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soaringskystuff · 2 months ago

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another amazing post yet againnn😩 i cannot wait to see where this rewrite goes! seeing you post always makes me jump with joy

Infatuation - Chapter 3

Joe Goldberg x Reader (ft. Love Quinn)

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Summary: Love's longtime friend moves back to LA. Fortunately, Joe's never had too much trouble adapting.

Warnings: NONE HERE.

My motivation hit a new low. I’m trying to find time for my projects, but it’s become increasingly difficult with what I can only assume to be a form of depression looming over my head. Despite it all, here is a new chapter that’s been sitting in my drafts!

My next shift at Anavrin is slow, long, and haunting. I attempted to occupy myself with a list of possible themes for future book displays, things that Calvin and, more importantly, Forty would approve of. With my phone, I scrolled through socials, observing new trends, watching what was and what could become the new popular fad with the mainstream crowd. I hated it.

My reprieve should’ve come in the form of our little app – the one I can snoop on your texts with – but you hadn’t messaged Love since yesterday. I assumed you’d called her back after I had left, but I didn’t have access to that nor to anything beyond your lacking exchange of messages. I looked about the store, watching an older woman as she perused the biography section with her basket of tangerines. As she slotted a book back into place, she smiled at me. I smiled in return, but quickly turned my attention back down to my phone. I hadn’t heard you come in – the bell on your bag a ghost to my ears – and lunch was well over.

“Can I get this wrapped?” I shut my phone off and pull it, along with my list, under the counter. I smile at the older woman as her shaky hands set down her selected book.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua.

“We don’t gift wrap, but we do have gift bags. Is that alright?”

She smiles tightly and nods her head. I reach down and pull out a folded bag, alongside a single recyclable sheet of tissue paper. I scan the book and the bag. I never had to gift wrap anything at Mooney’s.

“I’m getting this for my daughter-in-law. She’s giving me a lovely grand daughter this month,” She beams. I don’t care. “Thought I’d get her a parenting book.”

“This book is a memoir, It’s not really meant to be followed as a parenting book.” I say, folding the paper over the book.

“Huh, well. Maybe she can learn something anyway. Life has lessons, too.”

I nod, slide the wrapped book into the bag, and ring her up. She pays with a tap, glancing my way every so often, but takes the bag from my hands and shuffles away a moment later. By the looks of it, she didn’t seem too happy with my response.

Before I pull my phone back into view, I catch sight of Love by the open kitchen window. She has her phone to her ear, pacing. Talking. She bites her lip when her mouth shuts. It seemed I caught the end of the conversation as she tears away from her phone, ending the call. Love taps away at the screen, biting her thumb. I quickly look down to my phone again, app open, but no ping. I feel my phone buzz and I open my own messages.

‘Dinner tonight?’

I look up again and catch Love smiling at me, warm, inviting, a hint of something more. She waves. I smile, delirious, hot, some bitter feeling creeping up. I wave back.

—

By the time we arrive at Love’s place, it’s late. Love drops her grocery bags onto the counter and I follow in tow. She stretches her arms to the sky, flexing her fingers. I take her purse from her shoulder and set it aside.

“Sooo… How was lunch today, Lovey?” I tease. Love gives me a pointed glare, a smile peeking through before she punches me in the arm. I feign a pained hiss, laughing when she rolls her eyes. She turns her attention to the groceries.

“You’re funny,” She says, humourlessly. “My lunch was fine. A little lonely, but fine.”

“Didn’t Y/N keep you company?”

“No, actually. She didn’t show. I called her and she told me she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe I don’t know her too well, but it doesn’t really sound like her to cancel without warning.” I remember the app – no messages were exchanged.

“No, it’s… not like her at all. But it’s alright,” Love huffs. “She’s been stressed lately.”

“You wanna know what I think?” I ask as she hands me a bag of fruits.

“Mhm? Toss those in the freezer for me.”

I turn to put them away as I continue.

“I think you have a tendency to quite literally Love-bomb,” When I turn back around, Love looks at me unhappily. I laugh and raise my hands in defence of my point, gingerly stepping to her. “Heyy – She just came back to LA and you’ve been practically non-stop poking her for attention. Now, I’m not saying she hates it… I just think you need to ease up a little. Back up. That’s all.”

“I don’t know,” She tries. My fingers find her shoulders and glide down the sides of her arms. I slowly grasp her hands as she relaxes into the affectionate touch.

“But I do.” I reassured. She sighs.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Always am,” I arrogantly say. Love playfully jabs me in the arm and huffs. “Hey!”

“How about home made pizzas?” She suggests, turning back to the grocery bags and continuing to unpack them like she hadn’t just stabbed her finger into my shoulder. She doesn’t particularly enjoy being teased like this, but I can’t help it.

“Sounds good, Lovey.”

She gives me another pointed glare, but the creeping smile she attempts to suppress continues to say it all.

“Help me unpack, will ya?” I kiss her cheek and reach across to the bags.

“Anything for you, Lovey.” I whisper by her ear. Exhausted, she only huffs.

I take hold of the neck of a bottle and slide it out of a lone bag. Love watches me as she places a bag of naan on the counter.

“Artisanal vodka?” I ask, shifting the bottle in my hands as I read the label.

“Saw it at the store, thought I’d pick it up. It can go in the cupboard,” She lazily points behind her as she takes out the fresh bag of tomatoes. I make my way over to the cabinet, opening the door and placing it among partially drunk bottles of wine.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask.

“Well, seeing how Y/N is doing with everything, I wanted to get her something nice to encourage her.”

“Didn’t seem like the artisanal vodka type,”

“Oh she’s not, but I wanted to get something that could double as, you know? Decoration?” She laughs and I imagine the bottle sitting on a mantle, sticking out among cheap decor. I haven’t known many people to keep their full, unopened bottles of alcohol out as decoration. It’s something you see in rich households, and usually only ever in the movies. They’d more realistically find themselves collecting dust at the back of a cupboard, anyway. “Anyway…”

I turn back around as Love beckons me over, folding the now empty grocery bags.

“It’s late, so I don’t think I’ll make the dough tonight… we’ll use naan instead. Is that alright?”

“Love, it’s more than alright. It’s perfect.”

—

When I arrive at the apartment on my next day off, a moving truck is parked in front and the front door is wedged to be kept open. I decide not to hit the buzzer as I scoot on by, making room for the men carrying boxes and furniture up the stairs of the building. I hop up the steps eagerly, watching the movers march down to pick up more loot from the truck.

When I get to your door, I go to knock – but set my hand against the door handle in one last change of mind. I twist it open.

Inside, I spot you on your floor, fumbling with the dining table. It’s on its side, and you’re vocally sobbing as your hands work some screws – only to pull on the leg and find it hasn’t loosened one bit.

“Hey,” I say, and you jump. You turn to me and wipe your eyes. Your delicate features are red and heated by the crying. “Are you okay?”

“Will, I –” You sniff, turning back to the table. “Oh my god.”

“I think you have new neighbours moving in,” I say. “Everything good?”

“No,” You grunt, pushing the table back and running your fingers through messy strands. “I’m just trying to take apart this – this stupid Ikea table. It’s a nightmare.”

“Won’t it fit through the door regardless?”

“Thats not –” You hiccup. “That’s not the point. The buyer wanted it taken apart.”

“Yeah? And how much are they buying it for?”

“Thirty dollars.”

“That’s hardly a reasonable price for the labour. Hey – look at me. Put the screwdriver down.”

“But they won’t buy it unless I take the table apart first – I just want it out of here. Please.”

“I’ll help then. But you should know there are definitely people out there who would buy it the way it is. Putting together Ikea furniture can be pretty daunting.”

“And taking it apart is a pain in the fucking ass!”

“Definitely, but I’ll help. Here –” I take my boots off and make my way to you. I sit down with a grunt, not often finding myself seated on the floor. I reach my hand out and smile to you.

You drop the screwdriver into my awaiting palm, and try to smile back. You wipe your eyes again, sniffling.

I turn my attention onto the leg of the table you’d been trying to pry off.

“So… how are you feeling?,” I shift my position as I start screwing the legs off.

You scoff.

“Like shit.”

“And why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” You start, and I keep quiet knowing you’ll fill the silence that follows with an answer. You sniff again, your nose stuffed. I hardly believe you’re only crying over a table. “I’m just… I’m feeling… I’m kind of sad.”

“Why’re you sad?”

“Jesus, Will. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” I defend. “It’s not every day you find someone you know curled up on the floor and crying over an Ikea table.”

“Fair,” You huff in a similar fashion to Love, I think amusedly.

“So…?”

“It’s my mom,” You finally answer. Chewing on your lip as you watch me turn the table to deal with the next screw. “I feel like I never had a mom. But I’m still left cleaning up after her. She was real, you know? The amount of shit she hoarded – all the pictures – it proves it. But not… she’s not really my mom. I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“That’s okay, take your time.”

“Maybe I’m just being ungrateful.”

“You don’t owe your mom anything. Not even gratitude.”

“I know that, but… I just – It’s hard. I feel like my mom died years ago, but I didn’t cry then. I’m crying now.”

When the next screw falls into my hand, I place it with the others. I take a second to look at you, but you shrink away. Hiding. You don’t like when people stare, I can tell you feel transparent.

“Grief hits us all differently. I think you’re mourning the person she could’ve been. It’s sad to think, but some people aren’t built to appreciate the lives they had. They’re just like that,” You hide behind your hair. “They don’t always deserve their families,” Without thinking it through, my free hand finds your cheek, grazing my thumb across it and pushing straying tears out of the way. When all you do to react is look down, I allow my fingers to brush the hair out of your shyly hidden eyes. You gulp, and I watch the familiar bob of your throat. You look up to me, then. I burn hot at the close proximity, the intimate action becoming all too real the moment you set your eyes on me. You don’t say a word, and I tear my attention – and my hand – back to the table.

I hear you let out a deep breath, shaky almost.

“Thank you,” It comes out different. You wipe your tears away – or, rather, you wipe my touch right off your cheek. I don’t overthink it. I try not to. You lift yourself up a second too soon, and I immediately regret putting my hand on you. I feel shame flood my system, growing in a dark consuming pit. I grind my teeth and drop more screws onto the rolling pile. When you come back, you surprise me by sitting in the same spot you had left – maybe a tad bit closer.

“Do you want one?” You ask me, and I look over to find the familiar metal tin facing me; open and eager. The same number of cookies we’d left, minus the one in your free hand. You hadn’t had a cookie since you shared them with me last. The shame that attempted to overtake me a moment ago drains out as I reach in. I smile at the cookies, bringing one between my teeth.

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x love quinn #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn #love quinn x reader #netflix you #my faves

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soaringskystuff · 2 months ago

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omg i’m meltinggg this is too sweet🥹

coworker!james and his love hate gf meeting his parents by accident? she thinks he won’t own up to her but he’s super proud and calls her his girlfriend (for the first time 0.o)

coworker frenemies <3 fem, 1.2k

You get the foolish idea to check in on James. Dying, he’d texted, won’t be in. Don’t miss me too much <3

And then, throughout the day, can you ask Remus to answer his phone please lovely, sorry

Can you make sure my smiskis are all okay

I miss you too much

Did you see that thing on the news about the goats in Spain ?

Sometime around three, as you’re preparing to leave, his sporadic texting ends. You and Remus get on alright without James, and a quiet day comes to a close at four.

“See you tomorrow,” you say.

“Yeah, see you, have a good night,” he says back.

You might. It depends on how James is feeling. You go to the shops on the way and wrack your brain for the things he likes. You know he likes cream of chicken soup: he brings it in his thermos sometimes for lunch. He likes freddos, tangerines, melon slices, and everybody likes balsam tissues and painkillers.

James doesn’t necessarily have to let you take care of him, but it’s a care package. He can take what he wants and bin the rest. You get him some cool patches for his eyes and a box of teabags and consider yourself finished, paying, packing it into a tote, and carrying it back to the car. You get nervous on the road leading into James’ flat building, but Sirius’ car isn’t outside, just an old BMW that looks well loved.

You pop the button to be let into the building and seconds later you’re opening the door. You make your way up the tight steps to the second floor and then the third, pausing to catch your breath lest you seem unfit just outside the door.

You raise your hand to knock. James laughs from somewhere inside, loudly, and that laugh travels toward you until he’s yanking the door half off of its hinges.

When he sees it’s you, he grins. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Hi. You okay?”

He sniffles, but he doesn’t seem too poorly. His eyes are sore and he has a tissue in hand, but James is nothing if not spritely. “I’m okay, lovely, are you okay? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I brought you sickness survival essentials,” you say, dangling the bag on two fingers between you. “Just in case.”

He gets that look on his face you’re finding yourself on the receiving end of more and more. That You can be so lovely face. Like you’ve done something selfless, and he’s not deserving of it. “Thank you,” he says genuinely, quietly, slipping the bag from your hand and leaning in. You’re expecting the kiss on the cheek, just not the hand under your jaw turning you for a chaste one on the lips.

“Listen,” he says softly, “my mum is here.”

You pause. “Oh.”

“My dad, too, actually. She caught wind that I was feeling rough from Sirius and she’s brought it upon herself to come and make sure I’m alright.”

“Oh. Well, well I’ll just go–”

He shakes his head. “Don’t go. I mean, you don’t have to stay, ‘course you don’t, but you can come in and meet them.”

“As…”

“What do you want to be?” he asks.

It’s probably written all over your face exactly what you want to be to James. It’s the bag swinging from his elbow. It’s what he asked you not so long ago, sitting on the end of his bed with a puddle of nerves in your stomach. Do you want to be… this is the real thing, right?

You didn’t know what to say, so you’d kissed him, and he’d known it wasn’t a yes or no.

“Are you sure you want them to meet me?” you ask.

“Yes.” He strokes your cheek with his forefinger, all gentleness, but then he gives it a squeeze. “Be warned, mum’s heard everything about you, even when I was sure I hated you.”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” you ask, sickly.

“She took your side every time,” he assures you. “I just mean she’ll give me a smug look every other minute. And my dad’s just happy to be wherever he is. But if you don’t want to… you know, if you’re not ready, that’s fine. I wasn’t gonna ask ‘cos I was worried you’d say no.” He winces.

“I’m really worried they won’t like me.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” he asks, as though the possibility is a pipe dream.

“James, you didn’t like me.”

“That had less to do with you and more to do with email politics,” he jokes, “lovely, you don’t have to come in. It’s fine, there’ll be other times.”

It’s his confidence in that that makes you take a step forward. “Do I look a mess?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“James, I just went to work, I’ve been up since six–” You give him you’re most pleading look, eyebrows soft and lips a little pouted, “please, just check.”

James holds you by the shoulders, his gaze moving over you one feature at a time. “Still beautiful,” he says quietly, “you have something in the corner of your eye.”

“Get it.”

“I will,” he laughs, “just gimme a second.”

You gasp as he almost pokes your eye out.

“James, babe, who’s at the door?”

You’re surprised to hear a male voice and instantly endeared. James, babe, turns away from you, slipping a hand behind your shoulder to force you into the hallway next to him. A dark-haired older man is standing in the door to the kitchen, his smile curious and friendly. “James?”

“Yeah, this is Y/N,” James says, “she was just making sure I’m okay.”

“You've invited her in for a cup of tea?” Monty asks, a picture of his son as he gestures for the kitchen.

“Tea?” James asks, watching you carefully.

You attempt to hide your nerves with a nod and a smile of your own. “Yes, please.”

Monty heads back into the kitchen. James runs his hand down your back and lets you step in front of him, bearing the brunt of his mother’s gaze all by yourself. “Hello,” she says, clearly excited.

“Hi.”

James holds you by the back. “Mum, dad,” —you suck in a breath— “this is Y/N. She’s my girlfriend but–” He raises his voice before Euphemia can talk. “It’s not been long, okay?”

“James, why didn’t you say?”

“Mum, I just–” James sighs. You go numb with the pleasure of the thing —you weren’t expecting him to say girlfriend. To own up to you completely. “You dropped in unannounced, and we aren’t telling very many people.”

“It’s my fault, I didn’t say–” You start, tamping down a brilliant smile.

Monty cuts you off swiftly. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’re all here now, aren’t we? So, you work with Jamie?”

“Yeah, yes, I’m on the accounting team.” You relax into James’ touch, letting your shoulder be guided against him just a bit. “I started a couple of months ago.”

“Almost a year ago,” James corrects. “Should we have that cup of tea?”

You frown at the scratch of his voice. “I can make it,” you offer.

Euphemia laughs, James groans, and Monty has a twinkle in his eye you aren’t familiar with. “I can make the tea,” Monty says, “why don’t you lovely ladies sit down?”

“Does that include me, dad?”

“Of course it does.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fic #james potter fluff #fluff #coworker!james potter #james potter marauders #marauders fluff #marauders fic #marauders era #the marauders #marauders

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soaringskystuff · 2 months ago

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save me comforting remus save meee

hey, i have a request idea if you'd want to indulge 🫣 could you write about remus x reader where reader isn't used to being comforted or having someone console her when she's upset/crying and it takes a bit of convincing and remus reassuring her to let him hug her or be with her while she's upset?

Thanks for requesting!

cw: modern-ish au I guess because there are portable phones

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You feel lucky, you think through tears. It’s a funny thought to have, cold in the alley outside a pub with a stone-like pressure lodged in your throat, but you do. You feel lucky to have taken your call outside. That you didn’t pick up the phone while you were with your friends, or at work earlier today, or later when you’re home with your flatmate. You’re glad to have the luxury of privacy for your small meltdown.

The sharp squeal of the door has you backing instinctively towards the wall, hiding yourself in shadows. You’re hoping the exiting patron will pass you by without noticing you, or else they’ll think you’re just out for a smoke. You’re not quite as lucky as that, though.

“Y/n?” Remus calls your name out the door. He’s not as noisy as the rest of your friends even when he’s trying to be, just loud enough to be heard. Like a coward, you keep quiet until his head turns and he spots you.

“Oh, thank god.” He smiles. It’s too dark, and he’s too far away to see the tears on your cheeks. “You’ve been gone a long while. James was scared you’d been kidnapped.” He opens the door to the pub further. “Ready to come back in?”

You clear your throat. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Remus’ smile fades into bemusement. “You’re not still on the phone?”

“No...”

“What’s wrong?” He steps outside, letting the door swing closed behind him.

“Remus—” You reach out as if you catch it, as if you're anywhere near enough. “It’ll lock you out.”

He doesn’t so much as glance behind him. The door shuts with a dull thud, and Remus continues towards you, brows tucking closer together as he does.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again.

“Nothing.”

“You’re crying.”

“Please go back inside.” Your voice is thin and quiet now, lined with desperation.

Remus’ expression twinges with something like hurt. His tone is exceedingly gentle. “Why? Darling, are you alright?”

As much as you try to stop them, his concern has fresh tears breaking past your waterline. You swallow a whimper.

Remus takes another step toward you, reaching, and you feel like shit for taking a step back.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you whisper.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he shushes you, hands still outstretched like he’s comforting some frightened animal. The darkness blurs his features, making his irises bleed into pupils and the bump of his nose indistinct. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

You bite your lip, trying to quiet yourself. “I really—really don’t like to cry in front of people.”

“I’m sorry. I just want you to be alright. What’s wrong?”

“It’s really nothing.”

Remus makes a soft, sympathetic sound. “Okay. Can I give you a hug?”

“Remus, I—” You press your fingertips into your eyes. “I appreciate it, and I’m sorry, but I’d like it if you’d go back inside please.”

“I’m sorry,” he says back in much the same tone. “I’m not going to leave you out here by yourself. We can…we can go somewhere else if you want. Or I can take you home. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, I just can’t leave you here. It’s not safe.”

You take in a breath and nod, trying to be understanding. Tears continue to slither down your cheeks.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No. I…my flatmate’s there.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He sounds upset, his voice softening into something almost unbearable. “I wish you wouldn’t cry by yourself. We don’t have to talk about it, but I’d like it if you’d let me comfort you. Please.”

You hold your lip between your teeth, a feeling both hollow and tight sitting in your middle. Remus takes a tentative step forward. When you don’t move, he closes the rest of the distance.

It’s like someone’s punched the air out of you. Your shoulders give a small jerk, and Remus lays his hand flat between them, steadying with its gentle pressure. You put your arms around him.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.”

Everything gets worse, but it feels better. You tremble and get snot on his shirt. Remus doesn’t seem to mind. He only holds you. Over time, your upset dissolves like a tablet in water, fizzing up before it fades to near nothing.

Remus lets you go when you pull away, tugging the sleeve of your shirt over your fist to wipe your face. He gets a few tears for you, too, combs your hair away from your face, all without saying much. He’s letting you choose the terms of what gets discussed.

“Sorry,” you say, voice scratchy. “Thanks.”

“You’re alright,” Remus replies. It’s a mantra at this point.

“I’m…I didn’t really mean to…”

“You can always come to me with things like this.” Remus gives you a tender look, one part tentative and two parts earnest. “It’s alright to be upset, yeah? I know you don’t always want to be with someone when you are, but I always want to be with you, so. Just, you can come to me if you want to.”

“Thank you,” you say again, softer. A feeling takes form in your chest, ballooning into the space between you. It pushes and pulls at the same time.

You wonder if Remus is feeling something similar. His lips press together almost ruefully as he cups your face in his hand, thumb rubbing tenderly over your cheekbone.

You start to pull in a breath.

The door to the pub bangs open.

“There you are!” James sticks his head out, glasses refracting the light from inside. “I was half ready to phone the authorities! What are you two doing?”

“I told you they’d be fine,” Sirius says from somewhere inside. “Probably just having a smoke.”

“They’re not smoking.” James’ eyes squint as he tries to make you out. “They’re…”

“We were just talking.” Remus steps toward them, letting his hand slip from your face casually. “We’re ready to come back in, though, I think.” He looks at you. “Are you?”

“Um, yeah.” You run a knuckle quickly under your eye. Remus catches your hand, squeezing.

“You look fine,” he promises lowly. “Lovely. Okay?”

You feel your lips tug weakly upward. “Oh. Okay.”

“Why are we cavorting in dark alleyways?” James asks as you both move past him. The light inside seems blinding, and you worry for your puffy eyes, but Remus’ hand is warm and reassuring in yours. “I didn’t realize how dark it was. We shouldn’t have let you take your call out there in the first place, babe. Do you two have some shadowy dealings I ought to know about?”

“They wouldn’t be shadowy for long if you knew about them,” Remus points out.

“Too true, Moony. But that’s why you keep me around, isn’t it. I’m your moral compass. And you owe your moral compass a pint for the fright you’ve put him through tonight, I think.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin hurt/comfort #fluff #hurt/comfort #remus lupin marauders #remus lupin fic #marauders fluff #marauders hurt/comfort #marauders era #the marauders #marauders

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soaringskystuff · 2 months ago

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i would DIE for shy remusss😤 you write him so well!!!

I loved your sky Remus fic!!!!! And ok it got me thinking as someone whose super extroverted and honestly a progressional yapper I would love to see a fic of the first time Remus flusters reader like may be it's on accident like he's just so sweet and earnest and he gives her a genuine compliment (something beyond just like ur pretty) and she gets super shy and flustered and he's just there like 👁️ 👄 👁️ omg what is this role reversal and just so cute fluff

Thanks for requesting <3

shy!Remus x extroverted!reader ♡ 941 words

It’s a cool morning, and the drink in your hand is cold enough to make you want to walk quickly on the little nature trail you and Remus have decided to meander down. The breeze licks over your skin, carrying moisture and hinting at rain later in the day, and it pinkens Remus’ cheeks along its path. Though, it’s possible that’s not the breeze’s fault.

Remus’ cheeks tend to be pink, you’ve found. His friend James swears it happens most often around you, but you’ve rarely entered a room where Remus is to find him not already looking at least somewhat flustered. To be fair, his eyes are usually trained on where you’re entering, too. Maybe he’s only very attuned to the sound of your footsteps.

Remus’ face gets pinker now, when you direct your smile at him and bump his elbow gently with yours. You nod to his drink. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” You can hardly hear his voice over the wind whistling through the trees. He clears his throat. “What is it, again?”

“A toasted sesame matcha.”

Remus nods, peering at his drink. “And what’s yours?”

“An ube matcha. Want to try?”

You give it a little stir with your straw, passing it to him. Since you’ve known him, Remus has drank almost exclusively black tea. No milk, no sugar. Lately, you’ve decided to take on the fun project of getting him out of his comfort zone. He’s nice enough to let you without complaint. Unfortunately, he’s so nice you don’t think he’d tell you if he hated what you gave him to try.

Remus eyes the purple liquid at the bottom of your cup warily. “Do you mind if I…?” He touches your straw.

You laugh. “I hardly think we need to be worried about swapping spit at this point. Yes, you can use my straw.”

His shoulders pull tight with embarrassment at your spit-swapping comment, and he ducks his head, sipping.

“Mm.”

“Mm?” you echo hopefully.

Remus’ eyes flit to yours before they jump away, bashful. He hands you back your drink. “It’s good. It’s…sweet.”

“I tend to like my matcha sweet,” you say. “Ube, strawberry, raspberry, anything really. But I thought you might like something earthier. We can swap if you want.”

Remus refuses, agreeing that he prefers the nuttier flavor, and you begin telling him about why you’d thought that might be the case. You ramble on about flavor profiles and the artistry of making matcha and the value of a refreshing morning beverage until you see a familiar tree and realize you’ve gone around the loop of the trail already. You look over, and Remus’ cup is empty.

“Oh my god.” You let out a breathless laugh. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” He looks confused. “What are you sorry for?”

“I’ve not stopped talking for probably twenty minutes!”

“That’s alright.” Later, you’ll realize how rare it is for Remus to speak to you as freely as he is now, without even a hint of sheepishness in his voice. “I don’t mind.”

“Your matcha is long gone, and I’m not even half done with mine.” You shake your head at yourself, exasperated. “I need to shut up.”

“No, don’t do that,” he says, almost desperately. “I love it when you talk; I like listening to you. You have such a lovely voice.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest. It spreads outward, sending warmth to your cheeks and fingertips.

“Do you really think so?” You don’t recognize the softness of your own voice.

“Of course I do,” Remus says. “It has so much personality in it. And sometimes you get more excited as you talk, too, which is…well, it’s very cute.”

Oh. Well. You’re no better than him, now, ducking your warming face towards your drink under the guise of taking a sip. You feel all flummoxed and fluttery inside.

“Dove?”

“Hm?”

“You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hum down towards the trail. “Yeah.”

“Did I upset you?” Remus’ voice has returned to its usual shade of diffidence. He bends, trying to see you. “Was it…oh.”

A tiny shock goes through you when his eyes catch yours, causing you to swallow a sip of your matcha wrong. You choke, coughing.

“Fuck, shit.” Any other time the vulgarities uttered in such a soft tone would make you laugh, but for once you’re too flustered to try and fluster him. Remus pats your back hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“What’re you doing to me?” you wheeze.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“I know, I just…” You fight the urge to fan yourself despite the cool breeze. Is this how Remus feels all the time? It can’t be. “You can’t say things like that.”

“What things?”

“Sweet things like you just said.”

Remus is amused now. You can feel it. Sure enough, you look up to see a bemused sort of smile tilting his lips. “I’m not allowed to be honest with you? How would you like me to be instead?”

“I don’t know,” you say miserably, pressing your free hand to your face in a futile attempt to hide from him. “Just not that. I’ll die.”

“Alright, dove,” Remus consoles you. He takes your hand, tugging it gently away from your face to twine your fingers with his—a bold move, for him, but he must think you need it. “I won’t tell you I like your voice any more.”

“At least give me some warning.”

“Whatever you need.”

You take a breath, trying to relax. “You’re a lot nicer about this than I am,” you admit.

“Yeah? Well, I have some experience on the other side of it.”

#shy!remus lupin #shy!remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #fluff #remus lupin marauders #marauders fluff #marauders x reader #marauders era #the marauders #marauders #remus lupin fic

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soaringskystuff · 2 months ago

Note

the man that remus isss😩

Hi Mae!!

Could I request like a really cute Remus x reader where she’s never been kissed or anything before? Like they’re all out of Hogwarts or in their last year and she’s the only one to have never had a relationship, and she’s kinda insecure and anxious about it all?

No worries if not or if you’ve already done something like this!

Thank you! - x

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: alcohol, reader is a bit tipsy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You don’t often feel self-conscious about your lack of romance. When you’re walking home from a bar on a cold night, it’s true that sometimes you wish you had a hand to hold, or a jacket that wasn’t your own, or somebody to slip an arm around your waist and make sure you keep your footing, but generally you’d rather wait than settle. When your friends start moaning and groaning about being lovelorn, though…

“It’s just been so long,” Sirius laments. He’s three sheets to the wind and hanging heavily from James’ side, who’s nodding commiseratingly as they wind a zig-zagging course down the sidewalk. “I mean, two months, James. Two months.”

“It’s been nearly two weeks for me,” James says glumly. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Lily will be back from her holiday in three days,” Remus reminds him. He can hold his alcohol better than any of you, and thusly he’s been tasked with carrying the things everyone worried they’d lose. The keys to your apartment are somewhere in his pocket, along with James’ wallet--confiscated after James left it lying on the bar for the second time--and a collection of Sirius’ rings which keeps growing each time Sirius becomes distressed about them somehow falling off.

“Yeah.” Sirius looks up at James, glaring. “You’re only two weeks in, and you’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of you. I’ve got to take them where I can get them, ‘nd I haven’t had even one in two months!”

“If you think two months is bad,” you say, “try going your whole life.”

You mean for it to come out light and quippy, but there’s a vulnerability lining your words that you don’t mean to reveal. You wince, thinking everyone’s heard it.

“Well,” Sirius says after a brief silence, “yes, that does sound worse. Thank you, dollface. You’ve made me feel a bit better.”

You smile ruefully. “Happy to help.”

James starts waxing poetic about the shape of Lily’s top lip, and Remus slows his stride, falling into step beside you. You glance over, and he’s giving you a soft look.

You go sheepish. “Sorry.”

“What? Why are you sorry?”

“That was embarrassing.” James and Sirius are talking loudly enough that you don’t have to lower your voice much to avoid being overheard. “I don’t mean to complain.”

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Remus murmurs, voice a fond color. He bumps your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I don’t think either of them are likely to remember.”

You give him a sideways smile. “Maybe, but there’s still you.”

“I can forget, too, if it suits you.”

“It does suit me, thanks.”

“Right. I’ll get right on that, then. Consider it forgotten.”

You smile down at the sidewalk. There’s something about Remus which always relaxes you. Maybe it’s that he’s so easy to talk to, or that he doesn’t make you feel like you have to talk. You just feel safe with him. You walk a ways in comfortable silence, close but not quite touching, listening to Sirius and James giggle like schoolchildren ahead of you.

“Do you really feel that way?” Remus asks after a while. “Like it’s bad that you haven’t kissed anyone?”

You wet your lips. Your saliva tastes like booze. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Like, it’s not as bad for me as it seems for Sirius. But I guess it also probably helps that I don’t know what I’m missing.”

“Yeah,” he hums, seeming pensive. “That makes sense.”

“I do wish I’d gotten it over with earlier, though.”

You’re not sure where it comes from. You do wish that, sometimes, but it’s not the sort of thing you say aloud. Even with a friend as good as Remus, it’s humiliating to declare a want so intimate.

He looks surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice a shade of itself.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t really a choice. I was never trying to wait, or anything.” You shrug, cheeks warm. “There was just never an opportunity.”

Remus makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh. “Oh, I don’t believe that.”

You look up. “Why not?”

With your attention off the sidewalk, you stumble slightly, the toe of your shoe catching on the uneven pavement. Remus slips an arm around your waist to help.

“Careful,” he says, suddenly incomprehensibly close to you. “Watch your footing.”

“Sorry.” You look back down. “Why not?” you ask again, softly.

“I just don’t think it’s possible no one ever tried to kiss you.” Remus’ voice is quiet but genuine. Unabashed. “More likely people have tried and you haven’t noticed. Or you just haven’t been ready. That’s alright too, you know.”

“I’m ready,” you say certainly. “I’ve been ready. It just…hasn’t happened yet.”

He hums. “That’s alright. So long as you’re alright with it.”

You’re quiet the rest of the way home. You live in the same building as the boys, only the floor below. James’ bedroom is right above yours. He’s not usually too terrible an upstairs neighbor, though you’re looking forward to hearing him stumbling around before bed tonight.

Remus walks you to your door while James and Sirius wait in the stairwell, cackling and crawling their way up on their hands and knees. He unlocks your door and reaches inside to turn on the hall light.

“Alright?” he asks as you step inside.

You nod.

“Okay. Drink water, and make sure to lock the door behind you.” He gives you a smile, eyes dark in the dim light of your building. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say back. But he hardly makes it a few steps away before you’re leaning out of the door, suddenly desperate. “Remus?”

“Yeah?” He turns. And he’s so lovely, all softness and gentle features. You know he’s the right person to trust with this.

You swallow. “I’ve been ready for a long time. And I don’t…I don’t know if I’m alright with it anymore.”

Remus frowns, stepping closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I just feel so behind.” Your tone is nearly pleading. “I’m tired of not knowing what I’m missing. I’m curious. I want to know what it’s like.”

“Y/n.” Remus says your name like a remonstrance gentled. Like he feels sorry for you. “What are you asking me?”

You worry your hands are shaking, but you steady yourself against the doorframe, making your voice solid. “I’d rather it be with someone I’m comfortable with. Someone I trust.”

Remus moves closer to you. He’s nearly as close as before, when he’d held you up on the sidewalk. You wonder if this is how close people get before it happens.

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs, not unkindly.

You shake your head. “Not that drunk. Not so much I don’t know what I want.”

He sighs. Says your name again as though to himself, with fondness and something else you can’t place.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you say in a whisper. “I’d just feel a lot better if it was you.”

“Oh, love.” He takes your face gently in his hands. The pads of his thumbs soothe over your cheeks. “That’s not it.”

Your breath catches as Remus starts to lean towards you, your eyes fluttering closed. You stay perfectly still as his lips come to rest in the center of your forehead.

It’s a tender kiss, not lingering but not overly brief. In the end, it’s so sweet you can’t even bring yourself to feel slighted.

“Go to bed,” says Remus, pulling back with a sorry smile. “If you still want to talk about it in the morning, we will, yeah? It’s not that I don’t want to.”

“Okay. I’ll…” Your whole face tingles as though you really have been kissed. You’re half tempted to touch your lips to see if they feel different. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Remus.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, backing down the hallway, “please. Goodnight, y/n.”

Your voice comes out a tad breathless. “Goodnight.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin marauders #fluff #marauders #the marauders #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #marauders era

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soaringskystuff · 3 months ago

Text

Thank you @hanasnx for putting me onto smallville I can’t get clark out of my head

—

Making out w clark kent and he doesn’t even realize he’s feeling you up until you stop him. You’re on the couch in his little loft up in the barn and he’s kissing you sooo good. His nose is brushing your face and his lips are warm and soft and his tongue is dipping into your mouth gently but sensually. You’re into it, you really are, but when his hands slip beneath your shirt and palm at your stomach and hips you start getting nervous. It’s the wrong place and the wrong time, you could be caught by his parents, or yours that are dining with them. It’s dusty up there and it smells like hay and you’d just rather do it someplace else, some other time. You pull away and his head comes with you but once he realizes what you’re doing, he blinks down at you with hooded, hazy eyes, wondering why you’d stopped him.

“Clark, I don’t want to do anything- more, tonight, just-just this,” you murmur, your lips still spit-stained and puffy.

His brow furrows and he nods vigorously, “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I don’t wanna get caught either. I’m not gonna do anything.”

“You’re- you are.” You nod down at his hands, still slipped beneath your shirt and stroking gently at your soft skin.

They still, and his eyes widen a fraction as he notices where they’d ended up. “I didn’t- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t even know I was doing that.”

It sounds like a stupid excuse, but he really means it. it had just felt so natural for him to touch you more, nowhere provocative, just a hand on your skin to bring you closer. It gets you to laugh, and then he does too, and then you’re leaning into each other and giggling in the silence of the barn. He doesn’t move his hands any further but he doesn’t take them off of you either, he just holds you closer with them and starts to lean in again.

“I promise I won’t try anything.” He mumbles an inch from your mouth, his hair tickling your forehead as he presses closer to you again.

#i wish he was realll #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfiction #smallville #clark kent #superman #superman x reader

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soaringskystuff · 4 months ago

Note

THIS WAS TOO FUNNY LMAOOO

It says requests are open so how about reader getting caught while watching spencer reid edits?

His footsteps are masked by the suggestive song playing from your phone's speakers, but you're aware of Spencer's presence as soon as he leans over your shoulder, his slightly frizzy hair tickling your cheek.

"What's that?" He asks curiously, at the same time that you smash your finger over the lock button of your phone, the music cutting out abruptly.

"Nothing!" You insist, heart pounding in your chest, "Jesus, Spencer, you scared me."

"Was that a video of me?" He presses, but there's no accusation in his tone. You're extremely thankful that his aversion to technology has steered him away from TikTok, because he doesn't seem to have caught that you were watching an edit of him.

"Uh- sort of," You admit, feeling too cornered and guilty to lie to your boyfriend who rounds the couch and sits beside you, "I didn't make it, though."

That's worse. You want to backpedal, you want to take the words out of his brain where they're turning like gears and smash them to bits on the ground. His brow furrows, and his nose wrinkles slightly, "What?"

"It's nothing," You shake your head, waving away his concern and wishing you could do the same thing for your embarrassment, "Just drop it, Spence."

He looks like he's going to. He doesn't look like he wants to, because his scrunched brow perpetuates and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek. After a moment of deliberation between respecting your wishes and satiating his own curiosity, he chooses your least favorite option.

"So- someone else made that video? Of me? Is it- like, online?"

"Spencer!" You gush, cheeks ablaze as you whine at him petulantly, "Please, I don't wanna talk about it."

"I do!" He insists with an incredulous laugh, "I don't understand, you found that online somewhere?"

"Yes," You groan, "On TikTok, Spencer."

"I don't have a TikTok," He informs you, like maybe you're confused, "Who posted it?"

"I don't know!" You cry, launching yourself forwards so that your face lands unceremoniously into his lap, "Spencer, it wasn't me, I don't know who posted it, I just saw it."

"I heard the sound repeat 5 times," He admits, a gentle hand on the back of your head stroking through your hair, "I came to see why you liked that part of the song so much."

"Oh my god," You groan, the fabric of his joggers doing very little to cool the heat from your burning cheeks, "I'm gonna throw my phone in the garbage disposal."

"Where was the footage from?" He kindly directs the conversation away from you, and you rise out of his lap to glare defeatedly at him.

"Press conferences," You mumble, "And news reports."

"Weird," He mumbles, reaching for your phone, "Can I see it?"

"No!" You shriek, but he's got a hold of the device before you can stop him, and one thing you've learned about him is that he has incredible grip strength. You think the only way you'll get it back is by beating him up, and you wouldn't even if you could.

He knows your password and bypasses it too easily. The video starts once more, and his lips curl into a faint smirk as he realizes just why the editor had chosen the sound that they had.

"You're watching porn of me," He discovers, and you let out a desperate wail at the term he chooses to use, "You really liked this enough to watch it five times?"

"Spencer turn it off- no, not the comments!" You watch as his thumb descends upon the button with no hesitation, any chance of your dignity surviving flying out the window.

"Until the room stinks," He reads with narrowed eyes, then glances at the red heart beside the comment, "You liked it?"

#i resonate with the comments tho🤭#but i would’ve died from embarrassment #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #cm spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds fic

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soaringskystuff · 4 months ago

Text

beautifully written smut will always be the end of me😭well done!!!

are you busy? | tasm!peter parker x reader

“How about I show you again and then you can try?”

And he did, though this time he tried your bottom lip, pulling between his teeth. You couldn’t describe the foreign feeling, hands clasped at the nape of his neck while he sucked and nibbled at your lip until it felt a little sore. He finished with a swift peck to the abused flesh and pulled away.

You blinked your glassy eyes down at his face and smiled. “And who taught you how to do that?”

“Careful, bub. You almost sound jealous.”

summary: you’re worried you don’t know how to kiss. your best friend Peter offers to teach you how, among other things [5.6k]

warnings: smut, fluff, best friend/roommate Peter, first time, idiots in love and don’t know it yet, fem reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, 18+ please :3

"Peter Parker," you whispered, staring down at your best friend. "Parker. Benjamin. Peter Benjamin Parker."

He scrunched his nose as he woke up, groaning. You were jostled by his stretching.

"What, bub?"

"Are you busy?"

He finally opened his eyes to give you an indignant stare. "I was asleep."

"Yeah… are you busy?"

He pushed you with little care off of his chest and onto the bed beside him. You let yourself go limp on his sheets. He smelled like sweat and aftershave and the movement wafted it towards you. You pointedly ignored the look on his face as he continued stretching, choosing to look at his wall instead.

"That's a new one," you murmured, pointing at a print of yourself. In the photo you're not unhappy but certainly not happy either, eyes sullen with a smiling mouth.

"What?" He followed your gaze. "Oh, yeah. You look nice. Sad, but nice."

"I wasn't sad."

Peter pushed onto his elbows tiredly. His shirt was ragtag with a band logo in the middle, and while he slept it'd ridden up his torso, exposing his midriff and the fine hairs making up his snail trail. You averted your eyes.

"What did you wake me up for?"

Ah… right. That. Suddenly less ready to tell him you buried your face in his pillow. "I have a date."

"What?"

"I have a date," you repeated.

"I can't hear you," he said. With another groan that made your stomach tingle he was sitting up properly. He pushed your face to the side with the back of his hand. "You what?"

"I have a date."

His eyebrows jumped and then quickly fell back down. "Oh, nice. Who's the guy?"

"Connor."

This made him laugh. "What?" you asked, already regretting telling him.

"Nothing," Peter said, laughing more.

"Peter!" You hit his arm with the flat of your hand.

"That guy? Really, bub?"

"Don't bub me and make fun of me at the same time."

"You want breakfast?"

"No, I ate before I woke you up. You need to shower, you smell bad."

He squawked. "Fuck off. I literally just woke up."

"And?"

"And! And, it's my room and if I smell bad go wait in your own!"

"Yours is nicer."

This was true. When you and Peter had moved in together you'd taken the smaller bedroom. He needed the space for his sewing supplies and camera equipment.

"The shower'll be hot enough now. How ‘bout you have a shower and I'll make you eggs?"

He kissed you quickly on the forehead. "Thanks."

And off he bumbled into the shower. You let yourself lie in his bed for a moment more, eyes on the space where he'd been. You stretched your hand out and the blankets were still warm.

When you'd managed to get up and squeeze into your small kitchen, the sun peeking through the window, Peter emerged, a towel low on his waist. You bit your tongue and turned back to the eggs sizzling in the pan, hot oil jumping.

"So, about your date. Why did you have to wake me up to tell me?"

You turned around and he was drying his hair off. You carefully spatula'd the three eggs you'd made him onto some fried bread and shoved the plate across the counter towards him. He hummed gratefully and began shoveling food into his mouth with all the decorum of a teenage boy.

"I wanted your advice."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Well. You know I don't go on many dates."

He swallowed his mouthful. "You've been on a few."

"One with you and one with Brad Murray and both when I was 15. They don't count."

He scowled. "You don't think our date counts?"

"We went swimming."

"That was all the rage back then."

You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms across your chest. He nodded in defeat. You watched him lick yolk from the side of his mouth and shook your head. What were you thinking?

"It's stupid, anyways. Doesn't matter."

But Peter knew you too well. He sipped at the glass of water you'd set aside for him and seemed to be thinking.

"Alright. I'll go get dressed, and then you can tell me what this is about?"

"It's nothing," you protested. He'd already run off.

Stupid boy. You washed his plate and muttered angrily about not being his mommy. He'd tell you off for it when he realised, and you were determined to get them all done before that. The frying pan was still hot as you scrubbed it, burning the very tips of your fingers with the sponge. Once you'd set them aside you cleaned off the countertops and found yourself in what you and Peter called the Kitching room, which was a kind thing to call the couch nook that constituted your living room. It was well loved despite its size.

You snuggled up with a blanket Peter's Aunt May had crocheted, feeling a baseline level of embarrassment establish itself. By the time Peter emerged in clean clothes you were stewing in it, hands pulling the blanket to cover your mouth.

He climbed over the back of the couch and frowned at you. "Hey, what's up with you?"

"I'm prematurely embarrassed."

"Yes," with this he laughed, "I think you are. What's eating you?"

"I'm worried about my date."

"I guessed."

"I'm worried I'll embarrass myself."

"God, so much embarrassment from one girl. You're gonna be fine." He teased the edge of the blanket from your hand to expose your mouth. "What are… what are you afraid of doing, exactly?" This was the bit you didn't want to admit to him. His warm brown eyes softened at your miserable expression, hair still damp and curling at his ears. "It's fine, whatever it is. I'm scared of doing lots of things."

"Yeah? Like what?" you asked morosely.

He stretched his head back, baring the expanse of his neck to you as he thought it over. One hand came up to scratch toothpaste from the corner of his mouth.

"I'm scared to get the city bus at night."

"What? No you're not!"

"I am! I don't like when the old ladies touch my hair."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Can they reach?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, treetops."

"Fine, have your fun! But I won't help you with whatever your problem is," he threatened. You shuffled in closer to him and dabbed at the toothpaste he'd missed.

"Sorry. I just- okay. Promise you won't make fun?"

Peter squinted at you. Usually, he loved to tease. That was what he spent the majority of his time doing. Maybe he could tell how insecure this was making you, and so he sounded heart-rendingly earnest when he said, "I promise."

"I haven't- I've never kissed anyone that wasn't you."

His eyebrows knit together. "Right."

"I don't think I know how to kiss someone."

"I can see why you're worried. Entirely too much tongue."

"Pete," you moaned, looking up at the ceiling desperately.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. So, you're worried you'll embarrass yourself by being a bad kisser?" he asked, having stitched it all together.

You nodded without looking at him.

He hummed to himself. "I see."

“Did you think I was a bad kisser?” you asked him weakly.

“No, but we were fifteen. My point of reference is skewed.”

You sat in amicable silence.

“We could practice.”

You giggled. Peter said nothing.

Suddenly the room was very small, the space between you even smaller. You looked at Peter more closely, at his big hands and his lean arms, knowing what you said next was heavy-weighted.

“You don’t,” you winced, refusing to meet his eyes, “think it would be too weird?”

“We’ve kissed before.”

“Yeah, but we’re grown up now.”

“We could watch a YouTube video?”

“While we kiss?”

“No, idiot. On kissing.”

“You don’t know how?”

Peter’s knuckles brushed against your kneecap. “I know how.”

“It won’t be weird?”

“Nah,” he said.

You nodded to yourself, heaved a breath. Nodded again. “Okay,” you said, sounding much more brave than you felt. You felt him nod too.

“I’m gonna touch your face, okay?”

“Yes,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You finally managed to look at him. For once, Peter Parker looked as nervous as you did, though the determined set of his brow made you sweat. You wiped your hands down your thighs as he placed a hand on your face, gently pulling the skin.

“You can touch me, if you want to. It might make you feel less nervous.”

I’m not nervous, you almost said. He smiled like he knew.

It was very quiet in your apartment. He looked at your face before he leaned in, eyes tracking your features. You looked back at him, stock still.

“When I lean in,” he whispered, “try and follow. Alright?”

And he leaned in. He turned his face to the side to slot his mouth half an inch above yours, the tips of your noses touching. His breath was cool against your mouth, sharp with mint. You moved with him, the two of you like leaves in the breeze, drifting.

“Close your eyes,” he advised in a whisper.

You followed his instruction. Your hand came up to his wrist, the other at his shoulder. A burst of his breath graced your skin. You thought maybe he’d laughed, and then he pressed his lips against yours. It was shocking. His mouth was warm, and he moved against you this way and that. You realised you’d froze up when he pulled away.

“Come on, follow my lead,” he prompted, rubbing his thumb against the skin under your eye.

You nodded, lips parted. He didn’t waste time, moving in again. Where your mouth hadn’t been fully closed allowed him the opportunity to deepen the kiss, encouraging you to move with him. Heart racing, you let him push you into the couch behind you, let him put his other hand on your hip. It was a lazy kiss, not the heated passion of a seduction or the easy peck of first love, maybe because he already knew everything he needed to know about you and you him. The kiss was a final homecoming, the last piece of your puzzle.

You pulled away to breathe and he barely let you, kissing to steal away your breaths until you were dizzy with it. You let your hand climb from his wrist to cover his hand and keep it there, against your face, warm and familiar. Always familiar.

His fingers traced the edge of your shirt and slipped under the seam, hand pressed to the skin of your waist.

“You have big hands,” you whispered.

“I don’t know why you were so worried,” he said in turn. When he kissed you this time both of his hands came up like he was holding you, lifting you. You gasped when he nibbled at the skin of your top lip, unsure of your bearings but enjoying it either way. “You liked that?” he asked with excitement. You mourned the loss of his hand from your cheek as he put it on your shoulder, pulling away. “You want to do it to me?”

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.”

A silly thing perhaps to be so encouraged by his firm belief in your ability to kiss him, and yet it fueled a fire. You stole your hands from his body to press against his face, shifting on your knees and positioning him so you were at a small height advantage.

“Now I just, what? Nibble you?”

“How about I show you again and then you can try?”

You blinked your glassy eyes down at his face and smiled. “And who taught you how to do that?”

“Careful, bub. You almost sound jealous.”

You grabbed his face to avoid answering, tilting his head to the side to allow clearer access. “Stop looking at me, you’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” he apologised, not sounding very sorry at all, pulling you close.

You barely contained a shriek at his hand on your lower back and concentrated on his mouth. Hesitant, you inched forward and stopped a millimetre from his mouth, so close you imagined the heat from his face soaking into your own like a sunflower on a sunny day.

“Don’t think about it. It’s only for fun,” he said soothingly.

For fun? “For practice,” you corrected.

He grinned. “Right.”

You decided a warm up kiss was necessary, and that you’d be able to slip into biting his lip naturally once you gained the confidence. You didn’t bother informing him of this, instead choosing to open his mouth with your thumb and kiss him with an ardency he’d had the good graces to withhold. His grip tightened on your back at the intensity.

You turned your head and kissed him, turned your head the other direction and kissed again, feeling as though you were dancing. He let himself be kissed with little complaint, though he made a small sound when you felt brave enough to suckle his top lip, taking the soft flesh between your teeth. You pulled away when you felt he’d been objected to the same tenacity of treatment as you had been, relishing in the pink colouring his cheeks and the half-lidded eyes he set upon you.

You pushed his half dry hair from his face. “How did I do?”

He cleared his throat. “I think you could do better. Definitely with more practice, you’d be killer.”

You pressed your lips together. “I don’t have time. The date’s at 7.”

“And if I persuade you to stay home and keep practicing?”

“As if you could,” you goaded him.

He set his hands on your hips. “Yeah, you gonna go meet your date with your lips all bruised up?”

“A purple lip is trendy right now.”

“How about a purple neck?” he asked, encouraging you so your back was flush to the sofa.

“Pay attention, there’s a test on this one,” he teased

He set about hickying your neck, the skin where your neck and your jaw met, biting down just hard enough to make you squirm and sucking harder, pulling back to lick the bite like a seal. He did it again lower down, stilling your restless squirming with a placating hand.

When he pulled back his lips were wet.

You were afraid of how much you wanted to kiss him. This was crossing a line. This wasn’t just practice.

“Hey, what’s up? Too much?” he asked, pulling back to kneel between your legs.

“What are we doing?” you asked him worriedly, hands falling to your sides.

“I’m teaching and you're learning, hopefully. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that,” he said, halo’d by the morning light coming in through the kitchen window. You chewed it over, what you’d gain versus what you’d lose. “Seriously. We‘ll stop right now if you want, it’s only practice. I want you to have fun.”

You blinked hard. “Alright,” you said, pulling him down to kiss you. It didn’t have to be anything other than practice.

He smiled into your mouth, gave you a bunch of quick kisses with enough pressure to make you gasp happily.

He leaned his forehead against yours. “Sweetheart. You’ve really never kissed anyone else?”

“Can’t you tell?”

He laughed, licked his lips and hesitated at the edge of a question.

“What?” you asked him amusedly.

“So you’ve never fucked anyone?”

You felt the heat rising in your face. “No.”

“Do you want to?” he asked, eyes bright.

You liked his weight on top of you, liked the way he’d riled you up. You knew if he went looking he’d find the extent of your wanting. Loosing a rugged breath you found your hands at the collar of his shirt, gripping the soft edge. “I might not be any good at it.”

He kissed your cheek. “It’s not something you can be bad at.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Let me be your devoted guide,” he said jokingly. He kissed your other cheek. “Listen, I’d love to ‘teach’ you. I’d love to. It’ll be fun, if you want to.”

“I think I do want to.”

“You think?” he kissed your nose.

“I want to.”

“Okay, baby. Get your thinking cap on: there’s lots to learn.”

“You’re so corny, I’ve changed my mind,” you said melodramatically, turning your face from him.

“Oh yeah?” His hands were at the edge of your shirt and climbing, spread flat on the flesh of your stomach. He stopped just under your chest and spread his fingers.

You stilled in anticipation as his fingertips teased the underside of your breasts. Then his hands were retracted. You gasped your indignation.

“Thought you changed your mind?”

“I’ve unchanged it.”

“Well, now you’re speaking in riddles. Tell me plainly, and then perhaps I’ll understand.”

“Perhaps,” you repeated the word teasingly, “college boy, you should read between the lines.”

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he said, voice serious now, hands at your ribs.

You looked at him from under your lashes, felt his knees between your legs and his hands, felt your pulse under his touch. You must’ve looked a state, dizzied out and kiss drunk. Your hands went up under your shirt to push your bra off of your breasts. You could tell when he spotted your peaking nipples through the fabric of your t-shirt, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“I could show you?” you suggested, covering your hands with his.

He barely needed a guide, big hands bigger under your own and hot against the skin of your chest. He took your tits into his hands and squeezed, kneading the aching mounds. He caught the bud of your nipple between his index and middle finger and pushed his hand up, pinching the sensitive skin with a look of awe on his face.

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asked.

You both looked at each other and beamed, rushing to sit up so he could pull your bra and shirt off to drape over the side of the couch. The exuberance was slightly dulled by the realisation you were being seen for the first time. Peter looked disproportionately reverential.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured diffidently.

He wasn’t looking only at your tits, he was looking at you, all of you, and he was grinning. “You’re- do you look at yourself often?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He frowned, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your nipple unthinkingly. You shivered from his ministrations.

“You’re lovely,” he said softly, eyes on your eyes. “I want you to see yourself how you really are. Turn you into a real-time narcissus.”

You covered your face with your hands and peaked at him through the gaps in your fingers. “Peter…”

“I’m serious.”

“That makes it worse,” you told him.

It was the kind of moment where you wanted to tell him that you loved him. He was your best friend in the whole wide world and he always made you feel so loved, and you would’ve told him repetitively were he not touching your naked chest.

“Come on, let me see your face,” he murmured, pressing his hands flat. “Y/N,” he implored.

You uncovered your eyes. “You’re embarrassing me on purpose.”

“Maybe a little.”

“What’s this supposed to teach me? My best friend’s insufferable?”

“I’d hope you already knew that,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again. You lifted your chin to reach him, pleased as punch when he sighed into your open mouth.

He broke the kiss, “I want a hundred photos of you like this.”

You couldn’t take much more of this. If he wasn’t going to stop complimenting you, you’d have to keep his mouth busy: you took his face into your hands and led him down to meet you, pushing one hand into his soft hair to scratch lightly at his scalp. He trembled under your hands.

“I didn’t teach you how to do that,” he said, dropping a kiss against his previous tender love bite.

“Lucky guess,” you murmured, words warped by desire as he found your chest with his lips. He kissed a path from your sternum down the centre of your chest and then circled to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking the bud until it was erect and purpling.

“Are you going to bruise every part of me?” you inquired, only half worried.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, looking up with his chin digging into your torso.

You rolled your eyes at him, reaching down to push the hair from his face. He pressed his mouth to your chest again and sprang to his feet, pulling you up with him.

“Wha-“

“As much as I’d like to fuck you on the couch, we couldn’t afford the dry cleaning.”

You felt the words at the centre of your body, and realised with some excitement and equal parts apprehension that Peter Parker was talking a big talk. “Anticipating a mess?” you asked, letting him steer you topless through the familiar hallway of your apartment and into his dimly lit bedroom. He pushed you in first and then shut the door firmly behind you both.

You sat on the very edge of his bed with your hands holding you up, tits bared. Peter turned from locking the door with a terrible expression.

“You look as if you’re going to eat me.”

“I’m thinking about it,” he said, pulling his shirt off. You gaped.

Next was his pants, which he let fall to the ground at his feet. You grinned as he shuffled toward you, reaching your hands out to his hips. You were eye level with his belly button and felt more than aware of his dick, straining against the soft fabric of his boxers, looking impossibly large.

You drew a path down his torso and stopped at the fine line of hair before his boxers. “Can I?”

Peter laughed, tilting his head back. “Oh, sweet girl, maybe later. It’s your first time, okay? Let me take care of you.”

“I-“ you paused at his fingers at your waistband, lifting your hips to allow him ample room to unclothe you. He left your panties behind, cooing at the sight of them.

“Look at you!” he said voraciously. “You’re soaked.”

He said this with great pleasure. You felt your knees drift together at his teasing. He tutted and kneeled in front of you, opening them again, hands probing gently at the soft skin of your inner thighs. Where your panties had started a light pink they’d become darkened in a stripe. Peter looked up at you for permission, and, when you smiled, began probing the damp patch. His thumb stroked the length of your slit, pushing against the hood of your clit and down again.

“I don’t suppose I need to teach you about this part,” he said hotly, fingers in the waistband, pulling them down.

“Huh?”

“What, you don’t touch yourself?”

“I- well-“

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you do.”

“And how would you know that?” you questioned, tone dripping in ire.

Your panties were at your ankles now. Peter pushed your legs open wider and grabbed your hips to pull you as close to the edge as he could. You realised with dawning apprehension what he was going to do.

“I hear you, sometimes,” he informed you lightly, and then he was kissing the wetness at the apex of your thighs.

You moaned without thinking, unused to the feeling and distressed at his confession. “What?”

“Only when you use your toy,” he paused to say.

You put your hand in his hair and pushed him away none too gently.

He rolled his eyes at your antics and kissed your kneecap. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m literally trying to eat you out, if you’d let me, and plus, I’m betting I can make you louder than that.”

His fingers were poking at the skin between your cunt and your thigh, drawing shapes with your slick.

“Is this alright?” he asked, fingers teasing your entrance.

“Yeah - yes. Yes.”

“You have a pretty cunt,” he murmured, as if this were small talk, the

length of his index finger pushing inside you. You felt your elbow bend and had to push up and bend over. Peter protested, “Woah. Watcha doing?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Is this uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s - holding myself up, my arm.”

“I see,” Peter pulled his hand away from your slit to assess your face, “that’s no good. Let’s move, shall we?”

He grasped the backs of your thighs and pushed your ankles over his shoulders, lifting you up. It made you laugh in shock as he pushed you further up his bed. He left your ankles where they were and leaned so your calves were hooked, your cunt spread wide.

“What’s this teaching me?” you asked, wind knocked out of you.

Peter circled your sopping wet entrance with his middle finger. He pushed into the second knuckle and smiled with satisfaction when you mewled. “That you don’t need your toy anymore?” he suggested, joining his first finger with the second and pushing them apart gently, eyes on the stretching ring of muscle.

He began finger fucking you carefully, looking up at your face. You wiggled your ass where it hovered over the bed in protest. “Put me down, Parker.”

“Now, do you want me to put you down because you don’t like it, or are you just embarrassed?”

Your silence said it all.

“It’s selfish of you to want to deprive me of such a nice view, you know that?” he asked, punctuating his question with a tight curl of his fingers.

He lifted you up to his mouth to suck on your clit. This made you really squirm, wriggling without thinking about it as he scandalised your cunt. After a few minutes of his dedication did you reached out to try and put your hand between his mouth and your body.

“I’m actually gonna pee myself,” you said.

“You are not!” he said, laughing wildly. He let your body fall to the bed and you stretched out your aching back. “So dramatic,” he commented, pushing his fingers inside you again. That was fine, as long as he didn’t-

“Peter, please,” you pleaded, catching the wrist of his other hand, which had returned to your wet clit with malicious intentions.

“If you cum first it’ll make it go smoother,” he said, though he’d moved his hands away at the sound of your stress.

“What?”

“Well, it’ll relax you,” his hands were travelling up and down your thighs, “you know, the stretch won’t be so bad. If you still want to,” he said kindly.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay.”

He looked at you and you looked at him and you both burst into nervous but happy laughter. “Do your worst, Peter Parker.”

He did his worst, pushing his fingers into your leaking entrance in a steady rhythm, his thumb pressed firmly into the button of your clit where he tracked tight circles. You were so wound up from everything, his teasing and his kissing lessons and his mouth and it didn’t take much of his fingerfucking for you to moan out and grab at his arm. He cooed as you came, spare hand still soothing your thigh.

He pulled his fingers out of your contracting cunt with a big smile, leaning down to kiss the top of your crease.

“Get lost,” you protested.

“Our next lesson’ll be on accepting justified affection.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Parker.”

He laughed again at your words, his eyes displaying how surprised he was with this version of you. There was fondness there too, something gooey at the corners you didn’t want to think about right now. He pulled his boxers off and pumped the shaft of his dick, which you hadn’t ever seen properly.

You took it in with wide eyes. “I might need to relax a bit more,” you whispered.

His thumb rubbed the tip of his dick, smearing precum. “We’ll go as slow as you need me to.”

You nodded and he lined up with your entrance. You reached out, could barely touch his arm. “Be gentle,” you implored him quietly.

He took your hand in his and leaned down to kiss your fingers. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“I know you won’t,” you assured him, though you were worrying anyways.

The stretch was nothing new at first. You were a little tense and Peter did his best to help, attentive fingers at your clit. He was barely in when he pulled out, rubbing up your front before pushing back in, continuing this process until he was around halfway in.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You moaned in response, easing your hips down. He rocked forward, thrusting slowly. The sensation of being spread open on his cock was overpowering, you found yourself with your face turned into his sheets, which smelled of him. He grabbed your hand to thread your fingers together.

Rolling his hips forward, he was suddenly buried to the hilt. It was sharp, had you gasping and squeezing his fingers in surprise. “Ouch,” you complained, though it was a twinge, more uncomfortable than painful.

“I’m sorry,” he said, immediately pulling out. He leaned his weight on your chest to hover over your face, turning your head so he could chase your mouth with sweet kisses. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

Shamefully, you would let him hurt you worse if it resulted in such comfort and adoring kisses. “It’s fine,” you reassured him, hand moving between you to find his dick. It was hard in your hand. You caressed it playfully though you were still too shy to really play with him, so he reached down to realign and pushed in again.

Once he’d established a rhythm it was unfathomable. You were a mess underneath him, hand shaky in his hair as he fucked into you, kisses slow and familiar now. His every thrust was eye watering. You enjoyed the stretch more than you thought you would’ve, doing your best to roll your hips down on him as he thrusted. He wasn’t doing a lot of teaching, as it went, but you were content to let him fuck you without instruction. You held your breath, quieted your own moans to listen to Peter’s. His moans were an extension of his voice, of his humming, and you wanted to drown in them. You didn’t know what to do to make him louder, and you were desperate.

“What can I do?” you asked him.

“What?”

“I want you to feel good.”

His little confused frown turned into a semi-pained, incredulous smile. “You want me to feel good?” he repeated.

“Yes,” you said shyly.

He pressed his fingers to the side of your face and dotted kisses all over you, thrust slow and languid, reaching deep inside you. He rubbed against a part of you that you’d never had touched before and it had you seeing stars.

“Sweetheart, you feel fucking amazing. You’re fucking amazing. Beautiful girl, wicked tight cunt. I feel amazing,” he told you. It was so outspoken, lacking Peter’s usual shield of sarcasm, that you realised you weren’t the only one laid bare and threw your hands around his neck to kiss him silly and hold him in place.

The feeling of his pelvis against yours rutting in at the hilt was almost enough to send you over. Your legs were shaking from it, and every push in felt tantalising. Now he knew where your sweet spot was he wouldn’t stop looking for it, hitting the soft spot inside you in a repetitive motion that made you whimper into his shoulder.

He concentrated on your clit again. You felt it was unnecessary and told him so, and he ignored you to play with you meanly. You teased him, tensed up to feel him drag against your walls and hiss. Before long he was pulling out, pumping his cock with a sloppy grip lubed by your slick. The groans he milked from himself had sweat prickling on your brow, and when he came down the front of you, you grinned, rolling your hips.

He sat there gasping for a moment, grip on your leg tight and white-knuckled.

You let your legs fall flat and ushered him to come and lie next to you. He refused, pulling your head onto his thigh.

“How was that?” he asked you, stroking your face.

You grinned beatifically. “Quiz me.”

When you woke up you were still naked but cleaned up. Peter was asleep next to you, in a pair of boxers. You realised you were wearing nothing at all and felt your face heat madly. Your legs were sore. You got up and groaned, wondering when you’d fallen asleep. You crept over to Peter’s desk as quietly as you could to read his alarm clock. 7.47PM. You’d missed your date.

You sat down on his rolling desk chair and quirked an eyebrow. His camera was off but the light was flickering. You turned it on with clumsy hands, flicking to his gallery. You smiled at the displayed photograph; you asleep, curled up in Peter’s bed. He’d covered your chest with the blankets. You were smiling in the photograph, too.

“Put that one on your wall, Parker,” you muttered.

thanks for reading!

my masterlist

#the amazing spider man #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter smut #peter parker #the amazing spiderman x reader #the amazing spiderman #tasm fluff #tasm smut

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soaringskystuff · 4 months ago

Note

this is just the sweetest thing😭😭

Hey! I know you wanted more requests for people besides the marauders so you can do this for anyone you like but maybe reader who is just soooo in love with them that anytime they do something nice for her she starts crying? Like happy tears because she's just so in love and she doesn't know how to express that. If you don't want to that's fine!

Hi, thank you! I decided to go with Sirius anyway because I felt like he'd be the most fun. (This is gonna be me btw, the first time I experience romantic love there's no way I'm gonna be able to handle it)

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to show off my tattoos on the first day?”

“Mm, maybe,” you muse, looking longingly at the way Sirius’ inked-up forearms pair with his black dress shirt. “I feel like after the interview it won’t matter, but today you probably want to present your straightest-laced self.”

“Gross,” he grunts, but starts rolling down his sleeves.

It’s a rare sight, Sirius up before noon, but his job interview is scheduled for ten and he doesn’t feel in a position to negotiate. The frail morning light bounces off the full length mirror he’s standing in front of and illuminates the room as he purses his lips and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You’re lying on the bed watching him get ready, trying your very best not to look enthralled and wanton (it is a constant effort).

“My most gorgeous, radiant angel, could I ask you for a favor?”

You grin, warmth flooding your chest. “You don’t have to butter me up. What is it?”

“Grab the bigger version of this shirt? I think I may want a baggier tuck.”

You hum and get up, padding into the closet. Sirius’ clothes are all strewn over the floor and dresser, but miraculously the shirt you’re looking for is on a hanger. As you reach for it, you nearly trip over a small box on the floor. It looks like the shell of something Sirius was sent in the mail, plain cardboard with the shipping label torn off. You bring it back out with you.

“Thanks, lovely,” Sirius says as he takes the hanger from you.

“No problem,” you reply. “Want me to recycle this for you?”

He turns to look, blinks, then looks harder. “No. Where’d you find that?”

“On the floor.”

“Must have fallen off its shelf.” He discards the smaller shirt on the bed and starts doing up the buttons of this new one, smirking when your eyes track the deft movements of his fingers. “Don’t throw it out, it’s got important stuff in it.”

You weigh the box in your hand. “It feels empty.”

“Important, lightweight stuff.”

You eye the barely-open flap of the box, intrigued. “Can I look inside?”

You think you catch a flicker of hesitation across Sirius’ features, but it’s quickly schooled into insouciance. A vine of nervousness winds around your gut. “Sure,” he says, “go ahead.”

You look at him a bit longer before slowly peeling back the cardboard flap. Inside is a mishmash of things. Paper, mostly, but you recognize one item immediately. It’s a flimsy, neon orange paper wristband, a venue’s name stamped haphazardly onto one side. At the first concert you’d gone to together, Sirius had griped endlessly about how the orange contrasted with his outfit horribly and brought out all the ugliest hues of his skin (there aren’t any, but you were too timid to tell him that at the time). He’d seemed desperate to be rid of it. But here it is, carefully clipped off instead of torn and preserved like something special. Something warm and weighty blooms in your chest.

You take out one of the pieces of paper, unfolding it. It’s your handwriting, thoughtless scribbling you’d left for him to find on the fridge one day after you’d left for work. Have a great day, love you.

Another is a bar napkin, containing a whole back-and-forth exchange between you and Sirius from the first time you’d met his friends. You’d kept passing it to him under the table, asking Do they like me? Are they just being nice? Is Remus always so frowny? and he’d passed it back saying Yes. Yes, they love you. James is this nice to everyone, but I can tell he likes you. Remus is being a sourpuss because he hasn’t eaten yet. You’re perfect.

By the time you come upon a polaroid you’d forgotten he’d taken of you in his kitchen, you’re pressing your lips together to keep them from wobbling and your entire being feels warmed by incandescent, aching fondness. Your heart feels so big you can’t breathe around it. You’re not sure you have room for this much love, but you’ll happily carry it around like a weight in your chest for the rest of your life.

You’re all too aware that Sirius is watching you now, so you try to keep it together for his sake, but when you blink a tear slides down the side of your nose.

“Hey,” he chides lightly, amusement inlaid with a bit of panic. “Don’t.”

You sniffle, then laugh wetly. “Can I hug you?”

Normally he might make a joke (Not if you’re going to get snot all over my interview shirt) but something in your expression must sway him. Sirius’ eyes go soft. “Yeah, baby. Of course, c’mere.”

He doesn’t make you get up, crossing the distance to the bed and wrapping you up in his arms. You let out a little sob at the contact.

“I’m gonna clean off your shirt once we’re done,” you promise, gripping his shoulders.

“Okay.” He sounds amused.

“I just—I didn’t know you kept this stuff.”

“It’s cheesy.”

“It’s not,” you insist, hugging him tighter. It makes you happy beyond words, to know you’re bringing this out in him. To see, with your own eyes, how much he loves you back. You can check in with yourself at any time and know you’re happy in your relationship with Sirius, but you never could have imagined how spectacular it would feel to know that you make him this happy in return. “It’s special, Sirius. You’re special.”

“You sound like James’ mum.”

“Oh, shut up.” You smack his arm, pulling back with a huff. You’re smiling, though, and he sees, taking your wet, blotchy face between his palms and grinning at you. Honestly, if he weren’t Sirius Black, he’d be such a dork.

“I love you,” he says, a significance in his tone that contradicts the playfulness in his expression. “Do I let you forget it?”

“No,” you tell him. “You don’t, it’s just…I just really love you too, you know?”

His smile spreads, flashing canines the second before he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s firm and spirited, and Sirius holds you there until you’re laughing into his mouth.

“I know,” he says, pecking you once more on the lips before letting you go with a swipe of his thumbs across your cheeks. “Alright, gorgeous, clean me up, would you? I’ve got other people to go impress.”

#oh to be in love with a man like sirius black SIGH #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #fluff #sirius black fic #sirius black marauders #sirius black imagine #marauders #marauders era #marauders fluff #marauders x reader #the marauders

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soaringskystuff · 4 months ago

Text

an absolutely beautiful story with a perfect ending🥹 i couldn’t ask for more from a series

'i know who you are' masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

-or-

Joel has to make you fall in love with him all over again.

Series Warnings: smut MDNI (18+), post outbreak, language, angst, hurt/comfort, graphic depictions of violence, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity - more warnings will be stated for each chapter

Status: complete

I started a notifications blog in lieu of a taglist: @punkshort-notifs

Chapters:

1: the beginning

2: the journal

3: the accident

4: the others

5: the dinner

6: the fight

7: the week

8: the return

9: the end

Extras/BTS/Inspo:

Floor Plan

Pregnancy Scare headcanon

Drabbles/Requests:

Never Enough - a day in the life pre-accident

Before - the morning of the accident

Jealous - you finds out about Angie (the first time)

Stubborn - the night Joel convinces you to make things official

It didn't mean anything - Joel finds out about your history with Ben for the first time

Three Words - You remember another memory, this one more special than the rest

Broken - Joel finds out you got hurt on patrol.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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soaringskystuff · 4 months ago

Note

i need eddie to meet me in my bed in 30 seconds flat THANK YEW

Someone knocks at the door while you and rockstar!Eddie are fucking and instead of stopping he goes faster while yelling ‘In a minute’ to the person at the door

the one where your friends keep catching you and eddie having sex (rockstar!eddie universe, established relationship, implied enemies to lovers, cw for smut 18+)

Let it be known, that it would take a nearly apocalyptic nuclear war — or something rapture adjacent, at the very least — for Eddie Munson to stop fucking you. Most people have learned this the hard way. You included.

You’re a panting mess beneath his pale, tattooed form. Eddie’s body, made of milky white silk, grows slick with a fine layer of sweat as he thrusts mercilessly into you. His curls sway around your face each time his lean hips collide with your open thighs. The dull clapping sound that fills the bedroom is punctuated by Eddie’s choked-back groans and your subdued whimpers.

The two of you always make it a point to be polite about your fucking — never quite as loud as you want to be, so as to keep from traumatizing your roommates. Like respectful adults. So it’s entirely Steve’s fault when he barges in with a halfhearted knock like a total psycho.

“Hey, do you guys wanna—” The boy freezes at the sight of his best friends, in a pile beneath the covers, who before now hated each other’s guts. His face screws together like he’s tasted something sour. “Jesus Christ…”

Eddie ceases his thrusts to toss Steve a look over his freckled shoulder. He never moves off of you, effectively shielding your naked body from his view, nor does he pull his stiff cock from your pulsing confines. Much to your horror.

“What?” the wild-haired boy wonders through labored breaths, face flushed red with sex.

“I was gonna ask if you guys wanted to come to the movies with me and Robin,” Steve answers with a roll of his eyes, already on his way out. “But you’re obviously busy—”

“Wait— That new buddy cop movie?” Eddie calls to the boy’s retreating form.

“Eddie!” you hiss through your teeth, filled with panic and distant pleasure, ‘cause the idiot’s trying to have a conversation like he isn’t balls deep inside you. He flashes you a wide-eyed chocolate stare like he’s innocent. “Stop,” you mouth to him.

“Yeah. Start’s at eight.”

“Well, don’t leave us, alright?” he tells him. “We’re coming.”

“Gross,” Steve mumbles and shuts the door behind him.

Eddie turns back to you. His curly bangs are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead in places. His glowing cheeks are tinted a faint pink color. His lips are swollen and rosy as they curl into a smirk. Sex is written all over his face, painfully so.

“That pun wasn’t intended, by the way—” Eddie jokes before you swat at his lanky bicep. “Ow!”

—————

A year or more later, you and Corrodded Coffin are selling out venues across the country. The world is a whole lot bigger than The Hideout, apparently. ‘Cause, as it turns out, more than just a couple of drunks care about seeing your band play.

Somewhere down the line, you and the lead guitarist of said band are more serious about each other than you ever planned to be — much to the dismay of the rest of your bandmates. Not because they hadn’t spent years waiting for you guys to get together (they most definitely had), but because it was virtually impossible to have privacy while living on a tour bus.

Despite your feeble efforts to stay as subtle as possible, it’s dreadfully apparent when you and Eddie are fucking. The door to the bunks slides slowly shut, and Jeff and Gareth wait with walkmans over their ears until it opens again. This time, they flip a coin to decide who has to interrupt.

Gareth loses (‘cause Gareth always loses) and curses under his breath while he knocks on the closed door.

“Do you guys want food?” you hear him ask over the heavy breathing in your ear. “That fancy ramen place across the bar just offered us dinner.”

Meanwhile, Eddie Munson is riddled with post-show adrenaline as he all but fucks you stupid. His curly hair is as wild as his glassy eyes, now smokey around the edges with smudged black liner. He keeps his chest flush to your spine as he pounds into you with a primal sort of vigor — one ringed hand curled in your hair, the other gripping the plush of your hip.

“Nah, man!” he calls back, choppy through labored breaths, ‘cause he never stops thrusting into you. You’d be worried about the quiet clapping sound of his hips against your ass if your head weren’t so fuzzy. “We’re good!”

The promise of food reminds you that you haven’t eaten since earlier that day. Suddenly, you’re overcome with unexpected hunger and looming pleasure.

“Wait, Eds,” you pant. “Food actually sounds really good right now.”

Eddie rolls his eyes in response, even though you both know he’s gonna give you what you want either way. First, a leg-shaking orgasm that you’ll in feel in your limbs for a half hour after it’s over. Second, all the damn ramen you can eat.

“Fuck, fine— Okay, we’re coming!” Eddie shouts. “Just give us, like, ten minutes, will ya?!”

Gareth grumbles faintly from the other side of the sliding glass door. “Yes, master,” you hear him grouse as he stalks off back to the living area of the tour bus — where it’s safe.

A laugh rumbles in Eddie’s chest as he starts fucking into you again. You bury a whine into your pillow when his balls slap your clit. He presses his mouth to your ear, and you feel his lips curling into a lopsided smile there. “You call me that, and we’ll be outta here in thirty seconds flat, sweetheart.”

#wanting to get food after is so real of reader tho #eddie munson smut #smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #stranger things eddie #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!#rockstar!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader

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soaringskystuff · 5 months ago

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i wish the marauders were real😔 10/10 writing as alwaysss

hi, my love! i hope you’re doing okay!

i’d be really interested to see the protectiveness of the marauders and how it plays out in a poly!marauders dynamic. say something happens to r (can be as minor or as severe as you prefer). how would each marauder react and how would their dynamics bounce off each other? would it make the situation better or worse?

I find it funny picturing r attempting to wrangle all three of her boys from throwing hands (especially if it was a mistake or a miscommunication between r and the “offender”) and they’re bouncing off each other and riling themselves up more and she’s just like, ffs I’m so sorry and tries her best to manhandle her three boyfriends away for a stern talking to. Like, thank you guys for protecting me and all that but a) t’was a mistake / miscommunication, and b) i can sort my own shit and will ask if i need back up (Sirius in the back like no need to ask, i’m ready to go bby). Everyone’s like wtf Remus?! because he’s usually the chill one and it’s just a cluserfuck of misplaced angst and fluffy humour.

this might overlap with some other requests you’ve written, so feel free to ignore or tweak as you see fit! no idea if this makes any sense but hope it’s fun to write if you decide to!

Hi lovely! I've done a couple fics with protective marauders before, so I wanted to try something a little different based on your prompt. I had a different vision in my head than how it turned out, but I hope you like it <3

cw: alcohol, sexual assault, violence

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

You’ve been known to be a…somewhat short-fused drunk. It’s not that you’ll get angry with anyone for anything, only that the sort of behavior that you might normally try to ignore, you…don’t. This is usually the behavior of men.

It’s one of those nights where the club is made up of about forty percent young girls and sixty percent older, eagle-eyed men. You’re glad for your boyfriends, who ward off the other men like a force field around you. You feel lucky to have it and disgusted to need it.

James’ laughter is loud and bright as you spin him around after he does you. You echo it, pleased at having inspired such a sound. With his large, sturdy build, it’s rare for James to get very drunk, but he’s about where you are now. Which is to say, you’ve been sloppily dancing and giggling with each other for the last hour.

Remus rolls his eyes fondly when James nearly spins himself out of balance, steadying him with a hand on his back.

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Sirius shouts.

James laughs again, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “Classy, babe.”

“Bugger off.” Sirius shoves him playfully into Remus’ chest.

You dance with them both for a minute longer before leaning in to shout, “Okay if I go get more drinks?”

Remus eyes you both for a second, but nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“No, stay.” You set a hand on his chest. “Don’t let Jamie dance alone. I’ll be right back, yeah?”

You don’t give him a chance to respond as you head for the bar. It’s crowded, but you’re not about to worm between some middle-aged men to get to the front. You stand up on your toes and wait to catch the bartender’s eye.

“What’s your name?” Suddenly there’s a warm body pressed up behind yours, hands on your hips.

Your blood, already warmed by alcohol, turns hot in an instant. You step forward, too quick for the man behind you to follow. Turn to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t touch me,” you say firmly.

“Okay.” The man raises his eyebrows at you. He looks nearly old enough to be your father—certainly old enough to be someone’s father—with waxy skin and thinning hair combed over the front of his head. He’s in a suit like he came here from work. “Sorry, relax. I just think you’re beautiful.”

“I’m here with someone.” Someones, you could say, but you’ve learned it’s easier in some situations to make it sound like you only have one partner, for brevity’s sake. And there’s nothing you desire more than for this interaction to be brief.

He gives a little laugh. “Don’t take things so seriously, I’m only complimenting you. Do you like to dance?”

You give him a hard look. “Only with my boyfriend.”

“You look like you dance.” His eyes skim down your frame, raptorial. “I can tell. You have the body for it.”

No sooner does his large, meaty hand connect with your ass than you’re grabbing it by the wrist, your free hand balling and aiming for his face.

His surprised grunt comes in sync with a “Woah!” from behind you.

You turn to find Remus and James, looking like they’ve just broken through the crowd. James is staring at you with wide eyes. One of the men near you at the bar sets a hand on your shoulder, pulling you away from the creep and forcing you to drop his wrist, but Remus is there in an instant.

“Oi.” He grabs you, removing the man’s hand and caging you in his arms. “She’s fine.”

“She hit him!” the man accuses. The guy from before is leaning forward with a hand pressed over his face.

James is incredulous. “Did you see what he did to her?”

The other man looks between you like he’s realized he’s missing something, and Remus takes a couple of steps back from the crowd with you in his arms. Meanwhile, your attacker seems to be recovering from his shock. He lowers his hand to reveal a discolored mark on his jaw, gaping at you.

“You fucking cunt!”

James gives him a hard shove, and more shouting starts up around the bar, various other patrons either cheering the fight on or trying to break it up. Remus grabs James by his shirt, tugging him along as he herds you towards the exit. “Alright, we’re going, we’re going.”

Your journey out of the building is hurried and difficult to follow in your addled state, but everything seems to catch up to you when the dark club gives way to glaring fluorescent streetlights. You bend over under a wave of nausea.

“Hey.” James sounds more sober than he had a few minutes ago. He stoops to look at you, your eyes wet. “You okay?”

Remus says something to him quietly, passing James the car keys. He unwinds his arm from around you and kisses your head.

“I’ll be right back,” he says gently. “Go wait in the car, okay?”

“Okay…” Your voice is hardly a whimper. “Where are you going?”

But Remus is already gone, waving down the bouncer outside of the club.

You turn to James. “Where is he going?”

Tears blink out of your eyes as you ask. The corners of James’ mouth turn down sympathetically.

“Oh, my girl.” He wraps a big arm around your shoulders, kissing your head as he leads you towards the car. “What’s wrong? Does your hand hurt?”

You shake your head, though it does a little. Your knuckles and the tops of your fingers feel odd and sore, and there’s a throbbing that goes all the way down to your wrist. That’s not what’s bothering you, though. You’re not sure if you can pick what’s bothering you. The predatory stares you’ve endured all night; the sickening realization of the man’s body pressed up against yours; his easy, blithe laughter; your own white-hot anger, there and gone before you could take account of yourself—it’s all too much.

“I can’t believe I hit him,” you admit tearfully.

James lets out a little laugh. “I saw, baby.” He unlocks the car, opening the back door.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I—oh, okay.” James doesn’t stop you when you don’t get in, instead sitting on the floor of the car with your feet on the gravel parking lot. He sits beside you. “It’s okay if you did. He deserved it.”

You put your head in your hands. “I don’t hit people.”

He makes a soft sound. A big hand lands between your shoulder blades, rubbing softly. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. It’s…I get that you wouldn’t usually, but I think this counts as a special circumstance. Rem, he saw what was happening, but we couldn’t get to you fast enough. I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself, you know?”

You don’t reply, and he lets you sit in silence for a while, your weeping gradually stopping. When Remus comes back, it’s with Sirius in tow.

“What the fuck happened?” Sirius asks tipsily. “I was looking for you!”

“Did Remus not tell you?” James sounds excited to be the one to share the news.

“Alright, dove?” Remus asks at a more reasonable volume, crouching in front of you. “Does your hand hurt? Can I see?”

“No, he’s being bloody tight-lipped.” Sirius ruffles Remus’ hair. “Just said you had to go. Oi, you alright, lovely?”

“She punched a guy in the face,” James says proudly.

“She what?” Sirius’ mouth pops open. You shrink some under his gaze. “Baby, you what?”

“I didn’t mean to!” you insist, though it’s hard to stay miserable when two of your boyfriends look so obviously delighted.

Sirius shakes his head, awestruck. “What did I miss?”

James fills him in quickly while Remus prods at your hand, eventually commending you on a rather clean hit after he’s certain you didn’t break anything. Sirius can hardly keep his mouth shut while James talks, nor can James keep from using a series of vulgar names for the man who’d touched you, though he checks on you a couple of times to be sure his storytelling isn’t upsetting you. When he’s done, Sirius’ stare has darkened, his arms crossing as he leans against the side of the car.

“Do we think he could perhaps use a matching bruise on the other side?” he muses, gaze flicking to the entrance of the club. “Maybe one of you could point him out to me.”

“You’ll get to see him soon,” says Remus. You look at him questioningly, but he only gives you a small smile. Cryptic.

“Really, she’s already handled it rather well herself.” James slides his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your head. “You should have seen it, I had no idea she could punch like that.”

“Me neither,” you sigh.

Just then, the door to the club bangs open. Two bouncers come out in their uniform black tees, hauling between them another man.

“Alright, alright, leave off!” The creep from earlier struggles in their grasp. All three of your boyfriends tense. As he comes through the doorway, his discolored jaw catches the light.

Sirius whistles. “Shit. That is bloody gorgeous.”

You feel the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips, but try to remain contrite. You catch Remus’ eye.

“It was pretty impressive,” he says, also smiling.

You chew your lip. “You don’t think it was wrong?”

“What’s wrong about it?” Sirius asks. “He touched you, you touched him. I’d have done the same if I were there.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “We know, love.”

“I’m just saying, I could make it symmetrical…”

“No,” Remus says sternly. He helps you up, ushering you into the backseat. “It’s time to go home.”

James buckles in beside you while Remus gets into the driver’s seat. Sirius lingers outside the car.

“He’s not gotten far yet, are we sure…”

“Aw, baby, does your hand hurt?” James asks loudly.

Sirius turns, crawling in to get a look. “Shit, did you bruise something? How’d you make a fist?”

James reaches across him to shut the door, and Remus drives away.

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soaringskystuff · 5 months ago

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plzzz this had me blushing🤭 i love poly!marauders!!!!

If it interests you, could you maybe do poly!marauders smut surrounding how they would react when reader gives one of the boys a blowjob? If this isn’t comfy for you I apologize immensely. I double checked your rules so hopefully I didn’t overstep or anything. Love your work! Also my middle name is Mae:)))

Honestly babe when I read this I didn’t know if I was comfy with it either (not because of you, just because I didn’t know if I’d be able to write it) but I decided to give it a go and somehow it turned into over 2k words? So thanks!

cw: smut mdni, oral (m receiving), praise, this might be horrible? I can't decide if I hate it

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

Sirius’ kisses have turned sloppy, one of his hands wrapped loosely around your neck while the other wiggles its fingers below the waistband of your jeans, taking greedy handfuls of hip. His hard length presses into your thigh through his pants. You tilt your head, slanting your mouth against his so you can kiss him more deeply, and a low groan rumbles through him.

He plants a chaste kiss on your lips before starting to mark a path downwards.

You know where this is going, and you like where this is going, but still a breathless “wait” slips past your lips.

Sirius pauses, his face hovering over your middle. Next to you on the bed, your boyfriends continue making out, but you can see you’ve caught James’ attention. His eyes open to slits, peeking from beneath his lashes to check on you.

“What’s up?” Sirius asks, rubbing your hip. “Don’t feel like it?”

“No, I just…” you rub your lips together nervously, and you see his eyes drop to the motion. Already large pupils growing larger. “I wanted to know if I can ask you something.”

Sirius’ eyes skim over you, a slow perusal that’s probably meant to deduce the cause of your anxiety but only serves to worsen it. “Sure you can,” he says, tone somewhat gentler than usual. “What is it, sweetness?”

“Could you maybe,” you ask hesitantly, wishing you could lean away from him, as if some distance between you would make this any less embarrassing, “teach me to give you a blowjob?”

Sirius’ lips part in surprise. This time it’s Remus who you catch looking over, a second before James breaks their kiss, sitting up over Remus’ torso.

“You wanna learn?” James asks, lips bitten red and swollen.

You glance between him and Sirius, not quite sure who to look at. “Yeah?” you say, hating the way your voice crawls up into a question.

Sirius’ eyebrows twitch together. “You know you don’t have to,” he says, “right?”

“I know.” You give him a little smile. “I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Okay,” he says. His thumb sweeps over your hip like he knows you need the reassurance. “Yeah, we can show you, gorgeous. Wanna do it sitting down?”

You take a breath, nodding before crawling out from under him and kneeling on the floor by the bed. Sirius follows you, sitting on the edge of the mattress and spreading his legs wide. Your brain buzzes in response to the erection you can see bulging through his pants.

You glance towards the other boys. “Are you guys just going to…watch?”

They’ve both been staring at you, but now James grins sheepishly. “If you don’t mind.”

“We can help, if you’re alright with that,” Remus offers. “Give you tips.”

You can feel your face growing warm at the prospect of them being witness to your bumbling first attempt, but you don’t hate the idea of them coaching you through it.

“M’kay,” you say. “Um, what do I do?”

“Try taking it out, sweetheart.” There’s a bit of laughter in Remus’ voice, but his hand is gentle as he reaches over the edge of the bed, brushing your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes flit up to Sirius’ face. He gives you a smile, and you undo his pants, pulling down the waistband of his underwear so that his length springs free. For a few moments you just look at it, wetting your lips before looking to the boys for direction.

“Here.” James gets down on the floor beside you and takes your hand in his, guiding it to Sirius’ shaft. “You’re probably gonna want to start by holding it like this, okay?” He wraps your fingers around the base. “Good. Now be careful to cover your teeth, and just try putting it in your mouth.”

Just? You glance up at Sirius again, and a bit of pride swells in you at the undisguised lust in his expression.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you tell him softly.

“Me neither,” he jokes, reaching down to thumb affectionately at your cheek. “You won’t hurt me, baby. And you can stop anytime you want, you know that. If you don’t like it, just stop.”

You bob your head, wrap your lips around your teeth, and take him into your mouth before you can think too hard about it. His cock feels odd and weighty on your tongue. You lean forward a bit, seeing how far you can go.

“Breathe through your nose,” Remus instructs. “Try sucking on it, whenever you’re ready.”

You let your jaw relax, sucking experimentally, like you might on a popsicle. Sirius moans.

“Just like that,” he says, voice taking on a thick quality. “Fuck, good job, baby.”

Warmth unfurls in your gut at the praise. You suckle a bit longer, getting used to the feel of him in your mouth before you begin moving slowly forward and backward. After a few tries, your lips are making contact with the curled O of your thumb and forefinger each time. Sirius’ cock twitches in your mouth.

“You’ve got it, angel.” James’ big hand roves the curves of your side, his touch steadying your nerves and stirring that heat in your core. “Don’t rush yourself, but if you wanna take him deeper you can take your hand off.”

You do it with little hesitation, high on praise and the rush of what you’ve already accomplished, and ease more of Sirius’ shaft into your mouth. He puts a hand in your hair to help you along, but then all of a sudden it’s too deep, too big, too much. You gag, choking.

Sirius’ hand disappears instantly, but you’re not so ready to give up. Your throat spasms around the intrusion, vision blurring as you try to breathe through your nose.

“Easy,” Remus murmurs.

You finally can’t stand it anymore, pulling away and drawing in a gasping breath.

“Shit,” Sirius says, and you lift your teary eyes to his embarrassedly while James rubs your back. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you manage, swallowing. “Sorry.”

His eyes go soft. “Don’t be sorry, you did great. Do you wanna stop now?”

You shake your head. “I think I just need a second.”

He nods, and there’s a few seconds of quiet, James' hand coasting up and down your spine. “Do you think a demonstration would help?’ he asks.

You swipe under your lashes, looking over at him curiously. “Um, maybe? I’m not sure.”

He exchanges a quick look with Remus before grinning, shuffling closer to where the other boy sits at the edge of the bed and taking off his glasses. “Here. Sirius, talk her through what I’m doing, yeah?”

Sirius seems about as transfixed by what’s about to happen as you are, but he nods. James does as you had, taking Remus’ cock out of his pants, and there’s no need to get it warmed up after the show you’ve been giving them. He feeds it right into his mouth. Remus groans as James takes his entire length expertly, fisting a hand in the other boy’s curly hair.

“Right. Um, see how he’s breathing deep through his nose?” Sirius clears his throat, voice noticeably rough as he watches James’ lips move over Remus’ shaft. “He’s keeping his throat relaxed, not moving back and forth too much.”

You watch as James’ mouth grows wet with spit and slick, his eyes watering a bit as he fights his gag reflex. His throat bobs, and Remus swears, his grip tightening on James’ hair.

“And when he swallows,” Sirius manages, “his throat tightens, which is…uh, nice.”

Remus lets out a breathy, half-delirious laugh at Sirius’ commentary. His cheeks are flushed red from pleasure and the attention, and it’s not long before curses start to spew from his mouth and he goes rigid, cuming down James’ throat. James swallows, grinning up at him. Lips and eyes shiny.

You and Sirius watch them for a few seconds longer, entranced by the sight of your boyfriends.

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Remus says weakly, and you have to swallow a laugh.

You turn to Sirius. “I think I’m ready to try again.”

He gestures as if to say Go right ahead, and you take his shaft in your hand, guiding it back into your mouth. Once again, it takes time to adjust to the feeling, but this time when his head hits the back of your throat you’re ready for it. You breathe steadily through your mouth, focussing on staying relaxed as you suck gently.

“There you go, angel,” James praises, putting his glasses back on to watch you. “You’re taking him so well.”

“Fucking yeah she is,” Sirius agrees, voice growing reedy as he starts to pant. You take one of his legs to steady yourself, hand wrapping around a tattoo on his thigh. “Look at me, baby.”

You lift your watery eyes to his, finding the stormcloud gray nearly eclipsed by dark pupil. The raw want in them makes your cunt throb. Sirius must find your face nearly as arousing, because he mutters another quiet, Fuck.

You’re distantly conscious of Remus shuffling back to the edge of the bed, and then he’s laying his head on his arms, gazing down at you. “Look at you, such a quick learner,” he hums. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Making him feel so good.”

“Look at her eyes,” James says, just loud enough so you can hear. You know they’re aware of what their words are doing to you, of the wetness pooling in your underwear. “She looks so pretty like this, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Remus agrees. “Our pretty girl.”

You move a bit more surely over Sirius’ length, constricting your throat tentatively. Sirius moans loudly, his hand twitching toward you before he stops it. You take it in yours, setting it on the back of your head so he can guide you the way he wants.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he pants, tangling his hand in your hair. “So good f’me.”

You make a small, pleasurable sound, and another moan slips from between his lips, his hand urging you closer. You breathe through it when his cock sponges against the back of your throat, starting to enjoy the odd sensation of your mouth and throat being so deliciously full—and, if you’re being honest with yourself, the feeling of knowing you’re doing well. And if Sirius’ increasingly loud curses and the other boys’ murmured praise are anything to go by, you’re doing rather well.

“God, I wish you could see how you look right now,” James says, voice smooth as velvet as he drops a kiss on your shoulder. “You’re so lovely.”

“Fucking hot, s’what she is,” Sirius insists, brows coming together so urgently you wonder for a second if he’s in pain. “Fuck. Shit, where can I cum?”

You don’t take your mouth off his cock, doing your best to communicate with your eyes. Sirius seems to get the message, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling at your scalp as his thigh tenses under your hand. You swallow hurriedly, and the sounds that leave him will echo in your dreams for the rest of the week, loud, pleady moans interspersed with mangled curses. Your mouth fills with warm wetness, and you ease him out of your throat before swallowing again.

“There we are.” James tugs you gently away when he realizes neither you or Sirius are moving, pulling you half into his lap. “You did it, sweetheart, great job.”

He strokes his thumb under your eyes for you, wiping away the wetness there as Remus watches you move your tongue around in your mouth funnily.

“You alright?” he asks you.

You nod. “Tastes different than I thought it would,” you say.

James laughs, the sound bright and clear. He plants a smacking kiss on your cheek.

“Not bad, I hope,” Sirius says, voice still a bit stringy. He leans back on his elbows, watching you from the bed.

You feel color rise to your cheeks. “No. Not bad.”

His lips quirk up, eyes steady on yours. “That was fucking killer,” he tells you, “especially for your first time. Thanks for that, gorgeous.”

You grin bashfully, dropping your eyes. James clears his throat loudly.

“Right, right, and thank you for the demonstration,” Sirius adds. “Very instructive.”

James beams, but Sirius only pats the bed next to him.

“Why don’t you hop up here so I can give you a real thanks?”

Impossibly, James’ smile widens. He’s quick to obey, Sirius moving to take his place on the floor. Your lips part, and you hear Remus chuckle. You turn to find his amber eyes watching you. They linger on your lips, still glossy and swollen.

“Y’want me to help you out too, sweetheart?” He juts his chin toward the bed, a silent request for you to lie down. “Seems only fair, doesn’t it.”

#poly!marauders smut #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!#poly!marauders fic #smut #marauders smut #marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin

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