him down.

"Man, maybe you should just let her—" Bucket hat starts but Lemon instantly snaps at him;

"You, shut the fuck up and mind your own fucking business," he snarls but when he looks at you again, a look in his eyes shifts and he takes your hand. You let him lead you down a few train cars in silence as you try and prepare yourself for what you might see. 

Nothing could have prepared you for what you do see.

From a distance, it looks like he's asleep. Your mind tricks you into thinking he is until you move a little closer and then your heart shatters. You pause, hand clenching around Lemon's as you look at him with teary eyes.

"T-tell me this isn't real," you whisper and the look in his eyes tells you the exact opposite.

Lemon holds your hand all the way to Tangerine and at first you can’t move as you look at him. His face is littered in cuts and bruises that hadn't been there when you saw him last and his usually clean, neat, suit looks disheveled and is stained in blood. His blood.

He looks peaceful. His eyes are shut and his head is leaning onto one side. A nasty wound is visible on his throat and you croak out a sob as you cover your mouth and fall to your knees in front of him.

You choke out cries behind your hand and shake your head. You don't dare reach out and touch him—you don't know if you can handle this to be the last memory you have of touching him. Not when you have so many good ones. You squeeze your eyes shut remembering your last interaction;

Tangerine had let his hand slide down your cheek. "You be careful as well, my love," he had said. He'd never been this affectionate in public so his kind touch is a surprise. You catch his hand and press it to your cheek as you kiss his calloused palm.

"I will," you promised.

Tangerine kissed your forehead and when he pulled away, he looked at you like you're his entire world. His lips had moved downwards to kiss yours and the memory breaks you. 

You bend forward, choking on your cries. Lemon stands behind you, watching helplessly as you scream in pain. He doesn't move. No matter how loud you are he doesn't move. When you look at Tangerine's body again, you move closer. Your hands are shaking.

You reach out and this time you cup his cheeks delicately in your hands. Fuck this. They feel cold against your skin and you bite your lip so hard it bleeds. The blood that trickles down your chin, sprinkles onto Tangerine's shirt. 

You tilt your head, grimacing as you cry. You push some of his damp curls away from his eyes, wishing his eyes would open. With shaky lips, you press a kiss to his forehead. "I love you," you mumble into his skin, wishing you'd said it to him one last time when he could hear it.

"He knew," Lemon interrupts. He kneels down next to you and touches your shoulder, his hands are also shaking. "I know I'm not him, but I'm here for you. I love my brother and I know he loved you more than himself, he'd want me to look after you."

Your hand, now covered in Tangerine's blood, falls from his cheek and the pain in your heart only worsens. You turn and hug your arms around Lemon's neck. "Thank you," you cry, finally accepting his comfort. Words seem impossible. 

Lemon holds you close and you start to feel less alone. Your cheek hits the coldness of Tangerine's pendant and you pull away.

"Where did you find this?" you ask, touching the pendant.

"It was on me." Lemon says solemnly and then he takes it off and tries to hand it over, "Here, he would want you to have it."

You shake your head. "No, he'd want you to have it. He must have given it to you before he —" you can't finish the sentence. "It's yours, please. I have this," you lift your hand and look at the ring Tangerine had given you. A simple, yet beautiful engagement ring for the wedding you'll never have. The wedding you'd convinced him it was safe to have. Tears spill again and you let your head drop onto Lemon's chest. You don't even know what to say anymore. 

Lemon holds your head, looking over your shoulder at his brother. He feels angry at Tangerine. Angry for leaving him alone so soon, for leaving you alone, angry at him for dying—Lemon shuts his eyes, focusing on anything but the pain because he feels like his heart will explode. 

Your breathing becomes heavier, the feeling of your loves blood on your hands feels wrong. Lemon knows you must be exhausted. He stands and tries to make you stand as well. You don't move. You shake your head, turning back to Tangerine.

It still looks like he's just sleeping.

You look up at Lemon again and whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. "I want to stay with him."

Lemon frowns, "Are you sure? It's not—

"I'm sure, Lemon," you just say and reach out, your fingers stroking Tangerine's hair. "I'm staying with him."

Lemon sees the determination in your eyes and he just nods. He turns, leaving you alone with Tangerine. Once he's gone, you turn your attention to Tangerine and you hold his cheek again. His wound has stopped bleeding. He's lost too much blood. You press your hand on the wound, knowing deep down it's not doing anything but you can't help yourself. You lean in and kiss his temple. 

"Rest, my love," you whisper, your forehead pressing against his and another tear falls. "You can rest now."  

[myprettylittlemind3]

James Potter x Slytherin!fem!reader

Summary: Being friends with benefits with James Potter isn't all you want, it just takes you a while to come to terms with that reality.

Genre: a mix of everything

Warnings: reader and James are 18, suggestive, sex, friends with benefits, misunderstanding trope, reader and James are both delusional lol, reader is stubborn and headstrong, James x Lily, hint of enemies to lovers

ask: [...] like give me the angst of wanting to be detached but feeling insecure when you see him with someone else (or vice versa) or the hurt comfort where you both start to fall for each other but don’t know how to deal with it!

~ thank you for requesting my dear 🫀anon. Sorry this took forever ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

When the four infamous Gryffindors saunter into the Common Room to attend one of the Slytherin parties, no one is surprised, at least not since Sirius and Regulus Black reconciled their differences.

Tonight is Regulus's 17th birthday, which meant Sirius had made James promise he would be on his best behavior. 

However, the latter doesn't seem to be doing a good job as his eyes are trained on Severus Snape and Lily Evans, who are standing much too close for his liking. James downs his fourth fire-whiskey and turns to Remus, shaking his head drunkenly.

"What a pompous prick," he slurs, his cheeks turning pinker. The collar of his chemise is overturned and Remus sighs, fixes it for his best friend.

"He isn't hurting anyone," Remus mutters.

James rolls his sharp hazel eyes, glaring at the couple in the corner. He hates how Lily laughs at whatever stupid joke he's telling her. He hates how happy she looks with someone who isn't him. Ever since their break up a few months ago, James's patience with Severus has been almost non-existent.

He walks forward, his shoulders squared, and walks right into you. 

His drink spills all over your blouse, causing you to gasp. 

"Sorry," James grumbles but he doesn't even glance your way as his gaze remains fixated on Lily.

You snap your head up, glaring at him. You feel embarrassed as James's drink is sticky. He doesn't seem to care as struts over, successfully breaking up Lily and Severus' conversation, and leaving you alone. Your gaze narrows.

"You good?" Daniel, the guy you've liked for a while, asks, coming up behind you as he returns from the loo. You don't answer him, simply watching as James embarrasses himself and shoves Severus away. "He's a twat, even outside the pitch," Daniel grunts, crossing his arms and sending James a dark look.

You knew of his rivalry with James Potter but honestly, you couldn't care less at that moment. All that matters is that Daniel's attention is on you as he inspects your blouse. You shrug. "He's a dick. C'mon,"

You lead Daniel up the stairs, to a secluded corner near the dormitories. Daniel leans against the wall, frowning a little as he senses your hand slide up his chest and your lips hover close to his neck. He catches your wrist and laughs, his gaze sharp on yours. 

"You're joking, right? 'M not gonna sleep with you, Y/l/n. You're not that kind of girl." 

You snatch your hand away from him, an expression of hurt spreading across your features. "I'm not what kind of girl?" you ask, narrowing your gaze at him. Daniel's eyes watery from his laughter and you feel even more stupid. 

"The kind you sleep with," Daniel shrugs, "It's not a bad thing, let's go back to the party,"

"Do you not think I'm pretty?" you interrupt, the drinks you'd had rushing to your head as your eyes narrow. When David looks like he could burst into laughter again, you don't give him much time to explain himself as you run up the stairs to your dorm.

You've never felt as stupid as you do now. You slam your door shut, collapsing onto your bed as you hug your pillow. Tears threaten to spill but you don't let them. Daniel McLaggen can fuck himself.

You're the kind of girl someone fucks.

You are. 

Wiping your tears, you stand and rush down to the Common Room again. This time, you simply walk by Daniel and you don't even bother turning to see his expression when you brush him off as you make a beeline towards someone who you wouldn't have even considered otherwise.

You only think of him because of Daniel's previous words.

James Potter stands to the side now, having been pulled away by Remus, still fuming. Without thinking you walk up to him. He turns his gaze, his eyebrows creasing. 

"Can I help–"

"Can I kiss you?" you blurt out, cheeks burning. You needed to ask. You couldn't just ambush him without consent. Still, James looks just as shocked as he would have if you'd simply kissed him. His jaw falls open and he clears his throat. 

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asks, uncharacteristically nervous. 

You shake your head, resisting the urge to make sure Daniel is watching. You keep your eyes on James. "It might make Lily Evans jealous," you try and convince him, although you aren't even sure if she'd care. 

James thinks abut it for a moment.

"Oh, well, okay, sure," James says with a small nod and you move closer, wrapping your hand around his tie. Without wasting time, you pull him into you and crash your lips onto his. He tastes like fire-whiskey and raspberry pastries but you don't care. You move your hand to his hair, tighten your fingers in his curls, lips moving in sync with his. Once James kisses you back, his hands find your hips and he holds you steady. 

He's a pretty damn good kisser. 

Soon, one thing leads to another and you wake up in his dorm room. Your clothes are scattered around the floor. Thank Merlin he's Head Boy or you'd have his roommates to worry about. James is still sleeping, his arm tucked under his pillow as he snores lightly.

Sitting up, you hold the sheets over your naked body as the events of last night play in your mind. You look at James, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have taken things this far. All to prove yourself to some arsehole? No, this shouldn't have happened. 

Your gaze softens. James looks so peaceful in his lip. You resist the urge to touch his hair.

Cursing, you promise yourself it will never happen again as you sneak out of his room.

And still, week after week you find yourself twisted in his sheets again and again. 

Turns out, fucking around with James Potter is addictive.

* * * Four Months Later * * *

"Hiya, love," James announces happily, plopping himself onto the chair in front of yours in the library. He's loud so you shush him, your finger pressed to his lips as he leans forward over the small desk. You don't look up from your book. You need to pass Potions and you don't have time for distractions. 

James smirks against your finger. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"An essay, now be quiet, you're annoying me."

James laughs and lays his head on his arm, his dark curls falling over his features as he draws small little hearts near your hand as you write. He's teasing you on purpose. Looking up, you narrow your gaze. "What's your problem, James?"

"Are you coming over tonight?"

The question causes you to flush and you look away, focusing on your essay again. You think for a moment, letting his words wash over you. It is Thursday, meaning you usually meet him in his dorm. Your cheeks burn. 

"Hmm," you nod and then push his hand away, "now bugger off, you're being such a knob." You keep your voice calm and steady, knowing James has too much power over you.

In all honesty, you're still not used to this; being friends with benefits with James Fucking Potter. You're barely friends, it's mostly all benefits, or at least that is what you like to think. It makes the situation so much easier when you're riding him in his room and he's muttering praises in your ear.

It helps keep the lines clear. 

Lines that James loves to blur.

That evening as he snaps your bra open and presses kisses on your chest and stomach, he makes conversation; "Will you come to my game tomorrow?" he asks hopefully, still kissing you. 

You gasp, arching and running your hand in his hair as you lean into his mouth. "U-um, yeah–sure."

He pulls away and sends you an adorably stern look. "I'm being serious. Please come. I want you there."

Your chest rises and falls as you gently rock your hips against him. "I said I would," you whisper, annoyance lacing your tone. James senses your frustration and smirks. He leans forward and wraps his strong arms around your back, attaching his lips to your nipples. 

"Good," he says with a devilish smirk. 

You moan in response.

You didn't think you would actually go. Going to support James, the Captain of the Gryffindor team as a Slytherin, was too close to girlfriend activities for your liking. Plus, you'd stopped trying to make Daniel jealous months ago so there was no reason to be there.

Only, James asked you and in the moment, that seems reason enough. 

The game is loud and you feel a little awkward sitting in the Gryffindor section instead of the Slytherin one. James's friends are rambunctious and one practically bumps into you as he cheers loudly. You move closer to the balcony edge, leaning against it as you focus on the game.

Your eyes drift to a familiar figure in the distance. He's holding the quaffle under his arm, his dark hair is even messier than it usually is and he's clearly an experienced flyer. He throws the quaffle into the hoop and scores. Cheers erupt around you and you straighten up, a small smile forming on your lip. James does some, obnoxious, victory flips and your smile can't help but grow. 

Instantly, you feel embarrassed and you control your smile. You shouldn't be smiling so hard at James Potter. Your heart is pounding and unwanted thoughts swirl into your mind. You spend the rest of the game pretending you're not looking at James. 

Once the game ends, you wander around the Gryffindor Common Room at the after party. You'd promised yourself you would congratulate James and then leave immediately. Only you've been in aimlessly wandering around for thirty minutes and you still haven't found him. You're beginning to become annoyed.

Where the fuck is he? 

Finally, you turn a corner and see him. Well, you see his back, but that's unmistakably his jersey. You open your mouth to call his name as you walk forward but your voice dies in your throat. Someone's hands are in his hair. Your heart sinks and you suddenly feel like throwing up. 

James twists his body as the girl comes into view. Your nose scrunches in disgust. Lily Evans? Why is Lily Evans kissing your James? Just as the thought pops into your mind, another wave of nausea washes over you. James isn't yours. If anything, he'd only been passing time with you when he wanted Lily back all along. 

Your breathing is labored as you watch Lily kiss him.

No. This is so wrong. You shouldn't be crying over him.

You back up, turn around and rush out the door before James or Lily could see you. You wipe at your tears, focusing on anger instead of sadness. 

Fuck this. 

* * *

James hasn't seen you in three days and he's becoming worried. You haven't answered any of his Owls, you crumple up any note he writes to you in class, and you avoid him outside of classes.

He doesn't understand what he did wrong. 

He'd waited up for you after his game. He'd had this entire speech planned, some stupid, love-sick confession of his feelings, and yet, you never even showed up. He wants to be angry with you but he can't bring himself to be. He can never stay angry with you even when he tries. 

However, it seems like you're angry with him because when he coincidentally sees you on your way to Honeydukes and he calls your name, you spin around and glare at him. "Leave me alone, Potter," you spit and that wild look he usually loves so much, now scares him a little. Still, he runs up and his hand brushes your arm. 

You turn around again and shove him. With a thud, James falls to the ground. He hadn't expected you to push him and he lost his balance on the mud from the morning rain. "Oi, bloody hell, woman! What is your problem?" 

You're standing over him now and you look furious. 

"You're my problem!"

"Me?" James scrambles up, dusting the dirt from his jeans. He looks at his Converse and they're covered in mud. Great. He looks back up, an expression of hurt obvious on his face. He doesn't have time to worry about his shoes when you're this upset. "I don't understand! What did I do?"

You're breathing heavily, your gaze locked onto his. The truth is too hard to admit. 

"Just, leave me alone," you snarl again, turning back around. James catches your wrist and turns you towards him once more. You're a little surprised but you don't push him or pull away. Instead, the air around you both feels thicker.

"I like you," James blurts out.

Your chest tightens so much it hurts.

"Don't lie to me," you say, your voice hoarse. 

James looks flabbergasted and he moves forward, taking your other hand in his. "What? I'm not lying. I wanted to tell you after my game but you never came—"

"I did come, you tosser!" you snap and James's brown eyes widen. You've never looked more beautiful, even if you do look like you want to kill him. You push your index into his chest. "I came to the game and I saw you play and I even stayed afterward like an idiot because I wanted to see you. And you know what I saw?"

James shakes his head. He's a little petrified.   

"I saw you kissing Lily Evans. Lily Evans of all people! And what's worse is that I shouldn't have been surprised because it was always her. I should have known—"

James blinks and out of all the things he could have said, the only thing that slips from his mouth is, "Y/n. Did you listen to anything I just said?"

That only angers you more because you look like a vein on your forehead could pop at any moment. "What?! James, did you just listen to what I just said?!"

"I never kissed Lily. She kissed me," James says matter-of-factly and then leans in so his face is close to yours. "Now what did I say?"

"That isn't how that works! You both kissed!"

"Nope. I did not. Now, what did I say?!"

"Don't patronize me," you hiss.

"Y/n."

"You said you like me but—"

James places his index on your lips, cracking a small smile. "Exactly. I like you, not Lily. I told her as much after she kissed me. She means nothing to me anymore. My heart belongs to you and only you."

Your lips part under James's finger, your eyes still wide and a little glossy. His words swirl in your chest, warm and so so dangerous. "You're such an idiot," you whisper against him, his confession finally sinking in. You push him away. "I don't believe you. Why should I believe you!?"

"Because it's the truth. You drive me crazy." James moves his hand and cups your cheek. He's staring at you now like you're the only person in the world who matters. You feel like he's stared at you like this before, you just never knew what it meant.  

James moves a little closer, his large hands framing your face. "I have felt like this for months. Months. And I've been meaning to tell you. I like you. I want you. Not just in my bed as a passing fancy, not to make anyone jealous, but just because I want you."

Your heart catches in your throat, and you know you should say something—anything—but instead, all your defenses come crumbling down as you crash your lips into his and kiss him. 

James responds instantly, hands curling around your waist as he lifts you slightly off the ground and hugs you, his lips still on yours.

Once you finally break apart, his forehead finds yours, and he mutters, "So, does this mean we can finally be done pretending we're just casual now?"

You scoff. "Is that what we were doing?"

James smiles, his dimples appearing as he nuzzles his nose into yours. "Mm, it was," he whispers.

You smile gently. "It suppose was, wasn't it?"

He leans in and kisses you again, smiling against your mouth. "I'm yours. If you'll have me. I am completely and wholeheartedly yours."

"Does that mean you promise to stop being such a knob sometimes," you say and shoot him a pretend annoyed look, keeping him close.

James grins. He raises an eyebrow and wiggles it playfully. "No promises," he teases but he leans in and kisses you again, a silent promise. A promise that he loves you, he loves you more than anything.

[myprettylittlemind3]

Count Alexei Vronksy x fem!reader

Summary: You have not seen your childhood best friend in years, and when you finally do so much has changed, and yet nothing has changed at all...

Genre: hurt and comfort <3

Warnings: friends to lovers, mentions of brothels and implication of physical violence towards women/domestic abuse

COUNT ALEXEI VRONSKY MASTERLIST

You haven't seen Alexei Vronsky in almost ten years—not since your family had shipped you off to have an education in England. Which meant that, on the train returning to Moscow one February evening, when your Mama brought him up, you were more than surprised. 

"Alexei? Yes, what about him? Papa says he became a cavalry officer," you say, clutching onto the intricate leather gloves on your lap as you turn your head, your hat weighing heavy on your neck as the snowy landscape passes you by.

You had convinced yourself that you didn't think of Alexei, so why was he suddenly the topic of conversation now? 

"He is in Moscow with the Countess. He came to say hello," your mother hums, a soft smile on her lips. 

"Say hello to whom?"

"To you, доченька (precious daughter)."

Your head snaps forward as the train comes to a harsh halt. "Pardon?" 

Your Mama just sends you a look and stands. She doesn't seem amused by your attitude, especially because she knows Alexei was your best friend. She knows there is no man, apart from perhaps your Papa, you loved more than Alexei. 

Which is why this all seemed especially cruel. You had returned to Russia to marry Igor Angeloff, the second son of Grand Duchess Natalya Angeloff, your mama's closest friend. You shouldn't even be thinking of another man.

You follow her outside the train, gasping as you feel the chilly wind, and your hat finally falls from your head and stumbles through the snow in front of you. You lean forward and outstretch your arm, reaching for your hat, but you come to a halt when you see a pair of shiny leather shoes in your vision. 

"Is this hat yours, солнышко (Sunshine)?" The childhood nickname startles you, but it's the voice that makes you pause. You look up. Alexei has grown much taller since you'd last seen him. His lanky frame is now replaced by broad shoulders and flexing muscles. His hair is shinner and curlier, and the blue of his eyes contrasts to the pink of his lips. 

He looks like an angel. 

"Alexei?" you whisper, your gaze dropping down to where he still holds your hat.

"It had been forever, hasn't it?" he grins, his lips curl into a smile. Something inside you shifts, and your lips curl into a smile even wider than his as instincts take over. 

You practically jump into his arms, holding your arms around his neck. Alexei grunts, surprised, but he catches you anyway, your hat falling from his hands as they hold your waist. "I missed you," you admit in a whisper, which is only for him to hear.

You'd spent years convincing yourself you hadn't missed him that the admission felt foreign falling from your lips. 

He tightens his arms around you. "I missed you as well, солнышко (Sunshine)," he says, and suddenly everything feels right again. 

* * *

That evening, the gardens aren't in bloom as snow ices over the branches and cover the flower beds. You're dressed warmly, your arm linked with Alexei's as you nuzzle into him for warmth. The sky is turning darker the further you walk, and there seems to be so much to mention, you don't even know where to begin. 

"A cavalry officer, hm?" you say, smiling up at him. You look at his uniform, admiring it.

Alexei nods. "I like it. They're good people. You'll have to meet my horse, Frou-Frou, sometime," he looks at you with a small smile. "He's a sweetheart." He pauses and continues, "How was England?"

"Rainy," you laugh and look at the path, "But I got a good education. I cannot complain. It feels different being here again. With you." Your confession hangs in the air for a moment, and Alexei looks pained. 

"I should have written to you," he admits. 

You squeeze his arm with your hand. "I didn't write to you either. We were children, Alexei. None of us are to blame. We're here now, that is what truly matters." You smile, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in your stomach as you look at him. His blue eyes lock with yours, and the air leaves your lungs. None of you speak for a moment, but you've stopped walking.

Alexei unlinks your arms but holds your hands in his. His voice is strained when he asks, "Maman tells me you're betrothed to Igor Angeloff," Alexei says his name with such disdain, and your chest tightens. You nod slowly, your eyes never leaving his. 

Something is wrong. 

Alexei clicks his tongue. "He is a brute," he says, almost hesitating. 

"Whatever does that mean?" you ask, eyes wide 

"Alexsander and I have heard him speak of the brothels he frequents," Alexei admits, looking away for a moment as snow falls, dusting your hair with white speckles. His thumb brushes some away from your hair as his jaw tightens. "He doesn't treat those girls as he should."

You take in his words, reality causing your skin to shiver as your mouth dries. You don't know what to say to him. If you didn't marry Igor, what did you have waiting for you here? You were already twenty-two and without a husband. You couldn't wait much longer.

Hurt, anger, and confusion cross your features. What does Alexei think this information will do apart from scare you? There have been talks of him marrying Princess Kitty. What could he possibly do to prevent you from marrying Igor?

"I have no choice," you tell him, your hands dropping from his.

"There is always a choice, солнышко (Sunshine)."

"Perhaps for you, not for me. I am a woman, I need a husband," you say, looking at him sadly.

Alexei shakes his head, the snow falling quicker. "I cannot accept that. I cannot bear you marrying him, not when he could hurt you. He is capable of hurting you. Your family doesn't know him like I do. I- I will not watch you slip away from me again—" 

His words confuse you. Ten years ago, Alexei hadn't even said a proper goodbye when your family put you on that ship for England, and now he's pretending you slipped away? "I don't understand," you admit, your gaze wide, and when Alexei slowly kneels on one knee, you back away, heels kicking snow.

You frown, your gaze hardening. "Alexei. Get up."

He doesn't listen. Instead, he fumbles with his uniform pocket and pulls out a small, golden box. He pops it open,and the prettiest ring you've ever seen shines in the dim light. You stare at him, speechless. 

"Is this Kitty's ring?" you ask, your voice small. The ring does looks worthy of a princess. 

Alexei shakes his head. "No. No. I didn't buy this for her. It's for you."

"Me?" you say, shaking your head in disbelief and confusion. "Why–how? When?"

Alexei stands and walks towards you. He shuts the box and puts it in your hand as his hands close around yours. He's so close now. His blue eyes are intoxicating, but you don't want to look away. "When Maman told me you were coming back and that you were supposed to marry Igor, I almost lost my mind. Y/n, you were almost always on my mind—like some distant memory or an unattainable fantasy. I didn't dare reach out. And, then you were coming home again, and it was all real and I couldn't let him have you. He wouldn't be the kind of husband you deserve."

"But you would?" you ask and tense when one of his hands cup your cheeks. 

Alexei nods, his jaw clenched with determination. "I would do anything to make you happy. I would gift you the world if you let me."

You take in his words, but you are not quite sure how to process them. The confession of his feelings has caused the ones you had spent years hiding to bubble to the surface. The little girl inside you yearns for this. She wants to be his.

However, you have responsibilities—you have a duty. Igor is a Duke. Marrying Alexei wouldn't assure your family that stability. You'd be a Countess, nothing more, and you have worked so hard for a chance at a higher position. 

Did it matter that you'd be marrying a violent man when so much rests on your shoulders? 

"Let me show you what I mean," Alexei suddenly whispers, his voice snapping you back to the present and then his hand tightens around your cheek, and he leans in. His lips feel soft against yours, and he kisses you like you're something precious. Your hand falls from the box, and you grasp the fabric of his uniform near his waist. You find yourself kissing him back as his hand tangles into your hair. 

The pristine locks of your curled hair become messy under his touch, and still, you keep kissing him.

You don't want this moment to end, but you know it must. You pull away, hands lifting to rest on his chest as you catch your breath. "Alexei," you mutter. Your breathing is labored, and you lean into his touch when he cups your cheek with his hand. 

"мое солнышко (My Sunshine)," he whispers, a soft smile tugging his lips.

"My family—they wouldn't want—"

"Do you want this?" Alexei interrupts, his thumb caressing the skin of your cheek. 

You open your mouth but shut it just as quickly. "You know that doesn't matter."

"It does. It matters to me. Tell me."

Your eyes shut, and you bite your lip. "I do, Alexei, of course I do," you admit, a lightness in your chest being lifted. Alexei's eyes sparkle, and his smile widens. He leans in and kisses your lips again. 

"I will make you mine, I promise," he says as he rests his forehead on yours. "Let me take care of your family. Everything will be set right, my love."

You relax into him, feeling safe in his arms. You choose to believe him because for once in your life, you're choosingwhat you want and not what someone else wants from you.

You're choosing Alexei, and he's choosing you.

Nothing has ever felt more right. 

[myprettylittlemind3]

Robbie Jennings x fem!reader

Summary: Your long-time crush can't stop staring at you while he preforms with his band.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: reader is 15, almost 16, and Robbie just turned 17 in this timeline, cursing, slut-shaming implied, bullying.

ask: for @so-superspidey hi !! love your work so much, you're my fav on tumblr ! could I request a robbie jennings x reader where reader is at a Stiff Dylans gig and he can't keep his eyes off her, which makes Lindsay just a bit jealous, like in the movie? But there's a reader & Robbie happy ending, of course. And she's friends with Georgia and the Ace girls, if that's okay.

~ your favorite?! omg i am so honored! ily! i love a sweet Robbie ask! Enjoy ~

ROBBIE JENNINGS MASTERLIST

"What a slag," Lindsay groans from backstage as she folds her arms over her chest. She's glaring daggers at you. Her friend glances over, frowning. All you're doing is dancing with your friends.

Lindsay slaps her hand over her friend's stomach and nods her head towards Robbie, the guy she's been on a few dates with. Robbie is playing the guitar, his fingers working nimbly against the strings. He's concentrating and still, whenever he looks up, his gaze is stuck on you.

"Oh," Lindsay's friend mutters, realizing the problem.

They aren't the only ones.

"Oh. My. God! Y/n, Robbie Jennings can't keep his eye off you!" Your best friend, Jas, squeals as she shakes your arm. She continues dancing next to you, beaming. Ellen and Rosie giggle from beside you as your cheeks become warm.

You look towards the stage, your breath hitching when you catch Robbie's gaze immediately. You snap your head around, almost colliding into Georgia.

"Woah. What's got your knickers in a twist?" Georgia laughs, narrowing her gaze at you.

"Robbie's staring at her," Ellen points out.

"He is not!"

"He is!"

"No. Plus anyways, he's Georgia's. They had that thing last year," You stutter, still flustered but you try and continue dancing with your friends.

Georgia laughs wholeheartedly, griping your shoulder as she continues to dance with you. "That is so passé, Y/n. I'm dating Rob now. Y'know, tall," Georgia raises her arm, "skinny? Gorgeous eyes."

You nod, knowing who she's talking about but all you can think of is what she meant. Her and Robbie weren't dating? She doesn't like him anymore. But does that mean he is dating Lindsay again? Your head spins as the music blares louder and you turn your head again, peaking at the stage.

Robbie is still looking at you and this time he smiles. You feel like fainting.

"See, he's yours now," Jas giggles.

"Mine?" You look towards her, your eyes wide.

Rosie laughs and nods. Finally, the music dies down as the singer thanks the crowd. "Come off it, we all know you've been crushing hard even when Georgia liked him."

"We did?" Georgia asks, frowning. You shake your head at Rosie, shushing Ellen who tries to add her own opinion. You don't want Georgia to know you've liked Robbie all this time.

"Oh," Jas smacks your arm. Hard. "He's coming over!" You turn, seeing Lindsay intercept Robbie in the crowd as he walks towards you.

"What a skank," Georgia mutters, crossing her arms. "You're so much better than her." She turns to you and grins, clearly not fazed by knowing you've linked Robbie this entire time. "Well? Ya gonna let that bitch take your man?"

Your eyebrows knit, shaking your head a little hesitantly. Since when is he yours? God, you have a headache.

Georgia pushes you forward to where Robbie seems to be desperately trying to get away from Lindsay and the rest of your friends send you thumbs up. You feel ill with nerves.

When Robbie sees you walk through the crowd towards him, he beams. Lindsay turns her head and snarls when she sees you. She turns around fully and stands in front of you. "Leave us alone. Isn't it already humiliating enough that you're wearing that?" She smirks.

You look down at your outfit, feeling your heart sink. Plain white T, a jean skirt with a decent length, bright red tights, and white leg warmers because you like them. You open your mouth to defend yourself but Robbie does it for you.

"Lay off her, Lindsay," he says sternly and holds out his hand for you. "Come." He smiles. "Let's talk somewhere quieter, yeah?"

You take his hand, feeling like the world is spinning as his fingers brush yours. His hand is large and warm and you could just die right here. Robbie leads you towards the backdoor, opening it and propping it up with a brick. You shiver a little, leaning against the door as you smile at Robbie.

"You played well today," you manage a compliment, keeping things simple.

"Thanks. I was a little distracted tonight," Robbie admits, rubbing his nape. He looks you over, smiling. He can see you shiver. "I like your outfit by the way. Don't listen to Lindsay. It's really cute," he says as he shrugs off his leather jacket, the one he wears for his gigs, and draps it over your shoulders.

You look up at him, feeling all warm and fuzzy from his compliment. Plus, his jacket smells like him.

"Thanks for coming. I asked Tom to invite you and your friends," Robbie continues with the small talk, obviously a little nervous himself.

"You asked Tom to ask us?" You sound surprised.

Robbie's cheeks turn pink as he looks to the side. "Yeah. I was too nervous," he admits.

"Nervous?" You smile, playing with the zipper of his jacket.

Silence looms over you both for a moment but then Robbie looks at you, his eyes softened. "You're really pretty, y'know. And cool. And funny. And you intimidate me with how smart you are. You're really hard to talk to because I feel like I stumble over my words whenever I'm around you," he chuckles, sounding a little embarrassed.

Your smile widens, feeling giddy by his confession and all your nerves had dissipated. "You're doing a pretty good job at talking to me now," you say.

Robbie grins. "It's the adrenaline. It takes a while to wear off after I preform."

"Well, I like it when you talk to me. You should do it more."

"Noted," he says, and his hands reaches for you, brushing over your pinky. He clears his throat. "What do you think of fish and chips?"

"Yum," you answer, "why?" You're still smiling as you reach for his hand with yours as well. You're practically playing with each other's fingers now. It should be awkward. But it isn't.

"Do you want to go out with me on Saturday? My treat. I'll buy you all the fish and chips you want."

You can't believe this is real. The cool breeze from outside rushes over your cheeks, reminding you that this is real and you nod.

"Yeah, I'd really like that."

[myprettylittlemind3]

Friedrich Harding x wife!reader

Summary: Your marriage with Friedrich has been wonderful except for the fact that you haven't conceived a child yet, which worries you more than it worries him.

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Warnings: age gap (22/30), allusions to sex (kinda explicit), Friedrich was previously married to Anna but they didn't have children either, mentions of pregnancy, infertility, sexisms (regarding medical practices :( and marriages) misunderstanding trope, naive!reader

FRIEDRICH HARDING MASTERLIST

Your husband was much older than you when you married him. He was a widower, previously in love and happy, and your union had only been a marriage of convenience. Your father worked with his father in his shipyard, and they had arranged the entire ceremony. You'd even heard them talk in the parlor about how if you were of age when it was Fridrich's first time to find a suitable wife, they would have married you both sooner.

Friedrich didn't talk to you much after your initial meeting and you sensed his apprehension in marrying someone so soon after his Anna. 

The wedding ceremony still happened despite your pleas to your mother that you were ill and that they would have to postpone the marriage until your ailment disappeared. She had simply tightened your corset and shushed you, leaving no more room for anymore protesting. 

As you approached the altar, you felt sicker and sicker. Friedrich didn't look at you until you reached him, but when he did that harsh look in his eyes became softer, more understanding. You felt like you had cotton in your ears as the priest conducted the ceremony and the only thing that grounded you was the gentle caress of Friedrich's thumb against your palm.

His touch was calming but once the ceremony was over and you could finally retire to your chamber, all your nerves suddenly returned.

Friedrich sat on the bed, unbuttoning his chemise. He looked at you. "Well?" He smiled lightly and shrugged off his shirt. "Will you stand there like a frightened doe, or join me in our bed?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and walked over slowly. Friedrich's large hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer as he untied your undergarment, the fabric smooth beneath his fingers. You didn't dare breathe as his fingers danced and glided across your bare skin and the dress eventually pooled at your ankles. 

Friedrich's nose nuzzled against your neck as you found yourself on your back, his body hovering over yours. "Relax, I will talk you through what I am doing," he promised. You felt his hips press against yours, "I will not hurt you."

It was true. He didn't hurt you. He was gentle and kind. And once a cry of ecstasy tumbled from your lips, you fell madly in love. You craved your new husband's touch every waking moment. 

Friedrich was not used to you—how young and curious you were—Anna had fallen ill so soon into his marriage with her that she was never interested in being intimate, and he did not force her. With you, it was different, and he did his best to keep up and make you happy. He took you to your shared bed whenever you would ask him. 

But alas, nothing good could last forever, because the more he would bed you, the more suspicions around you grew louder. 

Why hadn't you become with child?

One evening, you lay beside your husband, his arm slung around your stomach as he sleeps against the crook of your neck. He's sleeping so calmly and you can't sleep a wink. You can feel his seed dripping from inside you, another attempt at starting a family, and you can feel tears in your ears. 

"Friedrich?" you whisper, taking his arm and turning onto your side. He groans, eyes fluttering open as he takes you in. The moon is the only source of light as it illuminates your worried expression. Your husband sleepily pushes some hair from your forehead with his knuckle.

"What is it?" he asks you, his voice thick with sleep. "It is late. Are you still unsatisfied?" Friedrich chuckles slowly but it dies in his throat as he feels you tense. He sits up, reaching over to turn on the oil lamp. Once he does, you sit up as well and look at him. Friedrich smiles and pushes some loose hair behind your ear. "What is the matter?"

"I am not with child," you whisper, your voice strained. 

"Not yet."

"Friedrich, it has been months," you try to explain your worry but he shakes his head, his palm resting against your cheek. 

"I am not worried," he reassures you but pauses when he sees your anxious expression, "but if you want, I shall call Dr. Müller in the morning, but we shouldn't—"

You cut him off and nod. "Please, will you call him?" you ask. 

Friedrich's jaw clenches but he nods.

The next morning, you're sitting in the parlor. Dr. Müller was in the hallway, discussing your condition with Friedrich. You sit uncomfortably, feeling sore from the exam, and the maids look at you sympathetically as they prepare your morning tea.

You're anxious for your husband to return with good news and so when Friedrich walks in, you stand and press a hand over your stomach. Your corset is digging into your ribs.

Friedrich looks up, his expression unreadable, and he walks over. "Mein Liebling (my darling)," he begins, his knuckle skimming your cheek. 

"What did Dr. Müller say was wrong with me? Can he help?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, dove. There is nothing abnormal that he can see," he whispers, he soothes you as his fingers play with a ringlet near your cheekbone. Your hopeful gaze disappears and Friedrich's chest tightens. "He has prescribed some herbal medicines that help with fertility, but he says we should keep trying. He did not seem worried," he explains slowly. 

You frown and shake your head. "But, my cycles. I told him they're agonizing—surely that must—"

"Shh," Friedrich kisses your forehead. "He does not think it is related."

"But—"

"Can we speak of something more joyful? Nothing is wrong with you. That is a good thing. Come, we can go for a walk in town and I shall buy you those roses you love," Friedrich says against your skin and smoothes a hand down your sides. Your lips thin into a line and you know better than to argue. Instead, you strain a smile and pretend that the gnawing worry in your stomach isn't there.

* * * 

Months pass and still no child. 

"We have been, sir," Friedrich interrupts his father's rambles one cold winter evening as he drops his silver fork onto his plate. You startle at the sound, having gone quiet as soon as the conversation of grandchildren came up. Friedrich's mother looks at you pitifully. 

You feel like you could burst into tears. This dinner was bound to be a disaster and you had warned Friedrich but he did not listen. 

"My love, why don't you and Mama talk in the parlor," Friedrich interrupts as his father opens his mouth to answer. Your husband stands, his chair scraping against the expensive wooden floor, and he helps you stand as well. You nod, unable to meet your father-in-law's gaze as you walk into the parlor room. 

Friedrich's mother does not speak to you, her gaze locked onto the door as she waits for her husband and son. 

"I–" you turn to her, picking at the skin of your nails. 

"No need, child. Our husbands will work it out," she says sternly and that pit in your stomach returns. Feeling restless, you stand, unable to bear knowing Friedrich and his father are discussing you in another room. Friedrich's mother only stares at you. 

You walk into the dimly lit hallway, your hand sliding over the mahogany door. You press against the door, listening in. You can only make out fragments of their conversation, and both of the men seem angry. 

"I will not die without a grandchild. You need an heir, Friedrich."

"I know this, and we have been trying—"

"You know trying is not enough. She is a lovely girl, my son, I should know I chose her for you, but you know what needs to be done—" 

Air leaves your lungs as tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. Herr Harding wants Friedrich to divorce you. You feel faint as you hold onto the wall, your stomach turning. Still, you continue to listen in; 

"I know," Friedrich says and then he pauses, "Just let me do this my way. I shall speak with her—"

You can't beat to listen to anything more as you move from the door, returning into the parlor. Frau Harding looks up, her expression blank, but she sees your fright.

Standing, she walks over and presses her palm to your forehead as your breathing becomes heavy. The doors to the parlor swing open and Friedrich walks in, his father close behind him.

When your husband sees you, concern immediately sparks in his eyes and he walks over. "Mein Liebling (my darling), what is the matter? Are you feeling ill?" He pulls you into him, holding you to his chest as his fingers soothingly massage into your scalp. "Shall I call Dr. Müller?"

Friedrich's mother returns to her husband, touching his arm and shaking her head. Tears blur your vision. You remember their conversation. Friedrich plans to ruin you. A sharp pain strikes your heart. 

Still, you shake your head, whispering, "No, it is nothing." 

That night, while your maids help you undress and brush your hair, Friedrich walks into your bedroom—the spare one you have without him. The maids startle, quickly finishing up, and leaving. You stand, looking confused. He never comes in unannounced. This is your space, the room you'd chosen as your sanctuary when you needed one. It wasn't often you used it, but tonight you didn't feel like joining Friedrich in your shared chamber.

"Friedrich," you whisper, bare feet padding across the carpet to him. 

He meets you in the middle and holds your arm. "I think we should travel. Go to the seaside. The fresh air will do you some good. Clear your head. It could help," he smiles and his hand splays across your stomach. You tense and grab his fingers, pushing his hand down. He frowns but doesn't comment on the gesture. "I can arrange one of the ships in the morning for us. The winds have been good and it shall only take us a week to England. My family owns a cottage near the sea and I think—"

"I do not want to travel," you say. 

"Y/n—"

"I want to stay home," you argue, looking up at him. 

Friedrich looks disappointed and his jaw tightens. His hand raises and he strokes your cheek. "I don't think I can give you a choice, little wife, you've been looking so sad. This is sure to cheer you up." You know that there is no changing Friedrich's mind and that pit in your stomach returns. 

Will he do it there? Soften the blow with the smell of the ocean? You would rather stay home, somewhere where the memories you both shared could remind him of his love for you.

You barely sleep that evening, tossing and turning in a lonesome bed. You miss Friedrich's warmth and you almost wish he hadn't accepted sleeping in different rooms.

Eventually, you sit up, eyes bleary from sleep and you throw your legs over the end of the bed, grab the oil lamp, and rush across the hall, creeping into your shared bedroom.

You wish you didn't need Friedrich as much as you do, because you're still angry with him, but you need him all the same. He feels you climb into the bed, humming sleepily as he hooks his arm around your waist. You gasp, setting the lamp on the bedside table, but you let him pull you into him. 

"Missed me?" Friedrich mutters into the shell of your ear. His hand slides his hand over your stomach, dipping lower until your fingers wrap around his wrist. 

He stops and looks into your eyes. You shake your head, not wanting that tonight. 

Behind a small smile, your husband simply kisses your forehead and says, "Sleep, my love." 

You relax against him, letting the steady movement of his chest lull you to sleep. The memory of his words slowly turns into a distant nightmare. 

* * *

"Are you ready, Mein Liebling?" Friedrich asks, helping to wrap the satin ribbon of your bonnet under your chin. You're standing outside the entrance as the servants ready Friedrich's Coach.

His hand flicks up to attract your attention and you nod, adjusting your cloak around you. The sun is slowly setting and turning the sky a bright orange. It had taken Friedrich longer than he'd wanted, but he had finally finished up his affairs and was prepared to leave.

You aren't too keen on sailing at night, but you'll be on the water for around a week anyway, and Friedrich knows what he's doing. You trust him. 

"Yes," you nod and Friedrich snaps his fingers to one of your maids. She hurries to take your trunk and help pull it towards the footman. You look up at him, smiling a little, and touch his cheek. "How long will we be in England?" 

Friedrich thinks for a moment, looking away, and then he looks back at you. "A few months."

Your stomach twists again. A few months? Why so long? You don't ask the question as Friedrich words to his father enter your mind again; "Just let me do this my way. I shall speak with her." You feel like crying but you hold in your tears. 

Friedrich touches your cheek. "Are you okay? You look sickly," he says and he strokes his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You look into his eyes, forcing a smile. If you pretend nothing is wrong, maybe he won't discard you as quickly as he planned. 

"I'm okay," you say sweetly, earning a kiss to your lips and you relax. 

The trip to England is dreadful, but eventually, you arrive at a small cottage near the sea. Your dress catches sand as you walk up the board stairs. It's not nearly as fancy as your home in Wisborg but it smells like salt water and you can't deny the fresh air feels nice on your skin. Your personal maid prepares your chamber as you and Friedrich sit on the porch, watching the waves crash against the shore as the sun begins to set over the horizon. 

"How are you feeling, my love?" Friedrich asks, holding your hand. 

"Well. I don't feel sick anymore," you quip.

Your husband smiles. 

That night, you make love and the night after that as well. Still, there is no sign of a baby. Weeks and weeks pass and the sound of the ocean only becomes taunting as you wait for Freidrich to tell you he's divorcing you. The more days pass, the quieter you become and the more Friedrich begins to notice the change in your behavior. 

One evening, you stand near the bed as he undresses his vest and chemise. 

"When are you going to tell me?" you blurt out, unable to keep your feelings inside. It's cruel to make you wait any longer. You deserve to know. 

He's dismissive. "Whatever do you mean?"

You chew on the inside of your lip. "I heard you and your father talking." Still, you want answers. "If you're planning on divorcing me, just tell me now, and let's stop this horrible game. I clearly cannot give you an heir!" You cover your mouth, your other hand resting helplessly on your stomach as you break into tears. "Just tell me," you add, your voice small and you shrink back a little when your husband stands. His eyebrows are scrunched together and he doesn't speak as he walks up to you and takes you into his arms, kissing your hairline as you sob.

You don't end up talking much that night as you cry yourself to sleep in his arms.

That morning, you wake up alone. The little cottage feels so empty without Friedrich and you think the worst has happened until you hear a small, little, cry from the front door as you read anxiously in the living room. You think you're mistaken as you stand and investigate the sound. It sounds like a baby.

"Mein Liebling (My Darling)?" Friedrich calls and your eyes widen when you see him standing in the doorway. In his arms is a small, not even one-year-old, baby. You rush over and touch his arm, looking at the child. The baby is crying, its small little mouth is shaped in an O and his bright blue eyes blink up at you and Friedrich.

"Meet little Friedrich," your husband whispers pulls the cotton blanket down, and caresses the baby's cheek. The child's scream turns into hiccups.

You look up at Friedrich, confused by his statement. 

"I have every faith you will conceive a biological baby, my dove. But I will not divorce you over something as silly as an heir. I love you. I knew of an orphanage around here, a good one, and I should have talked to you about it but I did want to wait some more before introducing you to him," he says and looks down fondly at the baby. You follow his gaze and you can't deny the undeniable similarity between him, and you, and Friedrich. He truly could pass as yours. "But then you spoke of divorce? I had no clue that awful concept was on your mind." 

You look back up at Friedrich. "I thought you would want one because I can't—"

"I don't and you can. Because in every way that matters, he is ours. No one has to know you didn't conceive him naturally. It's been enough time since we left for you to have a baby if we say you were some months pregnant before our journey."

You listen to Friedrich's plan and realize he's been planning this for a while. You look at your maid who stands in the corner, watching the scene in pure amazement, and Friedrich leans down and whispers, "She won't tell anyone. She's really only here to strength our story."

He hands you the baby and you easily take the child into your arms. Little Friedrich's big blue eyes, the ones that do look so much like his father's, glimmer up at you, and a warmth spreads in your chest as well as relief. 

There was no divorce. And now you have a baby. A beautiful baby boy. An heir. 

The baby giggles and looks around at your features as if memorizing you. You look down at the child with nothing but love and you decide then and there that you would die for this boy. 

"Is this why you would leave for town randomly?" You ask Friedrich. 

He nods sheepishly and moves closer to you and the baby. "Are you angry?"

You think for a moment and then shake your head. Deep down you know you can't conceive, but now that doesn't seem so daunting anymore because of the little boy in your arms. You run a gentle finger over little Friedrich's forehead and smile when he hiccups. You glance up at your husband again. 

"No. I'm not. This is perfect. He is perfect." 

And your Friedrich couldn't agree more. 

[myprettylittlemind3]

Dave Lizewski x girlfriend!fem!reader

Summary: ask: Dave Lizewski smut where he's a virgin and his girlfriend shows him what 69 is and he whimpers a lot please!!

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: reader and Dave are 18/19, hints of dom!reader and sub!Dave, virgin!Dave, 69-ing, oral sex (f & m receiving), praise

~ hope you enjoy this anon <33 ~

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

The mid-afternoon sun shines past your sheer curtains, your copy of Jane Eyre lays abandoned on your bedroom floor. Poor Dave looks more flustered than when he'd first arrived and you can't exactly blame him because his T-shirt is halfway up his chest, your nails scratching at his stomach as your hand finds his nipple. His glasses are crooked on his nose and you can only hear his heavy breathing as he stares at your ceiling fan. 

Your other hand dips under his, already-opened, jeans and palms his dick. That elicits a squeak from him and you snap your head up, grinning. "There you are, I was afraid you'd passed out on me or something," you tease as you lean back onto your heels and remove your hands. 

Dave clumsily sits up as well, hurrying to adjust his glasses as his dark curls fall over his vibrant blue eyes. His shirt falls over his stomach again and looks down at himself; he's a mess. A deep crimson blush spreads across his cheeks, over his nose, and up to the tips of his ears.

You're still dressed in that loose sundress. Mis-matched fluffy socks cling to your feet as the softness brushes against your inner thigh from your sitting position. Without wasting time, you crawl over Dave as he falls back onto your blankets, his chest rising and falling once your fingers find the loops of his jeans. "Baby—"

"Shh, no talking," you warn as you shimmy his jeans off him. There is an undeniable dark spot on his boxers and your grin widens. You move lower on the bed, your hand on his hips as you remove his boxers next. The surprise sound he makes is delicious. His dick springs free, the pink tip dripping pre-cum and you giggle. "You're so cute," you say and press a kiss to his dick. 

You know Dave isn't as experienced as you are. Because of this, you've been taking things slow and you haven't gone all the way yet. Although he tries, he doesn't tend to last super long—he's so easily overwhelmed. You hold the base of his dick, licking up his shaft as you keep your gaze on him. You can't see his face very well, but you can see his breathing and you reach up with your other hand, lifting his shirt again. 

Dave moans and his hands clutch the sheets. "Ah,"

You remove your mouth from him and sit up again. This time, he whines from the loss. "Baby, d-don't stop. Please." He uses his forearm to prop himself up as he looks at you pathetically.

His dick twitches with need. 

"Take off your shirt, I wanna try something new," you say and wait for him to listen. 

Without a word, after awkwardly fumbling with the sleeve holes, Dave removes his shirt and throws it across the room. He looks at you expectantly, his pretty eyes shining and you smile sweetly.

You crawl over him again and press a kiss to his pink lips. Dave returns to kiss with enthusiasm, his hand finding your hair as he presses you against his chest. You smile against his lips and pull away to remove your panties.

Dave watches you with heavy eyelids, his cheeks still flushed. Once your panties are off, you kiss your boyfriend again and move your lips to his ear. "We're gonna combine two moves you know very well, babe," you say and bite his earlobe just enough to cause a moan. 

Without more warning, you straddle him backwards. Dave's hands rest on your hips and he instantly understands. You lean forward, your lips finding his stomach as you kiss lower and lower and lower until you're touching his cock again. 

As if on cue, Dave wraps his arms around your thighs and flips up your dress, kissing around your inner thigh like a starved man. He's gotten good at eating you out and he loves it almost more than when you suck him. 

You knew he would like this. 

You moan against Dave's dick as he kisses your slit, burying his face into and pulling you closer to sit on him. You're almost afraid he'll suffocate but when he begins to lick, you shiver and stroke your hand up and down his dick faster. "Uh, fuck, Davey—" you groan, your kisses becoming sloppy as he sucks your clit. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs and he bucks up his hips. 

You take him inside your mouth, bobbing your head up and down as you steady his hips. Your hands are shaking from the feeling in your stomach. He's gotten really really good at this. You want to return the favor so you ignore how his dick hits your throat and continue to suck him and breathe through your nose. 

"You taste so good," Dave mutters into your pussy, kissing it some more. "Fuck, I'm close. I- I can't hold it much longer. Please can I come?" Dave is whining against your clit now, the vibrations making you squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel his dick twitch and you see his legs shake. You remove your mouth with a pop and stroke him harder and faster. 

"Go on, oh~ fuck~" you groan, falling forward as Dave returns the enthusiasm on your pussy. "Go–on, come for me—"

He doesn't need to be told again as you attach your lips to his tip again and swallow the ropes of cum as he groans and continues to pleasure you. His dick falls from your lips as you fall forward, arching your back. You're close as well. 

As Dave recovers, he moves his hand to your inner thigh and adds some pressure to your clit with his thumb. His tongue continues to explore you and you let out a shrill cry, clutching the sheets as you come. Dave laps up your juices and lets his head fall further into the pillow as you move off him and turn around. Your legs are as shaky as his as you move towards him again, your hand on his chest as he lifts his head. Dave's chin and nose are covered in your cum and your cheeks warm up. 

He looks even messier now. 

You lean in to kiss him, laying next to him now as you trace hearts on his abs and continue to move your lips against his. 

"What did you think?" you ask against his lips. 

Dave blinks, his eyes a little glossy. He runs a hand up your back and twirls some strands of your hair between his fingers. He looks at you. Clearly, he has no coherent thoughts in his head because all he says is, "Thank you."

You laugh, "Such a good boy," you whisper, kissing him again and holding his cheek.

"My good boy."

[myprettylittlemind3]

Tangerine x best friend fem!reader

Summary: When your best friend has said, "—in ten years if we're both single, I'll gladly marry you." You didn't think his words had any weight. Turns out, they did.

Genre: Angsty hurt and comfort

Warnings: if canonTangerine can jump onto a moving bullet train, fanon Tangerine can jump from a train as well, violence, guns, swearing, best friends to lovers, Tan and Lem have real names but they aren't mentioned (apart from the first letter ;)).

~ inspired by @little-miss-dilf-lover <3 ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

The party is loud and you're not quite sure how your friends have managed to convince you to come, especially on exam week, but here you are—sweaty, slightly drunk, and also starving?

"Oh, look, it's that guy you like!" Your friend, Allie, exclaims as she points through the swarm of students. She's drunker than you, her words horribly slurred.

You look where she's pointing and see the boy who sits behind you in your Biology class. The one that always looks bored and uninterested and still somehow always has a higher score than you do. It would annoy you if he didn't intrigue you so much. 

"His friend is cute," Allie says, seemingly interested in the boy's friend; the slightly taller boy with the lopsided baseball cap and football jersey. You aren't surprised Allie likes him. His smile could light up any room.

"C'mon, I want his number—" she tugs your arm, practically stumbling over with you close behind.

You know the drink you're nursing is kicking in because you're not nearly as nervous as you should be standing in front of this boy now. His chestnut curls fall across his forehead as he looks at you, his blue eyes so sharp you can almost feel them cut through you. His expression doesn't shift. 

"Hi," you say, watching as Allie and his friend fall into easy conversation beside you. Their voices are drowned out by the music but you can see them laughing as Allie touches his arm. You glance up at the boy from your class—you can't seem to remember his name. Tyler? Theo? Thomas? Something with a T—

"Hey," he says, a question in his voice as he tilts his head and studies you. "Do I know you?"

Embarrassment creeps up your cheeks. "Oh, we're in the same class. Bio? With Professor Cooper?"

Recognition passes across the boy's features but he doesn't mention it. He simply nods, looking away. "Ah," he looks down at you again after a moment, "And what do you want?"

Any sensible person would have fled this conversation immediately, but you're too stubborn and drunk to heed the warnings. You excuse his snappiness because the loud music is annoying you as well. "Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" you ask, chewing your lip. 

You couldn't possibly handle rejection. 

He is silent for a moment, simply staring at you, but he nods and lets you lead him across the party and towards the fire escape. The fresh air feels nice on your skin as you climb, the cool metal from the fire escape pressing against your thighs as you sit on the edge. The boy joins you, sitting in silence for a moment. It isn't awkward, but you assume that's the alcohol. 

You shiver, breathing out into the cold air. 

"Here," he interrupts, handing you his worn-out leather jacket. He doesn't smile, but the gesture is enough to show his kindness and you accept happily, slipping your arms into the velvet of the sleeves. You hum.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he says, cracking his first smile of the night. 

Turns out, he isn't as uninterested in you as he seemed. Conversation flows easier and he's surprisingly funny. The drinks you've had makes your cheeks burn and you're now ranting about your favorite fruits, as the boy, whom you still haven't asked his name, looks at you with round, confused eyes.

"You don't like them?!" you practically screech, leaning forward and the boy's arm stops you from falling over the fire escape but he doesn't mention it. Instead, he's staring at you with his eyebrows scrunched. 

"No? I mean, aren't they just oranges? What's so special about them?"

You gasp, blinking at him as if he'd just said the most outrageous thing and a smirk curls his lips. 

"Tangerine's are so delicious! They're much sweeter in taste than an Orange and in China, they also represent good fortune. They're my favorite out of the citrus family. And doesn't the name sound kinda sophisticated? T-an-ger-ine—" you spell out, turning and locking eyes with him. You're too tipsy to see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks but he clears his throat and looks away.

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he hums, looking out into the night sky with a small smile. A few moments pass until he feels a weight on his shoulder and his lips curl downwards. He tilts his head and when he sees your cheek resting on his shoulder, your chest rising and falling with light snores, he doesn't have the heart to move you. 

You look so peaceful. So beautiful. 

Instead, he pulls you in just a little closer and helps you become comfortable on his shoulder. 

~ Around Ten Year Later ~

The rattling from the train wakes you up, your cheek hitting the glass and then you jolt your head up and you quickly wipe your hand across your mouth to eliminate any proof that you'd been drooling in your sleep. Your cheeks burn hot and you look around. Your eyebrows knit together. The compartment is empty. Weird. How long have you been asleep?

You stand, moving into the alley. You look up at the name of the next station and curse. You missed your fucking stop. You pinch your nose. At this point, you're gonna miss your business meeting and your boss might as well fire you. 

You sit down again, holding your head in your hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—" you groan and you startle when you hear the doors of the compartment slide open. Strong footsteps follow. You look up absentmindedly, your breath catching in your throat when you see someone you haven't seen in years. Instantly, you shoot up, catching the man's attention and he pauses. 

Apart from the blue of his eyes, he looks different. His shoulders are slightly broader and he looks hardened by life. His boyish clean-shaven face is replaced by scars and wounds and a thick mustache that shouldn't work with his features as well as it does. 

You're moving on autopilot as you walk away from your seat and into the aisle, looking him over. You must be mistaken. He's covered in blood. He's wearing a dark blue suit, although half of the suit is missing, and he is staring at you like he's just seen a ghost. 

"T–" His name begins to fall from your mouth but he quickly interrupts you and walks over, gently pushing his hand over your mouth. 

"Tangerine," he whispers, his voice hoarse and the familiarity causes a shiver up your spine.

"What?" you ask behind his hand, your body tense. Is this not—

Suddenly, there is a loud screeching and the train comes to a half. You gasp, falling forwards and onto Tangerine's chest.

He topples backwards, his large hand cupping the back of your head, keeping you still against him, as you fall on top of him. He grunts, his side colliding with the bottom of the seats.

You push on your arms, hovering over him. "Are you alright?" You exclaim, examining him for injuries that weren't already there. 

"Just peachy," he grumbles sarcastically, running a hand in his hair. Tangerine sits up once you've scrambled off his lap and his gaze lands on you. He frowns, standing up and helping you up as well. He lowers his gaze to your left hand, his fingers skimming your ring finger and you hold your breath, looking up at him and then down to his left hand.

No ring, you both think as the memory remains ingrained in both your minds.

It had been your twenty-second birthday, the one where your arsehole of an boyfriend had broken up with you and you'd found yourself in Tangerine's dorm, curled up against him on his bed as you cried into his shoulder. Since the party, you've grown into very close friends. He wasn't cold anymore, he was gentle and kind and utterly hopelessly in love with you—something he didn't want you to know. 

"He's a twat," he spits, stroking your hair. 

"I'll be forever alone, T!" You exclaim, not listening to him as you sit up and stare at him with wide teary eyes. What was said next differs from both your memories, but that proposal, the one he'd made of his own accord, remains clear—

"I'll tell ya what, if in ten years we're both single, I'll gladly marry you."

You'd laughed, unaware of the truth behind his words, and neither of you ever mentioned it again. Although, as the years passed and he distanced himself from you—his words lingered in your mind. You'd been sure he'd forgotten them, but judging by the look on his face now—he must not have. 

You pull your hand away and clear your throat, pulling you both from the memory. You're about to ask why he's here and covered in blood but the sound of gunshots interrupts your plan.

Tangerine pushes you behind him, pulling out his revolver from his suit pants and checking the chamber. He curses and points his gun at the door. You grasp his arm and ask in a whisper. "What's happening? And why do you have a gun T—"

"Tangerine," he growls, anticipating your next word, looking at you through the corner of his eye. 

"Why do you keep insisting I call you that? You hate—"

"I don't know who's around," he interrupts. There is another round of gunshots and you tighten your grip on his arm. "Now back up slowly."

You do as he says, sensing an authority he didn't possess ten years earlier. Once you pass the compartment doors, you feel the wind in your hair and look to the side. "T, why is there a hole in the train?!" You ask, watching as Tangerine jams the door with his gun. "Wait—don't you need that?" You squeak.

Tangerine looks at you, his gaze hard. "Do you trust me?" he asks sternly.

Your eyes widen even more as the train suddenly speeds up and you crash into the opposite wall. 

What the fuck is happening?

Tangerine grips your arm and pulls you upright. "Do you trust me," he asks again, his voice strained.

You falter. "I- I don't know!"

"Well make up your mind, because we don't have much time!"

"What?" You gasp when he grabs your waist and pulls you into him, facing him. He walks closer to the hole and you push against him. "Are you crazy?" you hiss, "back up!"

"No," Tangerine looks directly into your eyes, his gaze hard. "Do you trust me?"

"Stop asking me that!" 

He says your name and you pause. Something you can't decipher hangs in the air as you stare at him and before he can ask again, you nod hastily. "I trust you. Okay. I trust you." 

You almost think you see a hint of a smile but then his hand tightens on your waist as the other pushes your face into the crook of his neck. 

And then he jumps through the hole and from the moving train. 

You feel like you can't breathe. For a moment, you're sure you've fallen onto the tracks and you're dead. Nothing hurts, not really, but your eyes are still screwed shut against Tangerine's shoulder. He smells like smoke and pinewood and you can feel his heartbeat against yours. 

He's breathing.

You use your hand and lift yourself. Tangerine's hand falls to his side as he grunts. You realize you're sitting on him. "Fuck," you say and try shifting off him. He only groans more and steadies your hips. You pause, looking down at him; he's bleeding from his shoulder and his hair is damp with blood.

If he didn't already look like shit, he sure does now. 

"Gentle," he coughs, opening one eye. "M-my ribs."

Your blood runs cold and you jump up, not listening to him. Tangerine groans. You look around. The platform is empty and the train has passed. You look at Tangerine and your voice comes out shaky when you say, "You jumped from a moving train! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You kneel down, assessing his injuries. He's hurt but he's still aware and breathing. You press a hand to his side and he hisses. 

"Who the fuck are ya?" A familiar voice rings out and you hear the cocking of a gun. The metal presses against your head and you freeze. Slowly, you turn around and see his brother. 

His name falls from your lips as he does the same with yours and his arm lowers.

"Lemon," Tangerine groans, managing to sit up. He coughs, blood dripping out of his mouth. 

You turn around. "Lemon?" you narrow your gaze and point, "and Tangerine."

Lemon nods, putting his gun away as he kneels beside you. "Code names, so shh," he presses his index to his lips and grins. He turns his attention to Tangerine and cocks his head. "Now what happened to leaving the train normally, and where's the boy?" 

You sit back on your heels, listening to them. 

"They found me. Had a shit ton of guns and shit. And, my landing would have been much easier if I didn't have to cushion her fall," he looks at you but there is no real bite behind his words.

Your cheeks feel warm. "I didn't ask you to do that!" 

"Would ya rather I left ya defenseless on a doomed train?"

Your head is spinning. You fell asleep for what? At most 30 minutes and all went to shit? 

"T, she's clearly shaken up. Be nice."

"I am nice. I saved 'er life." 

Lemon rolls his eyes and assesses his brother's injuries. You watch them, seeing how different and grown-up they look now. Still, they bicker in the same way as they did in Uni and you can't help but smile.

"Next time, we do this together, easy job or not, Lemon says as he helps Tangerine up. The latter leans against him for support and grumbles something in return. He doesn't look very pleased. You stand as well and call after them. 

"Wait," you say and run up to them, "Can I come with you?"

Lemon pauses and looks over his shoulder. "It isn't safe for ya, sweetcheeks. 'Tis best if ya just hurry home now." You hear Tangerine whisper something that sounds like, "don't let her come," and your chest tightens. Still, you don't simply take the no. 

"He needs a doctor," you argue. 

"He's fine."

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You both know I studied medicine in school. Please. If you won't take him to the hospital could you please let me look him over?" you plead, holding onto Lemon's sleeve. He pauses and looks down at his brother. Tangerine looks pale and more blood drips from his lips. You whisper Lemon's real name and he sighs. 

Soon, you find yourself in a luxury hotel room, kneeling on the floor of the bathroom as you wipe Tangerine's wounds clean. He's leaning against the bathtub, his shirt abandoned on the tile as you apply some antiseptic to the wound on his temple.

He shifts and you shake your head, pushing on his shoulder to steady him. "Stay still," you command and press on the bandages gently, making sure the ice packs stay in place. Tangerine's sharp blue eyes are glued to you. He looks serious and stoic. However, there is also a glossy shield over them from the pain meds you'd given him. It would have been torture to leave him in the state he was in. And after all, it was your fault he'd gotten badly hurt. 

"Why didn't you become a doctor? That's your dream, innit?" he blurts out suddenly, his words slurred. 

You shake your head, smoothing a hand over the bandage. "It was. I guess I wasn't cut out for it—medical school kicked my arse." 

"Bollocks," Tangerine says, narrowing his gaze as he lifts himself up to position himself better against the tub. "Ya were the best in your year at Uni. Everyone knew that. What happened?"

Your heart sinks as you press like cloth against another cut on his cheek. Biting the inside of your cheek, you whisper, "Drop it? Please." How can you tell him you'd just given up when things got hard? How could you tell him when he was your biggest supporter? How could you tell him all that without blaming him for leaving you?

Ten years with no contact. Not one response to your texts or calls. You'd gotten the message quickly enough. 

You push back some of his curls, watching as his head falls back and his gaze remains on you. "I didn't think I would ever see you again," you say, changing the topic of discussion. Tangerine doesn't say anything for a moment until he sniffs. 

"I've seen you," he starts and tilts his head. His voice becomes softer. "In my dreams."

You hold your breath, leaning back against your heels. "T—Tangerine," you whisper.

"You can say my name now," Tangerine exclaims, looking at you almost guiltily. "There is no one that could hurt us. Please, say my name."

You hold your breath before whispering his name. When you do, he shuts his eyes and makes a small sound. You frown, confused why you saying his name would cause this big of a reaction. You feel him reach over, holding your hand and your heart speeds up.

"You aren't married," he breathes out. 

Your gaze snaps to him. 

"Neither am I—" he adds, his thumb stroking over your skin. 

"T—that was years ago—"

"And yet, you remember. You know exactly what I'm referring to because you remember."

There is truth in his words. Had you gone that long without thinking of him or that stupid proposal?

No.

You'd dated and did all you could to pretend that he hadn't said that and to pretend that he wouldn't show up out of the blue and marry you like he'd said. 

And yet here he is, reminding you of his words. 

"I never looked for someone. Not when I knew you were out there somewhere. It's always been you," he admits, his eyes still glossy and he's still breathing heavily like he's in pain. You want to believe him, you do, but realistically you know that it's the pain medication. He isn't thinking properly. 

"That's sweet, T," you say and squeeze his hand. "Really sweet."

He frowns. "It's not supposed to be sweet. It's the truth. I love you."

You stand up, your mind is fuzzy. "Okay–I'm gonna call in your brother. He can take care of you from here—"

"Wait, l-love, it's the truth. I love you. I always have, please don't leave," he pleads but he's in too much pain to walk after you. All he can do is sit there as you slip from his grasp once more. 

Outside, you run into Lemon as he walks over with two warm teas. "What's wrong?" he asks, frowning as he sees the look on your face. You shake your head, not bothering with a response, as you walk to the entrance to find your coat. Coming here was a mistake. This entire ordeal was a simple mistake. A trick of fate.

"Oi, wait." You hear just as you open the front door. You look over your shoulder and an envelope hangs in front of you. You look up, catching Lemon's intense stare, and you only receive a nod. Once outside, the cold air stings your skin as you walk away from the hotel. The city is busy and the lights shine bright over the darkness of the night. You squint, wasting no time in opening and reading the letter—

Y/n,�� I know you will not understand why I need to leave. Or why I won’t respond to your calls or your texts. I can’t make you understand either. Not yet, not until I’ve figured things out for myself. It’s too dangerous for us now. I would rather never see you again than put you in harm's way.  I’m not even sure if I will ever send this to you. I don’t think I deserve it. Not after what I must do. But still I must tell you.  Do you remember what I told you? How I would marry you. You laughed and I know you did not believe me. I’m not sure if I will ever see you again anyways, not anymore, but if by luck it’s ten years later and I see you. Just know I’ll marry you in a heartbeat.  Because I love you.  I love you so much.  Yours forever,  T

Your hands tighten around the paper. You think back to the train—the gunshots—the codenames—the codename of your favorite fruit—the mention of a job—and nothing makes sense but the apparent danger you'd been in and one that the brothers' seemed familiar with. 

He left you to protect you.

Tears sting at the corner of your eyes as you press the letter to your chest. You've stopped walking. 

He loves you. 

And you don't want to accept that you love him just the same. 

But you can't help yourself as you run back to his apartment, his real name falling from your lips as your tears roll down your cheeks. 

[myprettylittlemind3]

dad!Tangerine x reader

Summary: You and your baby talk to Tangerine when he's away at work.

Genre: Fluff with a pinch of angst

Warnings: mentions of death, cursing

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

Your shirt smells like baby food and your hair is a mess, but your baby boy has finally fallen asleep for his mid-day nap. He's not in his crib, instead he's lying on your husband's side of the bed, his fists curled into the bedsheets. He's snoring lightly and luckily the sound of your macbook ringing doesn't wake him—he'd fussed himself into exhaustion. 

"Hi," you whisper, seeing Tangerine adjust the camera on his end. He curses, turning on the lamp beside him so you can see him properly. He's in yet another hotel room.

Your expression falls when you see his lip is swollen. "T—what happened?" you ask. 

"Nothin' for ya to worry your pretty little head about," your husband smiles and wipes some blood from his chin.

"T," you whisper, gently stroking Tom's head as the baby sleeps beside you. "You don't have to pretend you're okay when you aren't, not with me," you say as you look at him more closely. The collar of his suit is red with blood and he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. "How's the mission?"

"Is he sleeping?" Tangerine ignores your question and asks instead, his voice low.

You smile softly and lower the screen to show your sleeping baby. Tangerine grins. "What a little man."

"He's been fussing all day. I don't really know what's wrong," you say and stroke his stomach. "I hope he's not in pain." You gently pad your thumb under Tom's sleepy eyes and trace the tear stains. 

"He's probably just uncomfortable. Can ya imagine how scary it is—he was just in 'yer stomach, all snug and warm, and now he's feelin' all these new emotions and hearin' all these new sounds. He must be overwhelmed," Tangerine huffs, pulling at his tie. "It's only been three months, it will get easier," he assures you with a small smile. 

Tom squirms but doesn't wake. You nod, leaning your chin on your palm as you look at the screen. 

"When are you coming home?" you ask, missing him. He's been gone for almost 2 weeks now. Lemon has said it was too much of an important mission to miss—baby or not. Your husband has been pissed but you'd encouraged him to leave. He was never one to say no and he loved his job. As much as you know he loves you and Tom, he was beginning to become restless. 

You really did understand. But the 2 weeks were becoming hard.

"Soon, soon, love, I promise," he says and runs a hand over his jaw. He looks exhausted. "I miss you and him so much. I shouldn't have left. I'm off my game big time. You're the only thing on my mind."

Your chest tightens and you lock eyes with him. "Stay careful, yeah? You won't be much aid to Tommy if you're dead."

"Don't say that," Tangerine grunts, stretching his shoulder.

"Are you hurt?"

"It's nothin'."

"Don't be a twat," you deadpan, still stroking Tom's stomach. 

Tangerine looks at you and his shoulders slump in defeat. "Bullet grazed my shoulder, near my neck," he says reluctantly and your eyes widen. 

"What?!" you exclaim, almost too loudly but you hold yourself back because of your sleeping baby. 

"Grazed is the keyword, my love," Tangerine smirks. 

"You promised you'd be careful!"

"I am!"

"No—"

"Oi, is that the missus?!" You hear Lemon's voice in the background and suddenly he's leaning down into the frame. He has a large, gaping wound on his cheekbone but still, he's grinning. "Where's the little man?"

"Sleeping," you say and narrow your eyes, "Oh, you're hurt as well," you add in a pained whisper. Tangerine senses the sadness through his laptop screen and he pushes Lemon away from the screen, his own eyes narrowing at his brother in a way that only happens when they're communicating through their gazes. Once his attention is on you again, he forces a smile. 

"Will you stop being worried, my love, we know what we're doing."

You chew on your lip, absentmindedly rubbing circles on Tom's stomach as the baby begins to wake from his quick nap. 

His little eyes blink open and his mouth curls into an O shape as he hiccups his cries. You turn your attention from your husband to the little baby and adjust your sitting position to cradle him in your lap.

"Shh, buddy, look who's here—" You angle Tom's little face towards your laptop, where Tangerine is grinning like an idiot and the baby stops crying for a second as he tries to understand what he's looking at. 

"Hiya little man," Tangerine coos, and Tom's hiccups turn into little giggles as he reaches for the screen. He recognizes his father's voice. Your heart warms at the sight as Tangerine's eyes lighten up with excitement but as you watch him wave to his son, a new wave of sadness rushes over you. 

"You promise you'll always come home," you say, still bouncing Tom on your knee as he babbles to his father. 

"Why do you think I won't?" Tangerine says, keeping up his baby voice as his eyes keep that excitement for Tom's sake. 

Your eyebrows scrunch. "Just say it, T," you whine, sounding a little too scared for Tangerine's liking. He runs a hand in his hair, his smile faltering for a moment before he forces one to keep Tom entertained. However, his eyes lock with yours and you can see his sincerity. "I promise I'll always come home. I will never leave you or him. I fuckin' promise, darlin'. Okay?" He winks and although your eyes feel teary, you can't help the breathy laugh and the smile that escapes you. He's impossible.

"Tommy, baby, will ya give your Mummy a kiss for me?" Tangerine speaks and Tom turns to you, his small, chubby hand reaches out and pulls at your cheek. He can't stand or sit up on his own yet so he has trouble reaching you and your laughter becomes more prominent. 

"I don't think he understands English yet," you say with a grin as Tom babbles on, his finger tightly gripping your nose. 

"Seems like he understood just fine to me." Tangerine grins. "He's smart, like his Mum," he adds.

Your cheeks heat up and you run a hand through Tom's little curls. The curls that remind you so much of his fathers' and that tighten in your chest threaten to overwhelm you, but this time you look into Tangerine's eyes and you sense the promise he exudes. 

"I'll be home soon, 'kay?" 

You nod, believing his words. 

"I love you so much, love."

Luckily, those words you've never had a hard time believing. 

[myprettylittlemind3]

Sergei Kravinoff x virgin!fem!reader

Summary: The handsome mysterious man you just met disapproves of your idea to lose your virginity for money.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of weed, sex work, virgin!reader, mentions of selling your virginity, p in v, fingering, passionate, hints of dom!Sergei and sub!reader, nipple play, one night stand vibes, aftercare <3

~ i hope you like this anon! ~

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

"Dima!"

A boisterous voice echoes across the room and you jump, almost spilling the champagne Dimitri Kravinoff had generously poured for you all over your cocktail dress. Dimitri looks alarmed, his cheeks becoming crimson as he stands and tries to intercept the irate-looking man from coming any closer. 

"Брат— (Brother—)" 

One of the girls, the one who is dressed in only a pair of lavish maroon panties and a sheer dress giggles and leans her arm on the table as her lips press against your ear: "That's Dimitri's older brother," she introduces the newcomer, who seems upset with Dimitri as he speaks to the younger man in quick Russian.

"Sergei Kravinoff likes to pretend he's better than girls like us, but really, he quite likes being under us like all the others—"

You watch them. The brothers couldn't look more different. Sergei is much taller, and he has dark brown hair that beautifully contrasts with the deep ocean blue of his eyes. His shoulders are broad and the muscles on his arms make your lower stomach ache. Your mouth becomes dry. Sergei looks up, catching your gaze as he berates his brother.

He's probably pissed that Dimitri spent his birthday without him, inviting whores into his club white he's hammered. You look away, fumbling with the hem of your dress on your lap.

The second girl, the one opposite you, speaks up, "You're the virgin, right?"

You look at her and your eyebrows knit together. You nod slowly and the girl laughs. "Stay away from him then," she warns and motions to Sergei. "Little Dima's a fine client for your first time, but you're much too inexperienced for someone like Sergei. He doesn't like unpopped cherries," her voice is smooth like velvet but it hides a venom beneath.

"He'd break you. You better leave him to me," she continues with a wink and stands, sauntering over and offering Sergei her drink. The rim of her wine glass is stained red from her lips and she sends him a sultry smile. 

The previous girl smirks at the interaction. She pulls out a joint from her purse and nonchalantly dangles it in front of you. 

"Wanna smoke?"

You shake your head, suddenly feeling very ill, and you stand. You squeeze past her and down from the booth. Your ankle twists awkwardly in the unfamiliar stilettos and you groan, grasping the end of the table. 

This had been a horrible mistake.

You pull down the hem of your dress, which has ridden up your knee, as you walk by the brothers.

"Hey!" Dimitri calls after you, still extremely drunk, and you turn to see Sergei holding him back. You look away and the last thing you hear is a whine—"I paid extra for the virgin. Come back!" 

Once the cold London air hits your skin, you let out a shaky breath, and slump down on the sidewalk. You have no money for a cab and you have a feeling the others won't want to leave so soon. 

"Fuck me," you grumble into your hands.

"Hm, that is why you're here, right?" A low, dark voice chuckles from behind you, and you quickly stand and spin around.

Sergei Kravinoff stands in front of you. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles straining against the white shirt he's wearing. His suit jacket has been long forgotten somewhere. He looks relaxed enough. "My apologies, I did not mean to scare you—or insult you. I just assumed you would be cold."

Your gaze flickers to your bare arms and your cheeks burn. "O-oh, yes, right," you say sounding as calm as you can, considering he's the most attractive man you've spoken to in years, and follow him as he gestures for the inside of the lounge again. 

Inside, Dimitri has happily found himself in between the two hookers you came with and your stomach sinks.

From beside you, Sergei chuckles again and he looks at you. "Would you like to join them? Dima did say he paid a lot of money upfront for you." 

You're frozen for a moment; watching the roughness of their lips meet and hearing the obscene sounds they make. You shake your head no and so Sergei leads you into a quieter room without another word. 

There is an empty bar, the lounge being closed at this hour, and you suddenly feel stupid sitting on that stool as Sergei makes you a drink. 

When he hands you the clear liquid, you take a sip expecting some form of vodka and you're pleasantly surprised to realize it's only lemon water. The straw falls from your lips as Sergei walks over and sits on the stool beside yours.

He watches you intensely and your heart thumps rhythmically against your chest. 

"You don't look like a hooker," he states, his blue eyes locked onto yours. A smirk curls his lips. "Hookers usually aren't virgins."

You fiddle nervously with your straw. "I'm not a hooker—I mean, not really? This is my first time—" You pause, catching yourself and you look away from Sergei's intense gaze. "Well, I- I suppose I just wanted the pesky thing gone, " you laugh dryly, "and the extra cash can't hurt—"

"You foolish girl," Sergei interrupts and you meet his gaze. Embarrassment burns in your stomach. 

"Excuse me?"

Composing himself, Sergei's smirk disappears and his hand slides over to rest on your knee, using his thumb to gently slide up the small slit in your dress.

Using his polished shoe, he hooks it under the stool and effortlessly pulls you closer to him. His hand settles on the underside of the stool as you stumble forward.

You inhale, his touch on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Sergei's hand moves closer to your inner thigh as he leans in, his breath hot on your neck. "You're shaking," he observes as his teeth threaten to nip the skin on your throat. "I can tell you aren't cut out for this, little bunny. Anyone could devour you."

His words ring in your ears and you feel anger stir in your stomach. You know deep down he's right but hearing him read you so well is humiliating. You don't know this man, you shouldn't want to prove yourself to him but you do. He's pushing all the right buttons and he knows it. 

You don't think when you lean forward and kiss him. You don't stop to wonder why he came out to talk with you when the other girl wanted him so badly. It doesn't matter because his hand finds itself in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

Without a word, he's standing and lifting you up and onto the bar. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head to taste him better. He hasn't drank and you're now thankful for the lemon water because whatever slight buzz you had from the champagne is long gone.

Sergei's lips trail down to your neck again as his hands tighten around your waist. He pulls away for a moment, a golden twinkle in his gaze as he laughs. "Ну, ты сюрприз. (Well, you're a surprise)." 

You gasp when he holds onto your hair again and leaves love bites above the neckline of your dress right above your breasts. This is as far as you've ever gotten with men, and the realization that things could escalate looms over you. 

Sergei kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear. "I won't fuck you like this." His voice sends a shiver up your spine. "If you would like, come home with me. We'll do this right," he promises and there is an intensity in his gaze you don't dare refuse. 

The entire taxi ride to his penthouse, you feel like you're on a cloud. Sergei is kissing you softly in the backseat, his calloused hands touching you so reverently as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

You moan, eyelids fluttering shut as you hold him close, your arms wrapped around his shoulders now. "Tryin' to sell this beautiful body, tsk," he grumbles, squeezing your hips. "What a waste that would have been. You're mine," Sergei nips posessively at your earlobe and you grind your hips into his.

It's intoxicating, hearing him call you his as if you hadn't just met.

"Sergei," you whimper, tugging at the baby hairs on his nape.

"Shh, Принцесса (Princess). Don't you worry. I'll take good care of you."

His bed is warm and supple and the minute you're laying on the plush blankets and soft furs, you sink into them as his weight hovers over you. His beard scratches against your neck as he hikes up your dress, his large palm splayed across your thigh. You buck your hips, attempting to chase the hint of pleasure he had awarded you in the taxi. 

Slowly, his fingers curl under your panties and suddenly, you're panicking and you sit up. Your head slams into his chin and he springs up as well, his eyes wide and confused.

"What is it?" he grumbles, lifting a hand and gently rubbing your head where you hit him, soothing any pain you could be feeling. He removes his other hand and settles it on your hip instead.

He can see the fear in your gaze and he lifts his other hand to cup your cheek. "Breathe," he strokes his thumb across your cheekbone. "I won't hurt you, little bunny. You're okay. We'll go as slow as you need and you can tell me to stop anytime."

He sounds so serious and you nod, taking in his words. Sergei's lips find yours again and he kisses you deeply, using his tongue to explore your mouth. His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head as he gently guides you down again, still kissing you as his knee slots in between your thighs. He gently rocks himself against you, applying pressure to your core and when you moan against his lips, he smirks. 

Sergei pulls away and his hands dip down to your hips again. He looks at you expectantly before he pulls away your panties. Once you nod, he quickly throws your panties across the room and leaves you bare as he bunches up your dress around your waist. 

"So beautiful," he mutters, his voice hoarse and thick, as he kisses between your shoulder and neck. With one hand, he begins to circle your sensitive clit and with the other he pulls down the strap of your dress and bra, exposing your nipple—which he happily takes into his mouth. 

The sensation is overwhelming and you shut your eyes, letting moans of pleasure escape your lips. His weight feels heavy over you but he keeps himself up, careful not to crush you underneath him. He works you open with his fingers, his lips moving from your breasts to your throat. 

You feel like you're on fire.

"More," you whimper breathlessly, arching up into him as he curls his fingers.

Sergei hums, satisfied with how wet and open you are for him. Once his touch leaves you, you sink further into the mattress as you catch your breath.

You barely register the shuffling of clothes or movement as your eyelids flutter. His large hand resting on your cheeks pulls you back into reality and you feel his cock touch your thigh. 

Your eyes widen at the sensation. 

"Tell me this is what you want," he mutters, looking you dead in the eye. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want you," you whisper. You mean every word. "Please."

The heat in your stomach worsens when you feel the pressure and you whine. You jerk your hips away from the slight pain, but Sergei holds you still. He presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, whispering sweet words as he continues to push. 

He feels large inside you and you bite down on your lip, dulling the slight pain by focusing on the new pain in your lip. Sergei senses the tension in your body and he looks up. His hair falls over his eyes but you can see him frowning. The hand that isn't holding himself up, the one that was on your hip, moves to pull your lip from your teeth.

Instead, he pushes his thumb into your mouth. "Bite down if it hurts. Don't hurt yourself because of me." 

You nod, eyes a little glassy. He's stopped moving inside you, giving you some time to adjust. Your teeth sink into his skin, keeping eye contact as your lips close around his thumb.

You think back to the warning you'd received earlier. You'd been told to stay away from him, that he would break you. And while you have no doubt he could break you, he's being so gentle you would almost guess he doesn't want to. 

Slowly, he pulls out and you gasp around his thumb. He leans down, adjusting his weight on his arm, and kisses your forehead as he drags back in. This time, the pain is replaced by an intense pleasure and you feel lightheaded. 

It feels so good. It's like nothing you could have imagined and you can't help but wonder if it's like this all the time, or only with him.

Sergei leans down, his thumb leaving your mouth with a soft pop and kisses you sweetly as he fucks you. He's being careful and gentle and you're a mess underneath him. You've lost track of all time and place as he kisses your lips and neck. 

"S-Sergei?" you moan.

"Yes, Принцесса (Princess)," he mutters into your ear, his movements becoming a bit more frantic as he chases his release. 

"I- I think I'm close."

He kisses your cheek, smirking as he thrusts particularly hard. "Hm? Are you?" he teases.

You nod, clutching his arm as he fucks you harder. 

Sergei leans in, tilting his head as he pretends he can't hear you. "What's that?"

You moan, legs shaky. "I'm close," you whimper louder. "Please can I come?"

With a final kiss to your temple, Sergei bottoms out and he presses his mouth to your ear. "Come for me, little bunny," he says, and the cord snaps. You groan, clenching around him. Your stomach tightens and you feel Sergei's dick twitch as he fills the condom you hadn't even realize he'd put on. You'd been so overwhelmed by every little sensation. Your head falls back into the pillows, exhaustion overtaking you.

"Shh, good girl," his voice pulls you back into reality again and you suddenly feel empty. Strong arms hook under your legs and back, holding you to a hard chest as he walks into the bathroom and you hear running water. "You're okay."

You blink, fully coming to as you smell lemons and vanilla and feel the warmth of the water on your sweaty skin. The window outside shows the pink sky.

The sun is rising, which makes you wonder how long have you been fucking? Sergei's hand caresses your cheek as he holds you to his chest in the tub. He's smoothing his hand on your knee as he pours water from his hand onto your skin. When his other hand comes up to massage your scalp, your hair intertwining with his fingers, you hum in pleasure. 

"If you had let some random dick take your virginity, I guarantee he wouldn't have run you a bath," Sergei whispers, a hint of jealousy and possessiveness in his voice that you don't mind.

You let your eyelids flutter closed again, simply enjoying the moment. It had been everything and more. 

You wake up surrounded by familiar furs and blankets, your skin smooth and hair washed as you lay on your side. Blinking, you adjust to the sunlight and realize that Sergei's arm is draped across your side, holding you close to him. Smiling a little, you gently pry his arm away and sit up. You gather your clothes, quickly changing into them. 

Holding your heels, you walk down the stairs of the penthouse towards the door. An unfamiliar longing bubbles in your stomach and your hand pauses on the handle. You turn, looking for a pen and paper. Once you find some, you scribble your name and number. Balls in his court, you think, chewing on your lip as you slip out into the hall. 

As the door shuts, Sergei's eyes open instantly. He'd heard everything. A small smirk curls his lips as he can only imagine what you'd written on the note. 

He didn't mind letting you go for now, after all, he loves the chase.