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versupital · 8 months ago

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❀ halle berry.ᐟ❀

a glimpse into the mind of jjk men being feral over your perfect thighs <3

content: gn!reader (Choso, Geto), switch!choso, thigh fucking, cunnilingus (Gojo), afab!reader (Nanami, Gojo), sorcery!au (Gojo), exhibitionism (nanami), toys (geto), husband!nanami, established relationship, ¿unprotected?

word count. 3k

incl pairings: choso, gojo, geto, nanami

soundtrack 🪐📀: p*$$y fairy!

a/n: the title is because in the song halle berry he’s like going crazy over how fine his woman is and so i thought it fit LMFAOAO

🧚🏼‍♀️

Choso

Choso loves when you wear thigh-high socks.

You’d scored a light blue and white striped pair with C’s on them, just for your Cho baby. They slip and slide all down your legs as Choso fucks between them, fingers entangled in the material.

“Hngh - warm,” is all he manages to mumble as his slick cock slides through your thighs.

The two of you stand in front of the mirror, your hands behind you, holding onto his back as he strokes needily.

You watch as his fat, light-colored tip pokes through with each of his thrusts, his fingers now sliding up, and shoved deep into the light stretch marks on your hips. All you have on is the socks, your back arched painfully, and you moan as you watch him use you for his pleasure.

“Feels so good, huh, Cho?” you purr, sliding a hand behind your head to fist one of his pigtails.

“S-So good,” he mutters, his pace quickening. You can feel his cock rub against your aching heat with every stroke, slicking him up, making your thighs all wet and sticky.

Lewd suction noises pour into the room to mesh with Choso’s moans, your own praises cooing out in time with his thrusts.

Yes. Good boy. So good. Like that. Don’t stop.

Choso’s hands come up and desperately grip your chest, holding on tightly and applying pressure to your achingly hard nipples.

“F-fuck,” you whine, and Choso’s head falls onto your shoulder as you release his hair.

“C-Can I please put it in now?” he begs, teeth clamping down onto your skin, softly planting kisses there after.

“Mm, dunno,” you taunt, “don’t know if you deserve it.”

“B-But I’ve been good,” Choso whines out. His grip on your chest softens but he continues to roll his hips, sliding that cock in and out, and you feel yourself drip more as the tip travels over the sensitive underside of your heat.

You shudder against him, and when he speaks again his tone has shifted mildly.

“That’s right,” he coos. “Y-Y’know you wanna let me in, baby, please?”

Your hands find his thighs and dig your nails in. He lets out a filthy howl in your ear, which makes you moan in frustration.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, leaning forward and planting your hands on the mirror. “Fuck me, Cho. Need you.”

Choso gasps, as if he hadn’t intended for that to work, but nevertheless he wastes no time grabbing himself at the base and pressing his tip to your soppy hole.

“Th-Thank you,” he mumbles. “Love your thighs, but nothing feels as good as your insides, baby.”

You shake your head and part your legs to give him more access. “Hurry up before I keep you from cumming,” you snap.

“Y-Yes baby,” Choso chirps, and it isn’t long before the two of you have completely forgotten about the socks as they slide to your ankles, your mind going brainless as Choso punishes you right back.

Gojo

Gojo tries to pretend he doesn’t have an issue with you leaving the house in fishnets, but realistically, it always makes him irrationally jealous. Especially to go on missions, when he knows everyone will be in attendance.

Now, he knows he’s the strongest sorcerer and - the most attractive - and well, the best. He knows you’d be insane to leave him for anyone else. You wouldn’t.

But he also knows that when you look like that - the big gaps in the nets not hiding the perfect shape of your smooth thighs and a pleated blue skirt to compliment your uniform - that you’re nothing but blood in a sea of sharks.

Even Nanami, the respectable man that he is, sneaks a second look when you come by. And Gojo wants to wring his neck for it.

He’s forced to watch as you kiss Geto on the cheek and laugh at one of Higuruma’s, no doubt, unfunny jokes. He swipes a hand across his face. Thank God for his blindfold. No one can see the rage in his eyes.

It’s only about halfway through the day when he can’t stand it any longer. He sees you keep messing with them, twisting and adjusting them, and he drags his eyes to your little fingers, reminding him how they entangle themselves in his hair whenever he has his tongue buried in your hole.

He’s thinking about ripping a gaping hole in the tights and pushing your panties to the side, too desperate to worry about taking all of it off, and devouring you around the material.

You’d let out a surprised moan, like you always do at first contact. He’d blow cool air on your clit while two of his fingers pinch and massage your wet folds. You’d writhe, your thighs would clench over his ears like fleshy earmuffs. He’d have no choice but to lift his blindfold off of one eye, just to get a better look at your head fallen back, your top teeth clenching your bottom lip.

He’d continue to shred the fishnets as he entangled his long fingers in them for support. You’d whine that they were your favorite. He’d whisper that he’ll buy you a hundred new pairs, and you’d moan from his breathy words landing on your aching clit.

“Satoru,” your voice chokes him out of his fantasy.

He glances down at you through his cloth, though he knows you can’t tell. He clears his throat.

“Yes?” he croaks out.

“Did you hear me? We’re going to grab lunch,” you run a hand over his arm and he feels his muscles respobd to your touch. “Coming?”

Damn near, he almost says, but he instead smiles and pulls you into a side hug - making sure to glide his hand over your hip as you begin walking together.

You chirp against him and put a hand on his chest to balance yourself. “Mmh, did you know you have a little… situation?” you question innocently, and Satoru doesn’t even have to look down to know how rock solid he is in his pants.

“It’s your fault,” he grits back. “I keep telling you not to wear these.” He stops to flick the tights with his finger.

You giggle and drop your hand. “And I keep telling you that I’m gonna do it till you force me to stop.”

Gojo stops walking. The rest of the group is well ahead, good. They won’t notice the two of you falling behind.

“Do we really have to eat with them?” he asks.

“You read my mind,” you look up and stand on your toes to kiss him on the chin, to which he shivers. You, making the most powerful and supposedly composed sorcerer, shiver. “I’ve got your favorite snack already.”

Gojo glances up again to make sure the group is at least out of earshot, and without hesitance he’s gripping your hand and dragging you off towards the opposite direction.

“Fuck, this is why I love you,” he growls. “But seriously. This is your last time wearing these, okay?”

You nod your head innocently, though he knows good and well that you’re just playing along, and after he’s done ripping your current pair to shreds, the following week you’ll be right back in a new pair to tease him with.

Nanami

Nanami is a conservative man. He doesn’t show off much of his skin. Not that it’s really the same for men, but he certainly doesn’t mind when you do it.

His favorite kind is you, wearing a strapless number with a dangerously high slit in it, holding a tiny clutch with nothing but lip gloss inside because you have no reason to carry a wallet when you go out together.

But what gets him the most is your tall, knee-high heels with red on the bottom. They had been a Christmas gift from him, but it still amazes him how you’re able to balance yourself on them each time, without fail.

He orders you a driver, like always, so that the two of you can drink together without worrying about the commute home. He’s immediately pulling your leg over his lap after he joins you in the backseat.

He watches as the material of your dress falls back against the leather seat. The skin on your thighs have puffed out; he’s ogling them like a schoolboy. He catches a glimpse of your hip under the slit. He realizes with a jolt there’s no panty waistline.

You’ve left the house commando.

He tightens his grip on the material of your boot, trying to pry his eyes away, but all he can think about is how disgustingly easy you’ve made it for him to sit beside you at dinner and tip-toe his fingers into the slit of the dress and part your legs with his fingertips.

You’d oblige immediately, gasping as you look over at him and pretend you don’t want to do this in public.

But he would continue on, making small talk with the waitress and ordering wine as he begins to drag the fingertip over your clit that’s already throbbing achingly.

When the waitress leaves, he’d lean over and kiss you on the cheek, and you’d lean back against the seat and part your legs a bit to give him more access.

His eyes would catch another glimpse at the delicious shoes and momentarily falter as he wonders what they look like over his shoulders. He doesn’t have to wonder what you’d look like under him, getting stuffed and bent out of shape in your skimpy dress, because your face is already so flushed - your lips slightly parted as you try not to moan.

He blinks, and he’s suddenly back in the car, and his hand has mindlessly travelled to rest on your bare hip. You stare at him a bit confused, because he’s sitting and just staring blankly at you with his jaw clenched.

“Is everything okay?” you question.

He swallows and smiles reassuringly.

“Perfect, my love,” he nods. “Tell me, was wearing no underwear a last minute decision?”

He watches as you tap your chin, and then scoot your hips a bit closer to him, and now he knows you can feel his cock poking against your legs.

“Kind of,” you shrug. “Who needs them, you know?”

Nanami exhales. You little minx.

“You do, for my sake,” Nanami pinches a bit of the skin on your hip and you respond by gripping onto his tie. “I… am going to find it difficult to sit at dinner with this information.”

You giggle, a soft sound that sends more blood pumping through his cock. He thinks of the two of you in bed, when his dick accidentally slides out of you and you giggle at him while you grab the base and put it back in. Your face immediately twists from a smug crack of amusement to furrowed eyebrows and pleasure.

God, he’s so worked up.

“Driver,” he says suddenly, and he feels you raise an eyebrow at him. “Take us back home, please.”

Geto

You’ve never worn fancy underwear around Geto.

Your relationship started as a hookup a few years back, and whenever you saw each other, you were always drunk and just trying to claw to the bare skin underneath - hardly concerning yourselves with what kind of bra or underwear you had on.

As time has passed, you feel Geto deserves a surprise. You wonder what his reaction would be, to you maybe wearing something simple, like matching underwear and a pair of garters.

As soon as the order comes in, you’re putting it on. They are tight and dig into your skin, but you hope it’s going to be worth it.

You’re wearing the look underneath a big shirt and pajama pants, your typical attire for bed. Geto is in the bathroom, massaging oils into his hair and slicking it back.

You lean against the doorway, “You act like you’re going to run into the president in your dreams.”

Geto turns to you and grins, dropping his hands from the wet locks. “I have a reputation to uphold as the guy with flawless hair, alright?”

You roll your eyes. “To whom? Satoru?” You begin to make kissy noises. “And they’re both boys, mwah, mwah, mwah…”

“Oh hush,” Geto swats at you before washing his hands. Then, he walks a few steps over and plants a kiss on your head before sliding his hands up your sides and under the big shirt.

You watch as his brain registers what’s going on. His hands halt over the leather material of your garter belt, before he rips the shirt up to your chest and examines what’s going on underneath.

“Hello?” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Where did this come from, baby?”

You pull his hands off of the shirt and let the material fall back down. “No, go back to your hair. Don’t worry about it.”

You turn to walk away brattily, but he’s already gripping your wrist and tugging you back into the bathroom with him. Now, he’s got your back against the shower door, and you gasp.

“Don’t play,” Geto threatens, bringing his hands to the waistband of your pants this time. “Never seen you wear anything like this. Wonder what you’ve got on the bottom half?”

You don’t stop him as he bends towards the floor and brings your pants down with him. His pupils go black as he registers the leather panties that are underneath the thin belt that connects the garters.

Geto is visibly taken aback. He swallows thickly, and then he’s forcing you to step out of your pants and your thighs are being lifted into the air.

“Geto, wait!” you screech, falling back onto the glass as he rises to a standing position with his eyes still fixed on your legs.

“No, no,” he taunts. “None of that, angel. You’ve been holding out on me.” He tucks his finger under a piece of the leather and releases it with a stinging snap.

Your hands are desperately holding onto his shoulders for balance as Geto hikes your shirt back up to examine the full set in its glory.

“Your thighs are so thick, they’re about to pop right out, baby,” his hands snatch the material which causes your hips to slide to the edge of the counter. “Don’t you want me to release some of that tension?”

You groan as your eyes flutter. “I just wanted to see your reaction,” you admit. “I didn’t expect it to be th-th- oh!”

He’s using the shower wall to hold you up around his waist, because his thumb is already massaging your bundle of nerves through the leather, while his cock presses against your inner thigh. His free hand keeps your shirt up, staring over your torso like it’s his last meal.

“Well, what did you expect to happen, baby?” Geto scolds. “You know your thighs are my fucking weakness.” He grunts and tugs on the garters again. It stings, but it’s so good. “Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this, fu-uck.”

The leather’s tough, but Geto is tougher. He pulls your panties over, but he does it so harshly that the material shreds and falls over your leg. He doesn’t care, he’s still staring at your thighs, how they’re eating up the thin garters.

Your squishy skin feels so good around his waist, and he holds onto you as he dips his head into the crook of your neck.

You smell perfect, you feel perfect. He wants to take you into the bedroom and toss you on the bed.

He would die to see your thighs parted, a thick toy flushing in and out of you as you stare up at him with pleasure all over your face. He’d hold your legs apart by force, no matter how you tried to close them, and keep pushing it inside of you. Good girls deserve real cock, but since you wanted to tease him, you get rubber.

“G-Geto, please, I can’t take another,” you’d breathe, approaching your third orgasm already. He always recognizes it in your breath pattern, the way your moans pitch themselves up.

“Sorry, I wish I cared,” he’d purr, quickening his wrist to fuck the cum out of you that much sooner.

“Fuck,” he mumbles in real time, realizing he’d zoned out as his finger mindlessly plays with your clit. You’re already cumming under him, and he takes a deep breath as he feels your thighs shudder over his hips.

“Oh, Geto,” you moan, and he realizes how pussywhipped he really is.

And just how badly he needs to get you more garters, ASAP!

A/N:

just realized i need a whole fic of jjk men denying reader the privilege of his c*ck while he uses toys on them… oh boy.

ily guys for your support as always!!! wow i almost reached 500 followers this is so overwhelming <33 ty guys for your patience and kind words and muse when you see this bby, know you truly keep me motivated ^.^

~ pennjammin

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #kento nanami #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu nanami #gojo x reader #suguru geto smut #choso x you #choso smut #satoru gojo smut #nanami smut #jjk x you #jjk geto #jjk nanami

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sacr1ficialang3l · 2 months ago

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✞︎Did you feel that close to God when you had me on my knees?✞︎

SAM WINCHESTER X READER

SUMMARY: Sam, Dean, and reader are working a case in Nebraska. But when reader sees her boyfriend in that priest outfit, things get a little wild. 4.0k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). oral m receiving. blasphemy (lots, please don't read if you're extremely religious or if you don't like things like this). mentions of religious trauma (Catholic guilt folks unite). priest kink (?). the word father is said multiple times but this is not daddy kink.

NOTES: extremely self-indulgent. I feel like there's not enough religious trauma readers. this doesn't focus on that anyway. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! this is also my first time writing straight smut, so pls be nice. Enjoy<3

You are trying to act normal, you swear.

It was a quite simple case, a ghost had been hunting down people in a small town in Nebraska. The only connection in between all the victims was that they all attended the same church, which only meant one thing.

Priest outfits.

Sam was standing there before you, hair carefully styled, black suit jacket over his broad shoulders and black pants making him look taller than he already was. But the most important part, the one that made your breath hitch and thighs press together. The clerical collar.

There was something about it, something sinful about the white stripe of fabric against Sam’s tanned skin. You always thought your boyfriend was hot, but watching him carefully talking with the families of the victims, watching people calling him father. Watching him in that church, bible in hand, a cross looming over you as it rests in the wall behind you, it was driving you insane.

Your relationship with religion wasn’t the best, that was obvious, but you had never expected for all that guilt and trauma to transform into… this.

But here you are, sitting on a church bench, watching as Sam and Dean talk to the Pastor. You had refused to put on the nun costume Dean had gotten you. (You were sure he bought it at a sex shop. You went to catholic school, nun’s attires didn’t show that much cleavage. Or any cleavage at all.) Therefore, they had decided you were going to be just a new girl in town. A good christian girl.

You were dressed up in a flowy, lacy white dress. It was delicate, and sweet, and pure. You had added some frilly socks and a pair of mary janes. Your hair was wavy and long, falling over your eyes as you looked down at your hands when Sam was handed the communion wafers. There was a dainty chain around your neck, the silver crucifix almost burning where it touched your chest.

You feel a sense of disappointment when the pastor asks for the communal hosts back. You kind of wished he had made Sam direct the Eucharist. You imagined yourself, walking to the altar to receive communion like a good girl, kneeling in front of Sam. You imagined blinking your big eyes up at him, parting your pouty lips softly, letting him place the host in your tongue. Maybe his fingers would brush against your lips, maybe he’d let his thumb press down on your tongue, making sure you’re receiving The Body of Christ correctly.

You look up quickly when the pastor announces in a loud voice that Mass would start soon. He invites anyone who wants to confess to do it now, so they can be ready for the Eucharist. The pastor looks down at you, having noticed how his sudden words echoing all around the church had startled you. Your hands were folded as they rested on your lap, and your eyes were so focused on the floor under your feet that they looked closed. He thought you were praying. He smiles at you with kindness, almost as if admiring how you were nothing but a sweet little lamb, so devoted to your faith and so easily frightened.

Oh, if he only knew.

Before the shame and something else you refused to name wash down your spine, someone stands up behind you. The lady, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red, walks directly into the confessional. You and Sam seem to realize at the exact same time who she is. The widowed wife of one of the victims. You watch as your boyfriend quickly walks into the confessional, his big frame squeezing into the priest's compartment.

The door quickly closes, but not before you can admire Sam’s face, beautiful as ever, being covered by geometric lines that criss-cross his face, the shadows created by the small window in the wooden panel that separates him from the woman.

Dean comes over to you to give you a quick rundown on all the information they had gathered. Which is to say, not much. You had to admit that Dean also looked good in the costume, but not as good as Sam. But to be fair, you were a little biased. The older Winchester tells you about how he met one of the victims’ daughter, a young woman that was very distressed and asked him if he would want to come pray with her at her house.

You throw Dean a look of disbelief.

“Seriously, Dean? The mourning daughter?”

“We’re just going to pray! You know, a little guided spirituality to heal the heart.”

“Recite one prayer you know, right now.”

Silence. Utter and definitive silence.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Dean gives you a wink and leaves the church, that classic mischievous smirk on his face.

How does he always get so lucky?

Your thoughts are interrupted when the woman in the confessional quickly walks out of her compartment, but the other door stays closed.

An idea crosses your mind, but it is crazy. It is insane, and dangerous, and sacrilegious.

It takes you about five seconds to get up and walk into the confessional.

“Hello, father.” You whisper, hands balled into fists in your lap.

Sam says your name, confused. “What are you doing?”

You take the courage to turn to him, and you end up breathless. It was quite stuffy inside the confessional, the smell of wood and velvet from the curtains overbearing. It reminds you of Sunday Mass, and Catholic school, and it makes heat pool in your stomach. You can barely see his face through the dumb window, but for what you could see, this was going to stay engraved in your mind forever.

“I’m here to confess, Father.” Your voice is soft and innocent, but there was a slight smirk on your face that made Sam blink quickly, looking completely lost.

“What-”

You don’t let him finish. “The pastor said to confess before Mass, and I’m just following his orders like a good girl.”

That makes Sam choke on his next breath. He looks at you through the grille, but there is something creeping in around his eyes. Lust.

If I wasn’t going to hell before, I am now.

Sam says your name again, but this time there is a strain on his voice.

“Y-you come to confess?” You could tell he was trying to follow your lead, to play the role you so desperately wanted him to, and in between all the desire, you feel a wave of love for your boyfriend hit you.

Hell, you were going to kiss him so hard after this.

“Yes, Father.” You whisper, eyes low and focused on your hands. Your voice was small, pure. You were just playing the role Sam and Dean assigned you, after all. “I’ve been bad, Father. I need to be redeemed.”

“I am sure I can help with that.” Sam’s voice still sounds slightly strained, but there was something different. It was the same voice he used when talking to the victim’s families or when he was forced to greet the morning Mass earlier today. Calm, velvety, but with a hint of authority. Of power.

“I am here to help you find peace,...” He almost says your name, but quickly corrects himself. “Tell me about your sins, and I will guide you in how to repent."

You press your thighs together, biting your lip in the darkness of the confessional. You still don’t face Sam, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“I- I’ve been having sinful thoughts, Father.” You whisper, voice wavery and full of shame. Damn, maybe you should’ve been an actress.

You hear Sam swallow harshly in the quiet, small box you were both in. No sounds were filtering in, which made you wonder if they would filter out.

“So you’ve been a bad girl, hm?” His voice is so deep, so rumbling. You were sure your panties were already soaked through. “You look so innocent, though.” Sam sounds almost disappointed, and it makes you squirm. “Tell me about them, you little lamb.”

“I’ve been possessed by lust, Father.” You confess, and you have to bite back a smirk when Sam lets out a shaky breath. “I just- there’s this guy, and we’re dating. He’s tall and big and handsome.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.” You can hear Sam’s smile in his words, and it makes you smile too.

“He is, yeah.” You giggle, but quickly get back into your role. It wasn’t every day that you got an opportunity like this, and you were going to take it. “But when I look at him, father. I just- I feel… things.”

“What kind of things, little lamb?” He asks, back in his priest voice.

“I- I want him to do things to me, Father. Things I shouldn’t want. Things that are not of God.” You murmur, thighs pressing together with more strength.

Sam stays quiet for just a second, breathing heaving. Maybe you weren’t the only one into this.

“That’s- that’s bad, little lamb.” He declares, when he finally gets a grasp on himself again. “Remember, you must confess everything to get redemption in the eyes of the lord.”

“I- I’ve done things too.” You confess in a small voice. “I’ve touched myself, Father. I just get so… so-” Your cross your legs, the ache on your lower half almost unbearable. “So wet and hot and I just… I fall into temptation.”

Sam’s breath is ragged by now, and you can’t really see his face, but you know what he must look like.

“You’re quite the naughty one, aren't you?” He murmurs, voice hoarse. He leans closer to the grille, his voice almost in your ear.

You lick your lips slowly, nodding even if he can’t see you.

“Yes, Father. Please, help me to be pure again.” Your hand moves from where it was gripping your own thigh and starts to run along the outline of the window that separated you from sam. This one was quite big, it went from over the top of your heads until a few inches away from the ground. It was enough. “I will do anything to be holy again.”

You had learned a thing or two in catholic school, and… you found it. The lock that kept the grille closed, but that could be opened when the priest and the penitent wanted to “talk face to face.” You think the situation is deserving

“Will you, now?” Sam, who was often collected and calm, always in control of his impulses, sounded wrecked. “Your sins are grave, little lamb.” He murmurs. “But lucky for you, the Lord wants me to be merciful to you.”

You swallow harshly, hands wrapping around the lock of the grille. You wanted Sam, you needed him. You had never felt hornier in your whole life.

“Please, Father.” Your voice is almost unrecognizable, whiny and pleasing. “Save me from sin, please.”

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter under his breath.

I just made a man of the lord swear.

Obviously, you knew Sam wasn’t really a man of God, and he swore like a trucker, but all your mind could think of was the clerical collar around his neck.

“If you want me to purify you, you’re going to have to follow my every word. You’re going to let me do what I need to do for this cleansing, do you understand, little lamb?”

That was the last straw.

You quickly unlock the window and pull it until it hits the door of your compartment.

There he was, Sam with his hair slicked back, a few rebellious strands falling into his eyes. He was sitting in the little bench of the confessional, eyes a little wild and breath heavy.

And a big bulge in his pants.

As soon as the grille hits the door of the confessional, Sam stands up, his head almost hitting the top of the cramped wood box you two were in.

“What the fuck?”

Before he can say anything else, you kneel down, still on your side of the confessional. Your knees hit the few inches of wood that still separated the two of you, but didn’t mind. And finally, you were there, surrounded by the smell of wood, velvet, and Sam.

You look up at him through your lashes, eyes big and innocent. Your hands were carefully placed on your lap and your thighs pressed together where they were visible, your little white dress riling up your legs, the lace border contrasting against the dark flooring of the confessional.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Father.” You lick your lips slowly, mastering the look of naivety and fear in your eyes. “Purify me.”

“This is blasphemy.” Sam chokes out, but he still takes a step closer to you, standing right at the edge too. Like this, your face is right in front of his crotch. Your mouth waters.

“Since your sins are so… deeply rooted,” His hand reaches down to you, but he doesn't touch you. His hand hovers over the top of your head, down to your cheek. “I will have to use some unconventional methods.”

His hand brushes your neck, and you think he was going to brush your hair behind your shoulder, maybe even grip your chin and make you look at him.

Instead, Sam hooks a finger on the cross necklace around your neck and pulls you closer.

You don't recognize the sound that comes out of your mouth. The back of the chain digs into the soft skin of your neck, and when he lets go of the necklace, the cross falls back against the skin of your collarbones.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” he says gently, slightly condescending. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing over your lower lip.

You nod, almost in a trance, and your lips part slightly. San presses his thumb inside your mouth, and you immediately wrap your lips around him. You suck softly on his finger, eyes never leaving his.

“Jesus, you were made for this.” He breathes out, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

He moves his hand away, and with a little whine, you lean forward until your face is pressed to his clothed cock.

This was all your idea, and you had loved to watch as Sam’s control slipped as you talked dirty. But right now, you couldn’t come up with anything to say. The hard wood pressing against your knees, the cross burning around your neck, Sam’s words, it was too much. You were getting hazy, and all you could think of was your boyfriend.

You open your mouth and press your tongue over Sam’s bulge over his pants. He hisses, still looking down at you. Almost desperately, you reach out and unbuckle his belt. You pull the clothing piece low enough that you had access to his aching cock, covered by his boxers and big.

You mouth at him over the fabric, little kitten licks over the bulge, soaking the fabric with spit.

“Come on, little lamb.” He murmurs, voice strained and breathy. “Show me how penitent you are.”

You pull down the fabric of his boxers until his cock sprang free. It curved up against his stomach, a little dark and huge.

Spit pools in your mouth at the sight. It didn’t matter how many times you saw your boyfriend’s dick, it was a religious experience every time.

Especially this time.

A whiny little sound comes out of the back of your throat, and you immediately lean forward.

You lick up the shaft, from the base to the tip. You savor every vein under your tongue, relish on the little choked gasp Sam makes. You continue to give kitten licks all over his cock, almost reverently.

“Yeah, just like that.” Sam whispers under his breath, and you finally wrap your lips around his tip, bulbous and angry red. His head drops back and it hits the wall of the confessional with a loud bang. “Good girl.”

You whimper around Sam, the vibrations making him moan as low as he can, not wanting to get caught. You suck on the tip gently, tongue sliding over the slit, tasting his precum in your tongue.

You moan again at the taste. You loved it.

Slowly, you move your head down, taking more and more of him as you go. Sam moves one hand into your hair, not pushing down but pulling at the roots gently. You suck a little harder, tongue pressing against a particularly pronounced vein. He pulls harder, so hard it makes you move one hand from where it rested on your knee to press it against your pussy.

Soon, you’ve taken all of Sam. He was nestled against the back of your throat, your lips stretched and puffy. You stay still for just a second, giving you throat time to accommodate as it contracts around his length. Sam’s chest rises and falls quickly, his eyes shutting close for just a second before his eyes return to you.

“You’re sinful.” He chokes out, pulling on your hair, trying to get you to move.

And you do. You move your head back until only the tip is in between your lips, and then sink back down.

Your knees ache from where they press against the hard, cold wood. They will probably bruise, and you couldn’t wait for it. Sam continues to suppress moans and groans as you continue to move your head. You don’t use your hands, you let your mouth do all the work.

You swallow around Sam when he hits particularly deep inside your mouth, and it has him whimpering. Oh, you need to hear that again.

You lean back, catching your breath for a moment. Sam fists his cock and rubs it on your lips, leaving them glistening with your own spit and his precum.

“Am I doing it right, Father?” You have half the mind to continue your little roleplay, and it is worthy when Sam’s eyes shut down and his fist tightens around himself.

“Fuck. Yes, darling. You’re perfect. So good for me, so… devoted.”

You lean forward again, swallowing him down. This time, he uses the grasp on you hair to hold you still and starts to fuck your mouth.

He couldn't move much in the small space of the confessional, but his hips piston as his cock hits the back of your throat again, and again, and again.

Your hand presses down into your pussy harder, a wet patch staining your panties where you were soaked through. You press on your clit as Sam’s thrusts quicken.

“Fuck, yeah. So good for me, such a good girl.” He was clearly close, his glassy eyes focused on you, his voice wrecked as he babbled a little. “So- mmph, so desperate to be pure, to be good.”

As Sam approaches his orgasm, you double down on your efforts. You circle him with your tongue, contract the walls of your throat around him, let your moans vibrate through him every time you press your hand a little harder against yourself.

“Come on, Father.” You say, leaning back until your lips brushed his tip with every word. “Let me please you. Give it to me.”

Sam’s grip on your hair tightens when you sink back down on him. His thrusts become sloppy and discoordinated. He was a whimpering, groaning mess.

Finally, with one last thrust that left him settled deep in your throat, Sam comes with a shudder. His shoulders shake, and his head drops back, leaving you with a very clear sight of the clerical collar still around his neck, white fabric against flushed and sweaty skin.

The image makes you shiver as your fingers press more firmly against your clit, drawing desperate circles over the fabric of your panties. When the first rope of cum hits your tongue, you feel your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your loud moan is only silenced by the cock still in your mouth, but it causes Sam to shake with overstimulation.

“Swallow.” He demands, and wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

You stay there, suckling on his softening length as he comes, almost moaning at the glorious taste of your boyfriend. Your head is hazy with the situation and your own orgasm, and Sam has to practically peel you away from him. You whine as he slips out of your mouth, the last bit of cum landing over your lips.

“Sorry, pretty girl, but I need a break.” Sam says gently, with his normal voice.

You look up at him, still kneeling down in the confessional. His breathing was already ragged, but his chest hitches at the sight of you.

Your eyes were glossy and wide, cheeks flushed, and lips puffy, glistening with spit and his cum. You swallow whatever was in your mouth and slowly lick your lips, tongue swiping up all of his release. He groans, head dropping forward.

“You’ll be the death of me, you little vixen.” He rubs a hand over his face, and you struggle to stand up. Your legs were shaky from your orgasm and your knees were sore from kneeling.

You had never felt better.

Sam quickly notices you struggling and grabs your waist, helping you stand up and holding you carefully against his chest.

“I can't believe I got you to do that.” You whisper, biting your lip as a sense of embarrassment and adrenaline washed down your back at what you had done.

Sam snorts. “I can’t believe it either.” He huffs, looking at you with that warmth and sweetness you loved so much. His hair was even messier now and his lips were raw from biting back sounds.

Your hand moves up to fidget with his collar, fingers brushing against his skin, and you feel yourself getting worked up again.

“Don’t even think about it, you insatiable little thing.” Sam’s hand wraps around yours and pulls it away. You look at him and pout, which only makes him laugh and press a peck to your lips. “Who would’ve guessed you were so freaky.”

Sam’s teasing makes you blush furiously, and you take a step back from him. It is his time to pout, but he is way too big to be able to reach past the little window opening. You giggle at his dejected face, and after fixing your hair and dress, and making sure there wasn't spit or cum on your chin, you lean over to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Dean is ‘interviewing’ one of the victims’ daughters.” You inform him, pressing your hands to your cheeks to try and dissipate the blush.

“Is that what kids are calling it nowadays?” Sam jokes, crossing his arms. It made his chest look even bigger, and you need to physically restrain yourself from leaning in and taking a bite off his bicep.

“Apparently.” You shake your head. “You need to wait until Mass ends and then meet us at the motel. If Dean is back by then, we’ll debrief all the information we’ve got.” You lean forward once again, squeezing past the little opening until your nose brushes Sam’s. “If he’s not back yet, then I will be waiting for you in our room.” You press another kiss to his lips, this time a little more lingering. “Make sure to bring the priest outfit with you.”

Before Sam can even say anything, you grab the grille and close it again. You make sure to lock it, and walk out of the confessionary as quietly and carefully as you can when your legs are still a little shaky. You slip out the small wooden box, not before hearing Sam’s almost pained groan.

Thankfully, everyone was still focused on Mass, so no one paid attention to you. You slip out of the church and walk back to the motel, still in disbelief that you and Sam got away with something like that.

The next day, when the pastor asks you why your knees are bruised badly, you can’t help but smirk as Sam blushes behind him.

“Just prayed a little too hard, sir.”

NOTES: I can't tell if this is terrible or not. Here it is anyways.

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fox-guardian · 1 year ago

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[ID: Three sets of digital drawings of Alice Dyer from The Magnus Protocol in different outfits on a brown background. She is a thin white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair with faded pink tips, crooked teeth, and pink painted nails, and she is always wearing pink cat-eye glasses, two pairs of silver earrings and silver snakebites, with a varying third ear piercing as well.

The first image features three pajama outfits.

The first is a baby pink cami, dusty pink shorts, and burgundy slippers, in which she also has her hair tied in a bun with a burgundy colored scrunchie. She is standing hunched and yawning.

The second is a dusty pink cami, gray PJ bottoms with pink stars and moons, a dark blue robe, and burgundy slippers. In that one, her hair is down and extra shaggy, and she is scratching her side, lifting her shirt a bit.

The third has her with nicely curled hair, wearing a baby pink satin robe, a black cami, and burgundy stockings, slippers, and matching makeup. She is standing coyly lifting her robe slightly with one leg lifted and a hand to her mouth.

The second image features three work outfits.

The first is of her in a pink and gray flannel shirt, dark blue hoodie, patchwork flannel maxi skirt, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a gold and red braided bracelet and a pink one. She is standing in profile, smiling with her hands behind her back.

The second outfit is a blue, pink, and brown flannel shirt over a grey undershirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans, a brown and pink flannel tied around her waist, brown socks, dusty pink converse, pink bracelet, and a dark blue hoodie draped over her shoulder. She is standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her hoodie, and she is smiling as thought talking.

The third outfit is a burgundy blouse, long navy skirt, brown belt, and burgundy shoes. Her hair is also done in nice curls and she is wearing soft burgundy makeup. She is smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

The third image features casual outfits.

The first is a soft pink tank top with a navy bra peeking underneath, a frilly brown maxi skirt, pink slip-ons, and a grey and brown flannel purse. She is also wearing the three bracelets previously shown with, and pink donut earrings. She is smiling with her hands behind her.

The second outfit is a burgundy bra, baggy brown and grey flannel hanging off her shoulder, a pink and brown flannel tied around her waist, a navy knee-length skirt, white crew socks, and dusty pink converse. She is also wearing a grey bracelet, a pink beaded bracelet, tooth earrings, and navy eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick. She is standing leaning to the side with one hand on her knee, smiling and holding up a peace-sign with her other hand near her face.

The last outfit is a dusty pink crop-top with a boat on it, dark blue hoodie, a short burgundy-plaid skirt, shredded navy tights, gray knee-high socks with burgundy stripes at the top, and dusty pink converse. She also has her usual bracelets as well as shark earrings and smeared burgundy lipstick. She is jumping up, smiling and shouting, with one hand punching into the air.

end ID]

~~~~

ALICE OUTFITS <3 these were soooo fun to do omg. i have my own favorites out of these, please tell me yours!! i'm really happy with how they all turned out <3

#fg's art #the magus protocol #tmagp #alice dyer #i hope that ID format works i tried to make it not just three big blocks of text #tried to make it Readable also #part of me wants to make a bunch of alice-colored plaid textures to just Paste over her chowder style but.... the definition of forms....#anyway I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE THESE I WANNA DO MORE <3 #who next?? 👀

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archangeldyke-all · 9 months ago

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Thinking about Sevika’s very pregnant very hormonal wife crying and complaining to her about nothing and Sevika realizing het wife just needs to be fed.

And fucked

love love love love love love love

men and minors dni

never in your life have you been this hormonal.

not during your worst periods as an adult.

not during the horrific throes of puberty as a teen.

not even when you were a toddler and a tantrum was just as likely as a giggle fit.

you think you might have truly lost your mind.

you're currently sobbing on the toilet-- you have been for the past twenty minutes-- not because you're sick or anything, but because you can't stop crying for long enough to heave your round body off the toilet seat.

and why are you crying? because you got frustrated by how often you have to pause your video game to get up and pee because you're eight fucking months pregnant, and your bladder's the size of a thimble.

you know it's a ridiculous thing to cry about. you know it's just your hormones overwhelming you. none of this knowledge can stop the sobs from wracking your body, though.

there's a knock on the bathroom door. "baby? have you seen my fuzzy socks?" sevika asks.

you sniffle and try to make your voice sound steady. "ch-check the dryer!" you call.

there's a suspicious silence outside of the bathroom, and then the door flies open, your wife wearing a worried look. "are you crying in here all alone?" she asks the moment she sees your face.

you pout, and fall apart all over again.

"oh, baby." sevika's by your side in an instant, wrapping her arms around you and pulling your head toward her stomach. "what's wrong, love?" she asks. "why didn't you come get me?" she asks.

you sniffle and choke out a few words. "b-because it's stu-u-pid!" you whine. "i can't s-s-stop cryin' and i'm not even that upse-e-et." you complain to your wife. "and now i can't get off the toilet 'cause i'm too weak from crying!"

sevika's face clears with relief when she realizes nothing's really wrong with you, and she bends down to give you a kiss. "our little girl's really runnin' a number on you, huh?" she asks, reaching down to pat your swollen belly.

you nod against sevika's shirt, using it as a face-wipe for all your tears and boogers. "i pee all the time. i f-feel like i should just live on the fuckin' toilet."

"but i'd miss you if you were in here all the time." sevika pouts. you snort. "c'mon love." she grunts as she hikes her arm under your shoulder and knees, hauling you off the toilet.

you giggle a little in your wife's arms, clinging to her as she walks you to your bedroom. "what're you doing with me?" you ask.

"'m takin' care of you." she whispers as she pulls your pants off your legs. you huff, a few tears still escaping your eyes, and sevika kisses your bare thigh.

"i haven't showered in days." you warn as sevika pushes your legs further apart. she groans.

"good. i love you musty."

you giggle a little, then cry some more. "you're gross. 'n way too nice to me." you whimper. sevika chuckles.

"my poor baby. such a fuckin' mess since i knocked you up, huh?" she teases. you nod and pout, letting your emotions control you, knowing sevika wont judge you for it. "i gotcha babe. just lay there 'n let it all out for me." she whispers, before ducking down and sucking one long stripe up your cunt.

sevika groans and you whimper as she sucks your clit into her mouth. for a few minutes, she just suckles and kisses your clit, making you a shaky, whiny mess. most of your cries are being blocked out by your moans, but there are still tears running down your cheeks.

"so fuckin' pretty when you cry, baby." sevika whispers. you gulp.

"shut up."

"it's true. your eyes get all sparkly and your skin gets all shiny-- fuck, you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen."

you huff another laugh at this-- you're covered in hormonal acne and in third day pajamas-- but sevika blinks up at you like she really means it.

"you-- would you just--" you pull sevika's mouth back to your cunt before she can make you any more flustered with her words. your emotions are swinging wildly from the sudden stubborn sad-attack you've encoutnered, and the wild, childlike excitement and bashfulness you always feel around your wife.

which means that every time she blinks up at you, her pretty silver eyes barely visible over the bump of your belly, your heart stutters and your cunt clenches and a few tears leak out of your eyes.

when she reaches up and intertwines her hands with yours, you cum. it catches you completely off guard-- but the simple, sweet, intimate gesture made you topple over into a mess of cum and tears.

they're not sad-tears anymore, though. they're tears of joy and love-- all for the woman who's crawling up from between your legs with a big smile on her lips-- your cum covering her cheeks and chin. "that was quick." she teases. (she loves how easy you are now that you're pregnant. it turns her on endlessly.)

you grunt and flip her off. "are you gonna keep teasing me or are you gonna come sit on my face?" you ask.

sevika smirks, then leans down to kiss you deeply.

you gasp against her lips, relaxing into the kiss, taking in the taste of you still on her tongue.

when sevika pulls away, your head is fuzzy and your stomach is fluttering with butterflies. you blink up at her as she grins down at you.

"you stay here and take a nap. i'm gonna draw you a bath and make you a sandwich-- then maybe i'll join you." she says with a sweet little wink.

you blink up at your wife, and then burst into a fresh round of tears. above you, sevika cackles.

"is this 'cause you can't eat me out or...?" she asks. you groan and flip her off again.

"it's 'cause you're fuckin' perfect you asshole. what the fuck?" you ask.

sevika just giggles, pulls the blankets over your body, and kisses your forehead as she hands you a few tissues.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen @micronreadzztuff22

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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fear-less · 5 months ago

Note

could you maybe do james potter x some one who is strange and wonderlandish (kinda like the one you wrote for sirius)

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 minorly stuck

paring: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, james is now understanding the term of love at first sight when he sees a not so normal looking girl wondering around the castle.

warnings: silly reader, fluff, james is in love, use of y/n, lowkey ended it on a cliffhanger bc I was running out of ideas

1.7K words

It had been the same as any other day for James Potter—chaotic morning, disorganized afternoon, and who knew what the night would hold. The usual whirlwind of mischief, laughter, and the occasional near-miss with Filch had made their way through the first few hours of the day, but there was something different about today.

As James and the rest of the Marauders made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they were stopped in their tracks by an unexpected sight. A girl stood just ahead, the very picture of contradiction and eccentricity. She was dressed in a riot of colors—patches of reds, yellows, greens, and blues—clashing wildly yet somehow coming together in a way that defied all logic. There were layers of mismatched fabrics, a plaid shirt with a striped skirt that seemed to swirl in a strange dance with every step, and shoes that looked as though they’d been chosen by a person who didn’t care to follow the rules of symmetry.

James, who was known for his casual but fashionable style, couldn’t help but be drawn to her outfit. He’d never considered himself a fashion expert, but even he knew better than to pair such audacious patterns. He’d never be caught dead wearing something so utterly mismatched, yet here she was—radiating an aura of confidence that made the idea of conformity seem utterly unimportant.

“Bloody hell, look at her,” Sirius muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t entirely in judgment. More like... fascination. “Who wears a plaid shirt with striped skirts?”

James grinned, watching the girl curiously. “She does, apparently.”

“You think she’s lost?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d heard of eccentric students from the other houses, but this one was something else entirely.

Before anyone could offer another word, the girl turned towards them, her eyes gleaming with a strange, knowing look. She smiled, as if seeing them for the first time, but somehow, James had the oddest sensation that she had already been watching them for far longer.

“You must be the Marauders,” she said, her voice light and airy, like the sound of a bell ringing in the distance. It was both an observation and a statement, as if she knew their every move before they even made it. “You’re much easier to spot than you think.”

James blinked, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "And you are?" he asked, his voice a little more curious than he intended.

The girl tilted her head, her mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her skirt. “Oh, I’m just someone passing through your world. But, I think you’ll find my path crosses with yours more often than you realize.”

She gave them one last smile, a cryptic little twist of her lips, before turning away and walking off into the maze of Hogwarts corridors. Her steps were light, almost as though she were floating rather than walking, her mismatched clothes swishing around her like a kaleidoscope of color. Before long, she disappeared into the distance, leaving behind a lingering sense of wonder, or perhaps confusion, that none of them could quite shake.

While the Marauders continued toward the Great Hall, chatting among themselves as if nothing had happened, James found himself walking on autopilot, his mind elsewhere. His feet carried him forward, but his thoughts were still tangled in the strange girl they had just encountered. Who was she? Why did she seem so... out of place yet completely in tune with the madness of Hogwarts? He had no answers, but there was something about her that he couldn’t ignore. Her smile, the way she spoke, the sheer oddity of her presence—it was all so... mysterious.

"Oi, Potter, you all right?" Remus’ voice broke through his thoughts, and James blinked, momentarily shaken. He glanced at his friends, who had already started making their way toward the Great Hall, completely unaware of the strange moment that had just passed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," James mumbled, his voice absent as he unconsciously followed them. “Just... thinking.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully quiet today. You were boasting about how you were going to charm some first-year by the end of the week, and now you're just... spaced out?"

James didn’t respond right away, his mind still far from where they were. He was still replaying the image of her in his head—her odd clothes, her cryptic words, that strange, otherworldly aura. It was like something from a dream, something out of place in the dull routine of Hogwarts. His heart thudded slightly faster with a sudden, inexplicable pull.

Then, without warning, the words slipped out of him. “I think I found my soulmate.”

Sirius, who had been walking beside James, nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. Remus and Peter looked at him with equal disbelief.

“Say what now?” Sirius laughed, the grin on his face widening. “What are you talking about, mate?”

James’ cheeks flushed slightly at the attention, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the idea that had just dawned on him. “I don’t know her name, but I swear… I’ve never met anyone like her.”

The three boys stared at him, dumbfounded. James had always been the first to boast about his latest romantic conquests, but this… this was different. It wasn’t like the usual flirty comments or half-hearted crushes.

“Well, who is she, then?” Sirius prodded, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Where’d you find her, and why hasn’t anyone else noticed?”

James shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know yet. But I will. And I’m going to find her again. No one else can see it, but I can. I’m going to figure it out.”

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, before turning to his friends. “Actually… forget about the Great Hall. I’ll catch up with you guys later. I need to find her. I'll see you in a bit."

Without waiting for a response, James turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the crowd of students moving in the opposite direction, searching for the mysterious girl who had already captured his full attention. He didn’t know what it was about her—her quirky, untamed nature or the strange sense of destiny he felt—but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t about to let this feeling slip away.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

As James was walking through the corridor, deep in thought about the strange girl, something caught his eye—a flash of color. It was a brief glimpse, but enough to stop him in his tracks. The bright, mismatched clothes reminded him immediately of her, the girl who had wandered into his life only hours before, leaving behind a trail of questions. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the left, where the corridor opened up to the outside grounds.

He hesitated for a moment, a small voice in his head telling him to turn back, but his curiosity won out. This could be his chance to figure out more about her. With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, he decided to follow.

His heart raced as he moved closer, and soon enough, there she was. She walked with a carefree stride, her arms holding something—James couldn’t quite make out what it was. It looked like a bundle of books or perhaps a strange collection of trinkets, but it was hard to tell from the distance. Whatever it was, it only added to the air of mystery surrounding her. James made a mental note to ask her about it later, curious to see what she might be carrying.

He took a breath and straightened up, trying to approach nonchalantly, like he wasn’t following her at all. He even threw in a casual little flick of his hair, trying his best to act as if he just happened to be walking in the same direction. But before he could get any closer, she turned—suddenly, almost as if she’d sensed him.

Her eyes met his immediately, that mischievous glint flashing in them once more. The smile she gave him was a curious one, not quite a greeting, but something else entirely. It was as if she already knew exactly why he was there, even though he hadn’t said a word.

James froze for a split second, caught completely off guard. He had expected to catch up to her, perhaps even start a casual conversation. But now that she had turned to face him, there was an intensity in her gaze that made his confidence falter, just for a moment.

"Following me, are you?" Her voice was light, almost teasing, like she had been waiting for him all along.

James opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d been thinking about her, or that something about her was completely captivating. Instead, he just flashed her a grin, hoping to play it cool.

“Maybe,” he said with a wink, finally finding his voice. “But I’m just hoping I can learn more about... you.”

"Hmm, well then, James, I am Y/N," she said, her smile widening, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes.

James blinked, momentarily struck by the sound of her voice, soft yet full of mystery, like a melody he couldn’t quite place. “Y/N…” he repeated under his breath, testing the name on his tongue. It was simple, yet somehow, it felt like it held an entire world of secrets.

What a lovely name, he thought, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. He couldn’t quite explain why, but it seemed to suit her—unusual, elegant, and more than a little out of place in the best way possible. There was something about it that made her feel even more enigmatic, as if she were meant to be a riddle he’d have to solve.

He met her gaze again, trying not to let his smile slip too widely. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice a bit lighter than he’d intended, like he was speaking a line from some grand tale. And, in a way, he felt like he was.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshots #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #marauders x reader #james potter fluff #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter x y/n #james potter #marauders #marauders era #the marauders

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candysims4 · 8 months ago

Text

HERMES DRESS

One dress, two different textures, and endless possibilities.

TEEN TO ELDER

BASE GAME COMPATIBLE

MADE FOR FEMALE FRAME

DISALLOWED FOR RANDOM

5.062 POLYGONS

664 SWATCH COLORS IN TOTAL

For linen texture (in total 235 swatches):

- 55 plain/single colors - 55 plain/single colors in a softer version - 70 color combinations - 55 patterned - tartan

For satin texture (in total 429 swatches):

- 55 plain/single colors - 55 plain/single colors in a softer version - 36 color combinations - 55 patterned - floral - 55 patterned - hearts - 55 patterned - stripes - 118 patterned - misc / divided into two parts, PT.1 comes with 58 swatches and PT.2 with 60.

YOU WILL FIND IN FULL BODY/LONG DRESS

THUMBNAILS (HOSTED IN IMGUR)

RECOLOR ACCS (2 VERSIONS)

Version 1 recolors about half of the dress plus the belt and version 2 only the belt. Both can be used together. They come in both texture options, so you can also mix and match textures as well.

110 SWATCH COLORS: - 55 plain/single colors - 55 plain/single colors in a softer version

YOU WILL FIND IN: V1: ACCESSORIES/TIGHTS V2: ACCESSORIES/SOCKS

MY SITE (NO AD.FLY) Free release on 19th October 2024 on my site

PATREON EARLY ACCESS + MERGED OPTIONS

Thanks to all the cc creators that I used in the pic. And thanks to @maxismatchccworld, @s4library, @wewantmods, and everybody who reblog this post!

If you’re a cc finds and want to be tagged when I post, please, let me know.

You can send me an ask or an email, here you can find a few ways to enter in contact with me if needed.

With your help, more people can know about my work! 💖 Love you all, XOXO 💖

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months ago

Text

Floyd Leech: Cinderella Step

GOOD GOD, FLOYD 😭 Put your grippers AWAY, I don’t wanna see those… (flashbacks to the horror of Dorm Uniform Jade groovy)

P.S. You should listen to Cinderella Step by Daoko :)) I enjoy it a lot, and it’s also the song that I named this ficlet after. I feel like that first full line (“Though you are the worst, I can’t help but love you”) is very evocative of the NRC boys 😂

Rise and Shine!

It was easy to tell which side of the room was Floyd's. It always looked like a hurricane had run through, scattering clothes all over every avaliable surface. Snack crumbs are sprinkled like a generous garnish on his desk and shelf. His belongings—interesting odds and ends he had collected over the weeks—were similarly strewn haphazardly, wherever there was free space to be occupied.

There was only one thing that the storm seemed to have missed.

His shoes.

A glossy black--patent leather. Large yet sleek, tapering into pointed toes. It was the same pair he wore every day with his school uniform, yet there was not so much as a scratch or a speck of dirt on them.

Pristine.

The one thing he takes good care of, you thought. Must be magic.

Other shoes sat in neat rows on a rack. Boots, sneakers, sandals, in shapes and colors you've never even imagined. The variety astounded you.

Floyd bounded about the room collecting his things. He hopped around on one leg, slipping on a sock, then alternated to the other leg. Next he slung his blazer, still slightly wrinkled from having been crumpled and tossed over a chair last night, on over his prim grey-lilac vest. His striped tie was forgotten, left forlorn on his bed as he yoinked the patent leather shoes and slipped them on.

“‘K, I’m ready," Floyd announced cheerily. "Let’s get going, koebi-chan~"

You stared at his messy room. "You're not going to tidy up a little before heading out?"

He blinked. "Hmm? Why would I? Stuff's gonna shift around anyway, so there's no point in doing that."

Floyd strolled out, hands casually tucked in his pockets. You followed after him, falling in time with his footsteps. Today, they were long and languid, like waves lazily combing the beach.

You knew what that meant; good mood, best to not disturb it.

"... Right." You offered a small, reassuring smile. “Hey, I noticed that you have a lot of shoes—and you take such good care of them.”

“Yeah. Cuz we don’t really have’m where I come from. Gotta make the most of my human experience and all.”

"You don't exactly dress in a shirt and pants under the sea either," you pointed out with a shrug.

“Shoes are special.” He said it with surprisingly conviction, an uncharacteristic seriousness set in his eyes. "You kinda need them to do the things humans do every day, least without getting nagged at. Jumping, dancing, strolling down the street."

“All this talk about footwear… You sound like Cinderella.”

“Ehh… Do I give you those vibes?” There was a crackle entangled with his words.

“You’re the kind of guy that would sneak out if Azul told you to stay put.” You paused, then added, “just to prove a point.”

He gave a razor-sharp grin in response. “Touché.”

Floyd glanced down at his feet. His eyes barely lingered there for half a second before they flicked to yours. “Glass slippers sound cool though.”

“Glass slippers? Really? You’re not scared they’d break…? I thought you’d be into more durable shoes. Something easy to move around in.”

“I’d try’m on at least once, as long as it’s not lame lookin’. I’ll try anything at least once. Glass slippers, a puss’s boots, ballet flats from twelve dancing princesses, shoes made by elves…”

“Even cursed shoes?” you asked. “Professor Trein was telling us about them the other day. Put them on, and you’re cursed to dance forever and ever—or at least until you collapse from exhaustion.”

Floyd made a face. “Nah. Dancing’s fun, but not if you do it all the time. I’d get sick of it.”

"There’s more than one way of dancing.”

“Duh. I know that. But it’ll still get pretty boring after a while.”

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head, your feet coming to a stop. “Dancing’s a lot like having a conversation, except your mouth doesn’t ever need to move. You just let your body do the talking.”

Your legs criss-crossed in a quick jig. "This is being excited." Standing on your toes, you carefully elevated yourself. "This is whispering." Putting all your weight into your feet, you stomped. "And this is shouting!"

Floyd watched your demonstration in silence. Gold, right. Olive, left. Together, mysterious and mirthful.

“Sounds fun,” he piped up at last. “I want in on this."

Before you had the chance to respond, Floyd's had had already latched onto yours. The other wrapped around your waist, tugging you against his chest. You lurched against him, and the sound of his raspy laughter filling your eardrums.

“You wanna dance? Let’s dance. Then you tell me what my dancing says to you.”

“W-Wait, Floyd…!”

He didn’t.

Floyd strung you along and down the street, swinging you erratically in his arms. With his long limbs swaying, he moved as naturally as a fish amid coral. For a creature of the sea, he had such grace on land that you could never tell his true origins.

He was the wind, a water current, a wayward traveler. Constantly changing and never truly contained.

Your panic and surprise easily melted into light-hearted laughter. And your feet, too, began to weave freely, as if wading on the shoreline, drawing indiscriminate shapes in the sand.

Realization struck you when you looked at him again. Your heart went thump-thump-thump, in a frantic little dance of its own.

What he’s trying to convey is…

Floyd met your gaze, sparks flying. His fingers interlocked with yours, he leaned in and grinned. Cheeks ruddy, eyes shining with exhibition.

“We don’t need words. Just our dancin’ shoes and each other!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Floyd Leech #twst x reader #Floyd Leech x reader #jp spoilers #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Reader #self insert #something no one asked for #Floyd birthday takeover

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lotsofmilfs · 5 months ago

Text

Shades Of Cool Part 1

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : You and Agatha were close in Salem, but things happen of course, and now you’re reunited due to the Witches Road

Word Count : 7kish

Authors Notes : I took creative liberties with the road !!! but i’m hoping you still like !

Warnings : Angst, Brief mention of suicide, longing, i think that’s it.

You were in Agatha’s trial on the witches road, you had on the same outfit as her, only it was a pink jersey, instead of the purple. Your hair was down instead of up in the hairstyle that Agatha was wearing, and your knee high socks were white with two purple stripes at the top. You don’t even know how you got here, but that was just how strong Billy was. Summoning you for a trial you had no idea you were taking place in.

You’d met Agatha during the Salem Era, both of you young, and close. You hated your own parents, and when Agatha told you about her mother, you planned to run away together. Things never worked out that way though, the closer you got with Agatha, you wanted to bond with her.

Bonding was something ancient, bringing together two witches. It would open their souls, their minds, and their hearts to one another. Agatha was petrified of being that open with someone, the vulnerability was just too much, and even though it hurt, she left you the next day after you poured your heart out, asking for her to break the barrier and become one.

Now it’s been centuries, and you freeze as you stop messing with the game in front of you, hearing a collection of voices from your right.

“Who’s trial is this?” Jen asks as they all look around

“Agatha’s.” Rio smirks. That name. You’ve not heard that name in so long it brings a flush to your cheeks, and your face lifts up, your side profile now visible to the group.

Agatha freezes when she sees your face, she’d remember it anywhere, she had dreams about it. She doesn’t say anything, she couldn’t. How were you even here? She… Thought maybe you’d died years ago. You never approached anyone about the road, and so she assumed.. She looks at you different then when she seen Rio again, there’s no anger or malice in her gaze. Just a deep set of longing. Her feet carry her involuntarily towards you and she breathes out.

“Darling.”

Your head snaps toward the voice, sharp and familiar, dripping with a need that makes your stomach twist in ways you wish it wouldn’t. “Agatha,” you say, her name cutting through the charged silence like a blade. It comes out too soft for your liking, so you harden your voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. There’s something in her eyes that makes it clear you’re not the only one thrown off balance. “The feeling’s mutual, darling,” she says, her tone breezy, almost mocking, but there’s a crack in the façade. She’s staring at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Maybe she has.

You’ve got centuries of practice keeping your emotions in check, but something about the way she’s looking at you, the way her breath catches for just a moment, has your carefully maintained armour slipping. You clench your fists to stop them from shaking.

“What have you done now Agatha? Have you stolen someone’s broomstick?”

Her smirk comes back, sharp and self-assured, like she’s trying to regain the upper hand. “If only it were that simple,” she says lightly, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of... dabbling.”

“Dabbling?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s likely one way to put it.”

“Careful,” she says, her voice dropping into something silkier, more dangerous. “You might hurt my feelings.”

Your laugh comes out more bitter than you intend. “Oh, I’m sure they’re well-protected under all that... dabbling.”

The others in the group exchange uneasy glances. Rio, ever the instigator, pipes up again, clearly loving the drama. “So... you two know each other?”

Neither of you answers, too locked in a silent, electric standoff. It’s Agatha who finally breaks the moment, turning to address the group, her voice dripping with the kind of theatrical charm only she can pull off. “Let’s just say we have history.” Her eyes flick back to you, and her tone turns pointed. “Though some of us are better at leaving the past where it belongs.”

Your lips part, sharp words ready to fire back, but you stop yourself. This isn’t the time, and you won’t let her get the better of you. Not again.

Instead, you tilt your head, levelling her with a look. “So, this trial. What’s the serious charge? Not just the accusations.”

Agatha hesitates, just for a moment. “They think I stole something.” Her tone is measured, but there’s a flicker of guilt—or defiance, maybe—in her eyes. “Power. Something I didn’t earn.”

You cross your arms. “And did you?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, she looks like she might actually tell you the truth. Then she shrugs, her smirk slipping back into place. “Does it matter?”

“It does if you want to walk out of here alive.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken history, the weight of centuries hanging over every word. Agatha steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “You’ve always been good at seeing through me, haven’t you?”

You swallow hard, hating the way her words make your chest tighten. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, stepping back just enough to reestablish your ground. “I just know your type.”

She chuckles, soft and low. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve always known me. That’s what made you dangerous.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you hate that she knows it. She’s always been good at that—finding your cracks and slipping through them like smoke. But this time, you won’t let her.

Before you can respond, Rio claps their hands, breaking the tension. “This is all very riveting, but shouldn’t we, I don’t know, do something? Trials, consequences, accusations—ringing any bells?”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to Rio, her smile vanishing in an instant. “Stay out of it,” she says sharply, her voice like ice.

But as much as you want to stay angry, to keep your walls firmly in place, there’s something in her eyes when she looks back at you—a flicker of vulnerability, of something real—that shakes you.

“Why am I here, Agatha?” you ask quietly.

She hesitates, her confidence faltering for just a moment. “I didn’t bring you here,” she says. “But... maybe the road thought I needed a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

Her gaze softens, and for a second, it’s like you’re back in Salem, two young witches on the brink of something extraordinary. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, she steps back, her expression hardening again. “You’ll see soon enough,” she says, her tone deliberately flippant. “Just try not to get in my way, darling.”

You narrow your eyes, but there’s no time to respond.

The ground beneath your feet rumbles—a low, ominous vibration that sends chills up your spine. The witches’ road is alive, its energies twisting and pulling, urging the trial forward. Around you, the air grows thick with power, sharp and unrelenting, and the others in the group exchange uneasy glances.

Agatha stands still, her gaze fixed on you, as though the trial itself is secondary to the unfinished business crackling between you. But her expression hardens when the light around you shifts—a brilliant blue glow forming a circle in the center of the road.

"Right on cue," Agatha mutters under her breath. She turns to the group, her sharp tone carrying authority, even here. "Stay behind me. All of you."

"Why would we do that?" Rio asks with a smirk, stepping closer to the circle. "You’re the one on trial, remember?"

Before Agatha can snap back, the blue glow bursts upward, spiralling into a towering column of light. From its core, shapes begin to emerge—silhouettes, shifting and indistinct at first, but then solidifying into forms you recognise all too well. Witches, cloaked and severe, their eyes glowing with unnatural light. The Coven.

“Agatha Harkness,” one of them speaks, their voice cold and resonant. “You stand accused of theft, treachery, and the violation of sacred laws.”

Agatha lifts her chin, the picture of defiance, but you catch the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the slight clenching of her jaw. “Well, don’t hold back,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me how you really feel.”

The Coven doesn’t react, their collective gaze shifting past her—to you. The intensity of their focus sends a shiver through you, but you don’t flinch. You know better than to show weakness here.

“Who dares to stand beside the accused?” another witch asks, their glowing eyes narrowing.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Agatha says quickly, stepping in front of you. “This trial has nothing to do with her.”

“Is that so?” The lead witch tilts her head, studying you with unnerving precision. “And yet, the road brought her here. Why?”

You meet the witch’s gaze, refusing to let the weight of her scrutiny drag you down. “I’d like to know that myself,” you say coolly. “But whatever this is, I’m not here to play spectator.”

Agatha casts you a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something between irritation and concern. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Then enlighten me,” you snap back, your patience wearing thin. “Or is keeping secrets still your favourite game?”

“Enough,” the lead witch commands, her voice cutting through the tension. The others fall silent, their glowing eyes shifting back to Agatha. “The accused will answer for her actions.”

“Gladly,” Agatha says, folding her arms. “But let’s be clear—I didn’t steal anything. I earned that power.”

The lead witch’s gaze sharpens. “You twisted ancient magic for your own gain, defied the natural order, and corrupted forces beyond your comprehension. Not to mention murdered hundreds. You are a danger to all witches.”

“Funny,” Agatha retorts, her voice venomous. “I seem to recall you trying to kill me for simply being too powerful. Guess some things never change.”

The Coven bristles, their forms glowing brighter, but before they can respond, the road itself shifts again. The ground beneath you ripples, and for a moment, you’re weightless—floating in the charged air. When you land, the circle of light has expanded, now encompassing you, Agatha, and the Coven.

You glare at her, your frustration boiling over. “What exactly did you do, Agatha?”

Her eyes flicker to you, something almost apologetic flashing across her face before she buries it under her usual mask. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you bite back.

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the lead witch cuts her off. “The accused is bound to the truth. Let us see if her lies can survive the light.”

At her words, the blue glow intensifies, and the trial begins in earnest. The road reacts violently, pulling memories and illusions from the air—scenes of Agatha’s past swirling like a storm around you. Her betrayal of the Salem Coven. Her hunger for forbidden power. Her darkest moments laid bare.

But then the images shift—scenes you recognise. A younger Agatha, laughing beside you in the moonlight. The two of you whispering secrets, planning your escape. The night she left you, her face a mask of regret as she vanished into the darkness.

Your breath catches, and Agatha’s head snaps toward you, her expression unreadable.

The Coven doesn’t miss the exchange. “Ah,” the lead witch says, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Perhaps the accused’s greatest crime is not against magic, but against the heart.”

Agatha’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes as she turns to you. “Don’t let them twist this,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “You know me better than anyone.”

You take a step closer, your anger warring with the pull of old, buried feelings. “Do I? Because the Agatha I knew wouldn’t have dragged me into her mess.”

“I didn’t!” she snaps, the crack in her composure widening. “But if I had... maybe I should’ve. Maybe you’re the only one who can—” She cuts herself off, looking away.

The Coven watches, their glowing eyes unrelenting. “Speak your truth, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch commands. “If you can.”

You don’t know what’s worse—the thought that she’s hiding something from you, or the thought that she’s telling the truth and you’re still tied to her, even now. Either way, you’re not letting this end without answers.

“Start talking,” you say, your voice sharp but steady. “Because if you want me to trust you, Agatha, you’d better earn it.”

Agatha remains silent, though her eyes are pleading. The road trembles beneath you, the Coven's chanting growing louder, more insistent. The blue light twists and contorts, creating shadows that dance around you and Agatha. You’re too close to her now, her presence almost overwhelming in its familiarity. After all this time, she’s still the same—still sharp, guarded, impossible. And yet, beneath it all, she’s still her

You steal a glance at her, and for a moment, you see a crack in her defenses. The weight of the trial, the memories, the raw, unspoken tension between you—it’s all there, etched across her face. But she’s too proud to acknowledge it, even now.

“You’re scared,” you say, your voice low enough that only she can hear.

Agatha’s gaze snaps to yours, her eyes narrowing. “Of them?” she asks, gesturing toward the Coven with a sardonic smirk. “Please.”

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her deflect. “Not of them. Of me. Of us.”

Her smirk falters, just for a moment, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. She takes a step back, but you follow, unwilling to let her retreat this time.

“I’m not scared,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Liar,” you counter, your tone soft but unrelenting. “You’ve always been terrified of letting anyone in. Of letting me in.”

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the Coven’s chanting suddenly shifts, the words growing sharper, more pointed. The blue light swirls between the two of you, pulling at the air, at your magic, at your connection . The Coven has sensed it—the bond that could’ve been, the bond you once wanted more than anything.

“You thought about it,” you say, stepping closer. “All those years ago. You wanted it, too.”

“Stop,” she snaps, her voice cracking slightly, her control slipping.

“You left because you couldn’t handle it,” you press on. “Because you were too afraid to open yourself up. To share everything—your power, your heart, your soul.”

“I said stop,” she hisses, but she doesn’t move away.

The blue light flares between you, the energy shifting, bending, until it forms a thread, a thin, shimmering line connecting the two of you. The sight of it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s the bond, raw and unfinished, still lingering after all this time.

Agatha stares at it, her face pale, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. “It’s not real,” she says, her voice almost desperate. “It’s just the trial, just a trick.”

“You don’t believe that,” you say quietly.

The thread pulses, glowing brighter, and you can feel it now- the pull of her soul, of her essence, intertwining with your own. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, and you can see the same war playing out in Agatha’s eyes.

The Coven speaks again, their voices cold and cutting. “The bond remains unfinished. A betrayal of magic, a betrayal of trust. It is a wound that festers, unresolved.”

Agatha clenches her fists, her gaze snapping to the lead witch. “This has nothing to do with them,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “You’re trying to twist this into something it’s not.”

The lead witch tilts her head, her glowing eyes boring into Agatha. “The trial reveals truth. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her gaze shifts to you, and her next words are deliberate, cruel. “Perhaps the accused should explain why she ran. Why she rejected the bond when it was freely offered.”

Agatha flinches, and you feel the thread between you tremble. For a moment, you think she’s going to lash out, to fight, but instead, she turns to you, her expression raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I didn’t run because I didn’t want it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I ran because I wanted it too much.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

“I knew what bonding meant,” she continues, her eyes locking onto yours. “It would’ve made us... tied in ways I couldn’t undo. And I couldn’t let myself—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I thought I was protecting you. Protecting-“ she cuts herself off and then, “But maybe... maybe I was just protecting myself.”

The thread glows brighter, the magic between you surging, and you can feel it now—her fear, her regret, her longing. It’s all there, laid bare, and for the first time, you see her for who she truly is.

“You didn’t need to protect me,” you say, your voice steady. “I was ready, Agatha. I’ve always been ready. But you never gave us a chance.”

Her lips part, but before she can respond, the Coven’s chanting rises to a fever pitch. The thread between you stretches and trembles, the energy reaching a breaking point.

“You must choose,” the lead witch says, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever. There is no more middle ground.”

Agatha’s eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. She looks at you, her composure crumbling, and for the first time, she seems truly vulnerable.

“Don’t let them force this,” she says, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

The glow of the thread between you pulses, trembling like a fragile lifeline. The Coven’s chanting grows louder, demanding resolution, pushing you both to a precipice. Agatha’s eyes dart between the shimmering connection and your face. You can see the fear in her eyes, the weight of her indecision pressing down like a storm.

“Choose, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch demands. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever.”

Agatha’s hand hovers over yours, trembling. The vulnerability on her face is something you’ve never seen before, and it twists something deep inside you. For a moment, you think she might do it—reach out and let the bond fully take hold. But then her jaw sets, her gaze hardening.

“No,” she says sharply, yanking her hand back. The thread snaps violently, the energy spiralling outward like a scream. The sudden emptiness is immediate and gut-wrenching, leaving you gasping as if something vital has been ripped away.

Agatha steps back, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t,” she whispers, her voice brittle. “I won’t.”

The lead witch smiles coldly. “So be it.”

The thread between you vanishes, and the road trembles again, this time more violently. The energy shifts, the air growing heavy with the finality of her decision. You feel the hollow space where the bond once was, an ache that settles deep in your chest. It’s unbearable, and when you meet Agatha’s eyes, you see that she feels it too.

Her face twists with something you’ve rarely seen from her: regret.

“Wait,” she breathes, but the Coven’s chanting drowns her out. The blue light around you sharpens, cutting like a blade, and you can feel the road enforcing her choice, solidifying the severance.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice raw, stepping toward her. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“I already have,” she interrupts, her voice breaking as she turns away from you. “It’s done.”

But even as she says it, her steps falter. Her hand rises to her chest, where the bond once pulsed with life. Her expression crumples, the emptiness hitting her like a physical blow. She gasps, clutching at the air as if she could pull it back, undo the severance.

The lead witch tilts her head, her voice cutting like a knife. “Feeling the emptiness already, Agatha Harkness? Such is the price of fear.”

Agatha spins back to face them, her mask of confidence shattering completely. “Bring it back,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Impossible,” the lead witch says coolly. “You made your choice.”

“No!” Agatha snaps, desperation lacing her words. She looks at you, her eyes wide and pleading. “I—I didn’t mean it. I can fix it. Just—” She turns back to the Coven. “Just let me fix it.”

The lead witch’s gaze is unforgiving. “The road answers only once. To sever a bond is to sever it forever. That is the law.”

Agatha shakes her head violently. “No. That’s not—no!” Her voice cracks, and for a moment, she looks like she might collapse under the weight of her mistake.

You step forward, your own pain mingling with hers. “There has to be a way,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You can’t leave it like this.”

The Coven is silent for a long moment, their glowing eyes unreadable. Finally, the lead witch speaks. “There is one way, but it requires both souls to agree. And the cost will not be light.”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes searching yours. For the first time, there’s no deflection, no bravado just raw, unfiltered need. “Please,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You take a breath, the pain of the severed bond still fresh and raw. You should walk away. You should let her feel the consequences of her choice. But you can’t. You’ve never been able to. And now hearing her beg? You fear you’d do anything she asked.

“Fine,” you say, stepping forward. “What do we have to do?”

The lead witch smiles faintly, as if this is what she wanted all along. “Rekindling a severed bond requires sacrifice. Magic, power... a piece of the soul itself. Are you willing?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Agatha looks at you, her eyes filled with both gratitude and guilt. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” she says softly. “Not after what I—”

“Then don’t make me regret it,” you interrupt, your voice firm.

She swallows hard, nodding. “I won’t.”

The Coven begins chanting again, the air growing thick with magic. The blue light spirals around you and Agatha, pulling you closer together. This time, the bond doesn’t form gently—it crashes into you, fierce and unrelenting, flooding every part of you with her essence. You feel her fear, her regret, her longing—all of it laid bare. And she feels you, your unwavering determination, your pain, your love.

The connection is deeper than it was before, forged not just from desire but from sacrifice. When the light fades, you’re left standing face to face, your souls intertwined in a way that can never be undone.

Agatha exhales shakily, as if the bond settling between you is more weight than she expected. Her gaze flickers over your face, searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe reassurance. You give her neither, not yet. She’s made too many mistakes for things to be that simple. But you can’t deny the way the bond thrums, anchoring you to her in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The road quakes beneath you again, the energy of the trial still humming in the air. The Coven watches silently, their glowing eyes unreadable, as if they’re waiting for the next move.

Agatha takes a tentative step closer, her voice low. “How does it feel?” she asks, her words almost hesitant. “Having me in your head again.”

You let the question hang for a moment, savouring the way it makes her squirm. “Heavy,” you finally say, your tone sharper than you intended. “But that’s no surprise, is it? You’ve always been a lot to handle.”

Her lips quirk into a faint smirk, the familiar spark of defiance flaring in her eyes. “And yet, here you are. Handling me.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. The bond hums in agreement, pulling you closer even as you try to keep your distance. “Don’t push your luck, Agatha,” you warn. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Her smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. “I know,” she says softly. “But it’s a start.”

Before you can respond, the lead witch steps forward, her presence as cold and imposing as ever. “The bond is reforged,” she announces, her voice echoing through the space. “But it does not absolve you, Agatha Harkness. This trial is far from over.”

Agatha straightens, her bravado snapping back into place like armour. “Of course it isn’t,” she says, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy.”

The lead witch doesn’t react to the quip, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “The bond may strengthen you, but it also binds you. Your fates are now intertwined. Should one of you fall, the other will follow.”

You glance at Agatha, and for the first time, you see genuine fear flicker across her face. “What does that mean?” you ask, your voice steady but firm.

“It means,” the lead witch says, “that the bond is both your greatest power and your greatest vulnerability. Use it wisely—or perish together.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into your chest. Agatha glances at you, and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing: what have we just done?

“Fine,” Agatha says finally, her voice tight. “What’s next? Another test? Another round of judgment?”

The lead witch’s lips curl into a faint smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think this is a game, Harkness. But the road has already given you its answer. The only question now is whether you’re strong enough to face what comes next.”

The ground beneath you shifts again, and you feel the magic of the road pulling you deeper into its grip. Agatha reaches for you instinctively, her hand brushing against yours. The bond flares at the contact, filling you with a rush of her emotions.

Fear. Regret. Determination. And something else, buried deep, that feels almost like hope.

One again the road surges to life around you, swallowing the quiet moment between you and Agatha. The blue glow deepens, swirling with flecks of violet and gold, and the air feels like it’s being pulled apart. You grip her hand tighter, instinctively bracing yourself, and she doesn’t pull away.

The lead witch raises a hand, silencing the murmuring Coven. Her gaze fixes on the two of you like a blade about to strike. “The reforged bond is only the beginning. What lies ahead will test the strength of your connection—and the truth of your intentions.”

Agatha scoffs, though the sound is weaker than usual. “Another vague warning? How original.”

The lead witch’s smile is razor-thin. “The road reveals what is hidden. It will force you to confront the past you thought buried—and the consequences of choices you’ve both made.”

You glance at Agatha, whose jaw tightens. She’s always been so good at hiding what she’s feeling, but the bond makes that impossible for her now, you wonder if she knew that.

Before you can press her, the ground beneath you crumbles. The Coven’s chanting rises into a deafening crescendo as the two of you are plunged into a swirling abyss of light and shadow. Xx

When the world solidifies again, you’re standing in a dimly lit forest. The air is heavy with the scent of earth and moss, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting everything in an eerie silver light. The road is gone, as is the Coven. It’s just you and Agatha now.

You turn to her, your heart still racing. “Where are we?”

Agatha looks around, her expression unreadable. “This… this is Salem,” she says quietly. “But not the Salem we knew. It’s different.”

The forest feels alive, the trees whispering secrets you can’t quite make out. The bond hums in your chest, tugging at something deeper, and you know without needing to ask: this place isn’t real. It’s a manifestation. A memory.

“Why would the road bring us here?” you ask, though the answer is already forming in the back of your mind.

Agatha’s lips press into a thin line. “Because it’s cruel,” she mutters. “And it knows where to hurt.”

A sound echoes through the forest—laughter, high and clear, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your stomach twists as you recognise it.

It’s her.

Your younger self steps into the clearing, a vision pulled straight from your memories. She’s vibrant, her eyes bright with hope, her laughter filling the air. And beside her, laughing just as freely, is Agatha.

The sight punches the air from your lungs. You can feel the echoes of that time through the bond—the joy, the connection, the longing that neither of you dared to name.

Agatha stares at the scene, her face pale. “Why are they showing us this?” she whispers.

“You know why,” you say, your voice low. “Because this is where it all started.”

The memory shifts, darkening at the edges. The laughter fades, replaced by tense whispers. The younger version of you steps closer to Agatha, her expression vulnerable, open.

“I don’t want to run,” your younger self says, her voice trembling. “I want to stay. I want to bond with you, Agatha. I—”

“Stop,” the real Agatha mutters, her voice tight.

But the memory plays on. Younger Agatha’s face twists, fear flashing in her eyes. She steps back, shaking her head. “No,” she says, her voice sharp and final. “We can’t. I won’t.”

“Why?” your younger self pleads.

“Because you deserve better than me!” Memory Agatha snaps, her voice cracking, before you hear her internal voice, one that’s truly broken and screaming out in fear “Because I’ll ruin you. Don’t you see that? I ruin everything I touch.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and you see the real Agatha flinch beside you. The memory fades, leaving the clearing silent once more.

You turn to her, your chest tight with emotion. “That’s why you left?” you ask, your voice raw. “Because you thought you’d ruin me?”

Agatha doesn’t meet your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “I did ruin you, didn’t I? I left, and you—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. “Don’t turn this into a pity party, Agatha. You don’t get to decide what I deserved. That was my choice to make.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “And look where your choice got us,” she spits. “Centuries apart, and now we’re tied together because of this damned road. Is that what you wanted? To be stuck with me forever?”

The bond flares at her words, the tension between you sparking like a live wire. You take a step closer, your voice steady but furious. “What I wanted,” you say, “was for you to trust me. To trust that we could’ve been something more. But you ran because you were too scared to face that.”

Agatha glares at you, but her shoulders sag, the fight draining out of her. “You think I don’t regret it?” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve regretted it every single day. But I thought... I thought it was better this way. Safer. For both of us.”

“Safer?” you echo bitterly. “Do I look like someone who needed to be saved from you?”

The air between you crackles with magic, the bond pulling tighter as your emotions clash and collide. You can feel her guilt, her longing, her fear—and beneath it all, her love. It’s raw and messy and imperfect, but it’s there, undeniable.

You’re about to say something before the forest grows darker, shadows stretching long and deep as the memory shifts again. You brace yourself, but nothing could prepare you for what the road dredges up next.

The scene crystallises around you: a small, dimly lit room with a single cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The air feels stifling, heavy with pain and desperation. It’s familiar—achingly so. This is where you went the night after Agatha left.

Agatha stands frozen beside you, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of you from centuries ago. Your younger self sits hunched on the floor, trembling, clutching a flickering ball of magic in your hands. The light glows faintly pink, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but it’s unstable, wavering with every shaky breath you take.

“No,” Agatha whispers, stepping toward the memory as if she can change it. “No, no, no—what are you doing?”

But the memory unfolds without mercy.

Your younger self mutters under her breath, an incantation so jagged and broken it sounds like a dirge. The magic in your hands sparks violently, surging outward before collapsing back in on itself.

“Take it away,” your memory-self says, her voice cracking. “Take it all away. I don’t want it anymore.”

You remember the feeling all too well—the suffocating pain, the emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole. The bond you’d started to forge with Agatha had been severed, but not cleanly. It had left jagged edges, a wound that pulsed with every beat of your heart. You’d thought if you could rid yourself of your magic, you’d be free of her—free of the ache she left behind.

“Stop,” Agatha says aloud, her voice trembling. She reaches for the image of you, but her hand passes through it like smoke. She turns to you, her eyes wide and desperate. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you—”

“Because you weren’t there,”, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You left, Agatha. I was alone.”

The younger you falters, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this,” she sobs, gripping the magic tighter. “I can’t feel her anymore. I can’t—”

The incantation grows louder, your magic swirling around you like a storm. It’s unstable, laced with anger and grief, threatening to implode. And for a moment, it feels like it will work—like you’ll succeed in ripping away the part of you that still clings to her.

But the spell breaks, shattering like glass, and the magic snaps back into you with a force that knocks your younger self to the ground. You cry out, curling into yourself as the bond—though faint and fractured—reasserts itself. It’s agony, the connection too stubborn to let go completely, no matter how much you tried to destroy it.

The memory fades, leaving the clearing eerily silent. Agatha stands rooted in place, her face pale and stricken. You can feel the weight of her guilt through the bond, heavier than ever, pressing into you like a physical thing.

“You tried to... take your magic away?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” you say, your tone flat. “And I failed. Just like I failed to let you go.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, the full scope of what she did to you finally crashing down on her. “I didn’t know,” she says weakly. “I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cut her off. “You ran, Agatha. You made your choice, and you didn’t look back.”

Her shoulders slump, her walls crumbling entirely. “I thought I was protecting you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought... if I stayed, I’d only hurt you more.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say bitterly. “You hurt me anyway.”

The bond flares between you, sharp and raw with the weight of her regret and your lingering anger. Agatha flinches, her hand rising to her chest as if she can feel the ache directly.

“I was a coward,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I was so afraid of what the bond meant—what it would do to me. To us. I thought if I left, it would be easier for both of us.” She meets your eyes, and for once, there’s no deflection, no sarcasm. Just honesty. “I didn’t know it would be worse.”

You take a shaky breath, the pain of the memory still fresh. “I didn’t want it to hurt anymore,” you say quietly. “But it never stopped. Not for centuries.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand hovering near yours. “I don’t know how to make it right,” she says, her voice soft and unsteady. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll try. I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying.”

You study her face, the vulnerability in her expression. The bond hums between you, not as sharp as before, but still raw and unsteady. You don’t trust her—not completely. But for the first time in centuries, you feel something else beneath the anger: the faintest flicker of hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say, your voice softer than before.

Agatha’s lips quirk into a faint, rueful smile. “I won’t,” she says. “Not this time.”

You take a deep breath, and you nod as you both start to walk, looking away from her, your eyes taking in the trees around you both, the silence that is only broken by crickets and your feet on fallen leaves every now and again.

The mist clings to you both like a second skin as the silence stretches, weighted and tense. The bond hums faintly between you, but there’s a strange hollowness to it, a missing note that makes your chest ache. It takes you a while to place it, but the realisation creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow in the corner of your mind.

You glance at Agatha. She’s walking beside you, her shoulders squared in that way that screams she’s unbreakable a lie she’s always told herself. But there’s something missing. Something that isn’t just her sharp-edged confidence.

You stop walking. “Agatha,” you say, your voice cautious but firm. “Your magic.”

She freezes, her back going rigid. Slowly, she turns to face you, her expression carefully neutral, but the bond betrays her. You feel her shame and frustration ripple through it, sharp and unsteady.

“What about it?” she asks, her voice brittle.

“It’s not there,” you say, your tone softer now. “Not the way it used to be. What happened to it?”

She looks away, her jaw clenching. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” you counter, stepping closer. “You’ve been hiding this from me, Agatha. Why? What happened?”

Her silence stretches too long, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then, finally, she exhales sharply, her eyes dark with something raw and vulnerable.

“Wanda happened,” she says bitterly. “Westview, she stripped me of everything. My magic, my power—she left me with nothing but a body and a few clever words.”

Your heart stutters. “She took everything?”

“Yes,” Agatha snaps, her voice laced with frustration. “I can’t even light a damn candle without the bond. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be this?” She gestures at herself angrily. “This hollow shell of what I used to be?”

Her words hang between you, her anger bleeding into the bond. But underneath it, you feel the deeper truth: the helplessness, the fear, the grief of losing something so integral to who she is.

“Agatha,” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice sharp and bitter.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t give me some speech about how I’m more than my magic or how I’ll be fine. You don’t understand what it’s like—how empty it feels.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of her pain pressing against you through the bond. And suddenly, you do understand. The absence of her magic isn’t just a loss of power—it’s a loss of self, a wound that’s been festering since Westview.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you say quietly. “But you’re right. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose magic. I don’t understand how it feels for you. But I can feel it, Agatha. Through the bond. And it hurts.”

Her eyes snap to yours, her expression faltering.

“I feel the emptiness, the hollowness,” you continue. “And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I don’t want you to feel it anymore.”

Her laugh is short and bitter. “Well, unless you’re planning on storming Westview I don’t see what you can do about it.”

You hesitate, the reckless idea forming in your mind. The bond between you hums faintly, and you realise there might be a way to fix this—or at least try.

“I can’t get Wanda to undo it,” you say slowly. “But I can give you something else. My magic.”

Agatha freezes, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say. “I can share my magic with you. Just enough to—”

“No,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “Absolutely not. That’s reckless and stupid, even for you.”

“You need magic to be whole again, Agatha,” you argue. “And we have the bond. It’s not just a connection—it’s a tether. If anyone can do this, it’s us.”

“You don’t know that,” she snaps, her voice trembling. “You could hurt yourself. Or me. Or worse, you could sever the bond completely. Have you thought about that?”

“I have,” you say, your voice steady. “And after realising what you’re feeling through our bond I’m willing to take that risk.”

Her anger falters, replaced by something softer—something closer to fear. “Why?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “Why would you do that for me?”

You step closer, your gaze locking with hers. “Because I feel you, Agatha. I’ve felt you for centuries, even when I didn’t want to. And I can’t stand feeling you like this anymore. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue again. But then she nods, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Fine,” she whispers. “But if this goes wrong we’re both dead…”

“It won’t,” you say firmly. “Trust me.”

You reach for her hand, your fingers brushing hers lightly. The bond flares at the contact, and Agatha inhales sharply, her magic—or what’s left of it—stirring faintly in response.

You close your eyes, focusing on the bond and the magic coursing through you. You channel it carefully, letting it flow toward her like a steady stream. It’s not painless—the act feels like giving away pieces of yourself, leaving raw edges behind. But through the bond, you feel her presence grow stronger, her magic flickering to life like an ember reignited.

Agatha gasps softly, her grip on your hand tightening as the magic flows between you. When you finally stop, your knees feel weak, and the bond hums with a new warmth—a sense of balance that wasn’t there before.

You open your eyes to find her staring at you, her expression unreadable.

“How do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, then says, “Stronger.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and before you can react, she steps closer, her cheek brushing against yours. The touch is soft, fleeting, but it sends a warmth through the bond that makes your breath catch. Her hand cups the back of your head and her other hand holds your lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

You wrap your arms around her, exhaustion tugging at you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze steady. “I won’t.”

#agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader

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jeonginsleftcheek · 9 months ago

Text

Pretty naughty boy

pairing: boypussy!hyunjin x gn!reader

genre: smut

warnings: gn!reader but he calls them mommy, sub!hyunjin, fingering, mirror sex kinda, squirting, pussy slap

a/n: boypussy!skz is something i wanted to write for such a long time so this is just a lil drabble while i work on my hyune series (and lose my mind)🫶🏻

~ Masterlist

"Hyune, I'm home!"- you yell out to your boyfriend as you walk into the apartment, closing the door with a quiet click.

Usually, he's quick to greet you and give you a kiss unless he's concentrated on painting so you assume he must be working on his art.

You take your shoes off, feet padding on the floor quietly as you make your way to your room.

Swinging open the door, you stop in your tracks when you take in the sight.

It's your pretty boyfriend dressed in a cute baby pink top, a white skirt and white knee socks with bows, even wearing matching ones in his hair.

He turns around to look at you with his eyes wide and his plump lips shiny with your lipgloss as he was in the middle of applying it.

"Baby, what is this?"- you smirk, folding your hands and leaning on the door frame.

"Y-you're home early."- he gulps and you chuckle as you make your way towards him.

"Are you making yourself pretty for mommy?"- you coo, leaning over him.

"Mhm."- he nods and you smile, reaching out to tuck his hair behind his ear.

"You're already really pretty, baby boy. But you look even more delicious now. I really like these."- your hand is placed on his thigh as you gently caress his soft skin and play with the bows adorning it.

"I bought them just for you, mommy."- he looks at you with glassy eyes.

You chuckle as you take the applicator he forgot he had from his hands and tell him to pucker his lips up even more.

You finish applying the lipgloss and then lean in pressing your lips against his.

The kiss is wet and slow, your tongue licking at his plump lips, sucking them in between your teeth and making him whimper.

You notice him squirming on the chair pretty quickly as you keep swiping your tongue against his, tasting the strawberry lipgloss you love to wear.

"Come here."- you beckon your sweet boyfriend, leading him to the big mirror in the corner.

He looks at himself shyly, his cheeks rosy as you stand behind him, your hands firm on his waist.

"So pretty."- you whisper in his ear, before you start leaving kisses on his neck.

Hyunjin quietly whimpers, his eyes fluttering shut and you stop kissing him, hands still squeezing his waist.

"Open your eyes. I want you to look the whole time."- you smirk, licking a stripe on his neck.

"Yes, mommy."- he whines quietly and your hands roam under his skirt, grabbing at his ass.

"Oh you're a naughty baby, aren't you? Not even decent enough to wear any panties?"- you keep smirking as you knead his flesh.

"Mhm, I'm naughty."- he taunts a little, pushing back into your hands.

"Is that so? I happen to love naughty boys."- you say, hand between his legs as you gently touch his wetness.

He shivers instantly and you instruct him to sit down, as you take your place behind him and let him lean his back on you.

"Let me see."- you grip his thighs and he moans lifting them up over yours as you spread his legs.

His skirt rides up and you pull it up even more, revealing his glistening pink pussy.

"All wet for me, hm?"- you smirk into his neck, fingertips teasing as you run them around his cunt, avoiding the places he needs you the most.

"Mommy, please touch me! I waited all day!"- he whines.

"Tsk."- you land a slap on his wet cunt and he whines, his head falling back on your shoulder.

"Don't lie to me. I know you stuff this pussy with your fingers all day, it's always so fucking greedy."- you pinch his clit and he whimpers again.

"I'm sorry but I'm just so horny for you that I can't help it."- he smirks a little.

"Show me."- you say and he whines in protest.

"But I want mommy to touch me!"

"The more you misbehave the closer you get to your punishment. You don't want that, hm?"- you say it quietly, lowering his top down to play with his cute nipples.

"Mm... no, I don't."- he moans, bringing his hand to his clit and pressing his fingers into it.

"Good boy. Look at yourself."- you order as you pinch his nipples and he lifts his head up a little, hazy eyes staring at the sinful reflection in the mirror.

He circles his fingers on his clit, dipping them between his wet folds and teasing himself.

You grab his wrist and moves his hand away making him whine once again.

Pressing your fingers around his folds, you open his pretty cunt up and he moans as he looks at it.

"Does this place belong to mommy's cock?"- you smirk and see it clench around nothing.

"Yes, belongs to you mommy."- he says sweetly, batting his eyelashes and trying to get you to touch him.

It works because you're hungry for him so you slowly push two fingers in his cunt, immediately looking for the special spot.

He writhes in your hold as you bring your other hand down too, fingers playing with his puffy clit.

"Mm, so good!"- he whimpers when you find his spot.

"Better than your own fingers, huh?"- you chuckle, kissing his neck as you start fucking into him faster.

"So much better mommy!"- his hips keep lifting up to meet your hand, getting more desperate as he comes closer to his high.

The wet sounds of his pussy are nothing but sinful as arousal keeps gushing out of it, coating your fingers and driving you wild as you add a third finger in.

"Fuck, look at your pussy baby. So fucking greedy for me."- you push in deeper, your fingers slipping in easily.

Hyunjin's legs jerk up for a moment and then his thighs start shaking as he stares intently at his pussy getting ravaged with your fingers.

"Already close, huh?"- you ask mockingly. "Mommy fills you up so good, hm?"

"Yes, fill me up so good! Please, can I cum?"- he whines and you bite down on his neck, your fingers fucking into him with force, other hand still working on his little nub.

He takes that as a sign, moaning loudly as he gives into the pleasure completely, eyes glued to your fingers disappearing inside him and he cums.

He cums hard, squirting on himself, the carpet and the mirror in front as you pull your fingers out and keep torturing his clit.

You chuckle and grip his hair, bringing your fingers to his lips.

"Open."- you say and his lips part, letting you push your fingers in. He licks and sucks on them, cleaning them up and moaning at the taste of his own release.

Still holding his hair, and lifting up behind him so you can bend him over until his nose almost touches the mirror, you smirk.

"Now clean the mirror up."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger

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starkeymeow · 24 days ago

Text

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter three, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, first day of training, sneak peak at possible allies? me not proofreading because its 3am

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you wake up to a white light. you blink a few times, slowly coming back into yourself, eyes dragging toward the bedside where a small floating orb hovers over the nightstand. the capitol doesn’t do clocks like back home. this one spins gently, its digital time cycling in slow motion along a ring of light, like a planet caught in orbit.

8:03.

you groan. it feels earlier. like the kind of early where the sky should still be dark and everything should be silent.

your head aches a little from the lack of sleep. you remember finally coming back to your room after standing out on the balcony with rafe. something about that quiet conversation settled your nerves, at least enough to try sleep again. maybe you’d felt . . . human. for a second. despite knowing what he was, what you were, what you both had to become.

you hear the door creak open just seconds later. no knock. of course not. and then a voice you’re already too familiar with.

“rise and shine, sweetheart.”

enobaria. sharp and smug and already dressed like she’s ready to give someone hell. your eyes roll before you even sit up, but you do as told.

the next half hour is a blur. your prep team cycles through you like you’re something to be tuned up. a hot shower, someone checks the water for you first. someone else towels off your hair. someone is already laying out your uniform for the day while you’re still dripping. another pulls your socks up for you.

it’s . . . invasive. overbearing. but you let it happen. what else are you gonna do?

your training attire is simple and dark: a black short-sleeved shirt with a stretch fit, soft red and light gray stripes that loop down your arms and underarms. your district number is stitched into both sleeves and the center of your upper back, almost like a warning label.

your pants match, black, breathable, striped down the sides. the shoes are all black too, a little stiff, leather with a hard rubber sole. you can already tell they’ll be louder than you want them to be. your hair’s pulled back into a tight style, something practical. you barely noticed it happening honestly.

rafe shows up in the hallway right as you’re stepping out, dressed the same. he gives you a once-over and then a small nod. doesn’t say anything about the bags under your eyes, though you can tell he clocked them. good. because you clock his too.

breakfast is short, mostly just food you don’t recognize. you and rafe talk in low murmurs on your way down the long, chrome hall to the training center eventually. just little things, like if he’s got a strategy, which stations he wants to try first. you don’t mention the quiet kid from five who hasn’t said a word since arriving. or the tiny girl from three who barely ate at breakfast.

you enter the training center soon. it's a massive underground space. cold but clean, stretching longer than you expected. the floors are matted in sections, polished dark rubber with drawn rings and arrows and symbols you don’t understand yet.

stations line the walls, each marked by clean signage and equipped with tools, instructors, and polished weapons. there are sections for knot tying, survival gear, plant identification, camouflage. a whole row of bladed weapons. another for climbing, throwing, agility. even a space that looks like a makeshift wilderness setting. nothing in here is for show.

everyone’s standing now, spaced out across a wide circle marked on the main mat. a foot between you and the next tribute. a few inches between you and rafe. no one’s talking. no one’s moving.

then, right on time, the head trainer enters. her uniform is clean-cut and razor sharp. her eyes move over all of you like you’re parts on a conveyor belt, and she stops in the center of the circle and raises her voice, cool and clinical.

“two weeks from now, only one of you will still be breathing,” she says flatly, like she's done this a hundred times before and doesn’t care to sugarcoat it. “the rest? well, you’ll figure out what that means soon enough. if you want a shot at staying alive, you better focus over the next three days—especially right now.”

“let me be clear. there’s no sparring with each other in here, save the bloodshed for the arena. you’ll go through four mandatory stations, the rest is self-guided. and before you all rush for the blades and axes . . . remember this: most of you won’t die from a weapon. you’ll die because you didn’t learn how to survive an infection.”

she pauses, arms crossed. eyes sharp.

“infection, thirst, the cold. all things that’ll gut you faster than any knife if you’re not prepared. so don’t waste time. and don’t waste my patience.”

her words last a minute or two longer, just explaining how the day will go. then silence hangs heavy after she finishes. you glance around slowly. some tributes look shaken, some expressionless. rafe stands still beside you, unreadable.

you glance up at him once the trainer finishes her little speech, her voice still ringing somewhere in the back of your mind. “infection, thirst, the cold”? all of it sounding so casual coming from someone who isn’t about to die.

rafe meets your eyes briefly, dull as ever. it’s the only interaction you get before the peacekeepers start lining everyone up. female tribute first, male behind. straight line. district order. you’re toward the front, but not the first obviously.

then you’re escorted to the first station.

the first test is some free climb, a forty-foot steel wall that’s like a rocky terrain, each handhold slightly different in texture or shape. some are slick. some jagged. it’s designed to screw with your muscle memory.

you don’t fall, but your arms shake by the time you reach the top and slap the buzzer. you hear someone below scream on their way down. not dead, but definitely bruised.

rafe climbs like he’s done this before. one hand after the other, legs locked in, perfect grip. he hits the buzzer before you’ve even caught your breath on the descent ladder.

the second station is rope traversal. thick ropes hang from one end of the platform to the other. the goal is to cross using only your upper body.

your palms burn by the halfway point, and your ribs feel like they’re being pulled apart by your own weight. you grunt through it, don’t fall, but you do let go with a near-drop at the end, stumbling onto the platform as you land.

station three is a weighted sprint. you’re handed a duffel bag filled with an unspoken amount of weight, and told to run two laps around the obstacle perimeter. it’s meant to simulate carrying gear or injured allies, maybe even dragging a kill?

you start off strong but slow on the corners, but you make it. you’re not bad. you’re not the worst. you’re surviving. but next to him, it’s clear. rafe’s built for this.

the final mandatory station is balance and precision.

thin beams rise ten feet off the ground, twisting and zig-zagging over a safety net. the goal is to make it from one side to the other, picking up three sandbags along the way without falling. if you fall, you start over.

you wobble on the second beam, your hand twitching just over the sandbag as you try not to look down. but you recover, breathing slow, keeping steady. you make it, knees bent, hands on your thighs, trying not to show how out of breath you really are.

you catch yourself watching rafe when he’s done, arms crossed over your chest, eyes narrowed just slightly. not in judgment. more like in thought.

you’re glad, in a way. not just because he’s from your district, but because he’s already in your alliance.

you think about districts one and four. haven’t even seen their faces yet, just vague impressions at the line-up from earlier. you don’t know who to watch, but you’ll figure it out soon enough. you have to.

once you finish the final station, your name is logged, and you’re finally cleared for individual training. most people make a beeline for the obvious, the weapons. so do you.

but tributes scatter to different corners of the gym, gravitating toward what feels familiar. some head straight for the swords, others to the climbing walls again, one to camouflage and another to the edible plant stations.

you walk, steady, eyes locked on a small rack nestled near the far wall, one you clocked earlier but hadn’t gone near yet. it's the dagger station. the setup is split in half: one side for still targets, the other clearly for simulations, like moving dummies, real-time challenges, all of it watched over by a quiet capitol instructor with a clipboard and an unnerving smile.

as you approach, there’s already someone there. a tribute. tall, lean, maybe from eight or six, you're not sure, but he’s lingering, standing too still in front of the rack of blades, like he’s weighing the decision to try or walk away before anyone notices his hesitation.

he notices you instead. your boots don’t make much noise on the padded floor, but you know your presence does. you don't say a word. just look at him, one brow slightly raised in passing curiosity as your gaze shifts to the daggers. that’s all it takes. he steps aside without protest. not rude, not scared, just smart. he can sense it, that you won’t wait or ask.

you don’t react. you just stop in front of the rack and let your gaze trail over the knives. sleek, symmetrical, clearly custom-forged here in the capitol. even the grips look different than the ones you’ve trained with back home. too polished. too perfect. not broken in. no bite in the steel yet.

you hover your fingers over the hilts, considering. but before you grab one, you look behind. not for anything in particular, just instinct, and you find him again. rafe. across the room near the maces.

he’s already picked one out. the thing’s massive, iron or something close enough, and he holds it with both hands, adjusting his grip once before bringing it down over the head of a practice dummy. the crash is loud. you can hear it even from where you’re standing.

it’s not clean. not like a sword would be. the mace is messier, heavier, built for blunt force damage. the dummy rocks from the impact, its shoulder tearing where the blow landed.

rafe pulls the mace back, steps aside, resets, and slams it again. over and over, calculated, patient.

you face forward again to wrap your fingers around the dagger hilt, finally. it’s just definitely capitol-made. they cared more about how it looks than how it feels. but it’s not bad. the balance is decent.

you turn it slowly in your palm, testing the blade’s alignment, the way your fingers press against the smooth edge of the guard.

you don’t throw the dagger right away. you just grip light at first, shift your weight slightly, and eye the targets set up in front of you. four of them. they’re just stationary, so they don’t move. not yet. they’re lined up in a row at the far end of the station, each shaped like the upper torso of a tribute with a head, chest, stomach. flat, padded, replaceable.

you roll your shoulder back and bounce the dagger once in your palm. it’s like it clicks into place, the way it fits.

then you exhale slow, step forward, and throw. it’s not precise, it’s just to see.

the blade sinks into the board, low, left, just below the ribcage. not bad, not a miss, but not what you were aiming for.

you tilt your head, glance down at your stance. your mouth tugs into the faintest smile, not out of arrogance, more like recognition.

there it is.

you get it now.

you throw five of them after. by the time you hit the last dagger, you don’t even hesitate. each one lands sharper than the last. headshot. headshot. headshot.

you nod to yourself, barely. just a small dip of your chin, like an invisible pat on the back. that was good. not perfect, because perfect would’ve been being able to get that first one right, but you were close. enough to be proud of without getting cocky.

you step aside to give the instructor room to collect the knives, brushing your hands against your sides and exhaling through your nose. you’re still rolling the momentum out of your shoulders when—

“that’s it?”

the voice is close. too close. it startles you. you turn quick, brows pulling together, and there he is. rafe.

you swear he was just across the floor a second ago. but now he’s here, leaning into your space like he’s always been there, like he didn’t just sneak up on you like some smug little shadow.

you press a hand to his chest, more like a shove. “you’re not funny.”

he barely budges, but his grin flickers to life anyway, crooked and amused. “you didn’t answer the question.”

you roll your eyes as you look away. “yes, i’m done.”

he glances at the targets behind you, then back to you with a raised brow. “you sure? i mean . . . impressive, yeah. solid hits. but kinda felt like the warm-up.”

“i didn’t ask for a critique.”

“i’m just saying.” he shrugs. “they weren’t even moving.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “and what, you think i can’t handle the simulation?”

“i think you haven’t tried it.” he’s already starting to walk backward, slow and deliberate, nodding toward the second half of the station. “which is weird. considering you’ve got decent aim. i figured you’d want to show off a little.”

you don’t move, arms crossed.

he stops a few feet ahead, hand resting on the edge of the rail track, glancing back at you like he already knows you’re gonna follow.

right. a career who doesn’t wanna show off. how is that gonna look in front of the tributes and gamemaker?

you’re silent, just watching. but you finally walk over, catching up to him with a narrowed stare, though there’s a faint smile threatening to tug at the corner of your mouth. he sees it. doesn’t say anything about it, but you know he sees it.

“fine,” you say, stepping into place. “but you have to show me your skills with a mace after.”

“deal,” he says, already watching like he’s waiting for a show.

you turn your eyes to the simulation track, grip settling around the hilt of a new dagger. no second to waste.

you flick your gaze to the instructor, give a subtle nod. no words, just that. he seems to get it right away. he taps a panel on the edge of the control board, and suddenly the whole station shifts.

you step back slightly, give yourself space.

the dummies begin to move.

not all at once, but in patterns. some slide laterally on hidden rails, others pivoting or swaying like they’ve got minds of their own. they’re not human, but they mimic the chaos, like fast feet, unpredictable angles. it’s the kind of motion meant to rattle your focus. but you don’t let it.

you take a slow breath. the dagger is already familiar in your hand. you twist it once between your fingers, then again, and your eyes lock on the first moving target. you step into it.

the first throw is clean. blade sinks into the chest of a dummy mid-glide. not dead center, but close. you don’t react to it, just shift to the next. you pivot on your back foot and hit another one on the right, this time with a flick of your wrist that feels more instinct than aim.

you’re not thinking hard anymore, just flowing. moving like this is something you've done before. not like a killer, but like someone who knows their body. where the weight is. where to let it go.

you spin once, low and fluid, like you’re dodging something invisible, then plant and launch another blade. it cuts through the space, hitting a target mid-turn.

you don’t look at rafe, but you feel him watching.

when the final dummy rolls into place, you throw the last dagger without stopping, and it hits so close to center it gives the instructor a pause.

you exhale, and finally turn your head to glance at your district partner.

he’s leaning against the rail now, arms crossed. his brows are lifted, and he nods once, slowly. “okay,” he says. nothing else. just that.

but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s holding back something else. a smirk. a compliment. a challenge.

you don’t push for it. you just smile, barely, and look away. like you didn’t care if he saw or not. like this was always just for you.

your smile swiftly fades the second your eyes drift past rafe. a pair of tributes are watching.

not in the casual, curious kind of way. not admiring. not impressed. they stand shoulder to shoulder at a nearby station, hands still at their sides, not even pretending to train. just watching. both of them.

the boy’s tall, broad-shouldered, hair the color of sand after a storm. it flops over his forehead, nearly into his eyes. blue, if you look close enough.

there’s something striking about him, something almost familiar. you can’t quite place it until a memory drifts back. he looks like some victor from a few years ago. it’s obviously not him, but close. close enough it makes your throat dry a little.

next to him, the girl looks different. she’s composed, still, but with a simmer under her olive skin. curls spill down her back in a way that feels intentional, not careless. she stands straighter than him, more poised, like she’s already figured out the game and is choosing not to play her hand yet. she’s just watching with a kind of quiet calculation you’ve only ever seen in people who don’t speak until it matters.

they look nothing alike, but they match.

and they’re both looking at you.

rafe catches the shift in your expression immediately. his head tilts, a little. that lazy kind of curiosity he wears like a second skin. and then he turns. just slightly, barely a full movement, but it’s enough.

his gaze cuts across the room like a blade, and you swear you can feel it. the pair of tributes react immediately.

their eyes dart away fast like they hadn’t been staring at all. like they didn’t just watch every single move you made. they turn back to their station, grabbing at the spears in front of them with quick hands, and neither of them look back again.

you watch them for another second, then catch it, literally stitched in white thread on the upper part of their black shirts. a number.

district four.

cassaline’s voice flashes in your mind, that district four had shown interest in teaming up with you and rafe. an early alliance. a temporary one, if necessary. and now they’ve seen you.

you look up at rafe again. he’s still facing their direction, unreadable. but then he turns his head back to you, slow, steady. your eyes meet.

it’s like you’re both thinking the same thing again. they saw what you could do. and now you’ve seen them.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae

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kissedcupid · 17 days ago

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Season 1 , episode 1

Harry Potter x f! reader ⨾ Slim Pickins - Sabrina Carpenter 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 , 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 , 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺’𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 , 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 , 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 4𝘧𝘵 , 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 , 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 16 , 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 , 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳

𝜗𝜚 ꒱ wc. 1.722 ⋮ bookshelf !

notes : dividers made by anitalenia

› SLIM PICKINS ⋮ “𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙔𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢”

Convincing Harry’s parents to stay over the summer was probably the easiest thing to do. But hiding the relationship while Harry is such a touchy person would be the hardest. When you two first dated Harry was never a touchy person you having to give first , but now he’s diving head first into you. It was probably a bad idea to wear something ever so revealing in front of his parents but it was whatever , they would probably just think you have good fashion sense and you’re just a close best friend of his.

Going through your wardrobe and picking out all the outfits you would potentially wear along with things you’d bring you had finally decided your outfit. A cute lace top underneath whilst your blue shirt was on top , you’d thought it was best for the lace to stick out to match the skirt but you didn’t want to create a bad impression. Since it was going to be hot you decided to wear a short ruffled skirt that went all the way to your thighs with thin sheer white stockings.

For shoes Mary Jane’s and white layer socks ( like the one in the picture) suited best. Of course for the cherry on the top you decided to wear light makeup , you didn’t want to seem bad infront of his parents. You would have to sit next to Harry on a long car ride with his parents as yours didn’t have the energy to take you. Taking your luggage and bag outside you had saw the car , luckily Harry’s mother , Lily was kind enough to help you put it in the trunk.

“And you must be Harry’s girlfriend , yes ?” Shock was painted on your face , you were but you weren’t sure if Harry had told his parents yet , hopefully , he didn’t. And of course he didn’t , he wouldn’t tell a soul until you were ready it was just his mother being his mother. “Oh , me and Harry aren’t , we’re just really close. We practically are just stuck together all the time when we aren’t in class.” Lily had raised an eyebrow intrigued in your words analyzing the situation.

“Well he better confess to you soon if you two are in love with how much he talks about you. He made a whole presentation about how you should stay for the summer.” It was amusing how in love harry was it was almost annoying to your friends. You had gave a chuckle as a response , you didn’t want to give your relationship away. “Well have fun in the backseat just not too much fun.”

She was funny , she knew her son was almost a carbon copy of his father. And she knows that James Potter was a bit of a freaky monster. Giving her a hug before you had entered into the backseat was a slight peace gesture as to make her take no notice towards your outfit. Sitting next to Harry whilst he hadn’t seen you in a while was a bad idea. He was all over you like stripes on a zebra , if he wasn’t touching you somewhere he had scooted closer , if he was touching you it was your hands down to your thighs.

He knew his parents could see he just didn’t care , frankly he needed to be on you all over you. You couldn’t tell if it was genetics or him being horny although the answer would probably be both. “I missed you , and I missed this so much.” He slowly grabbed your hand to intertwine with yours caressing your hands gently as if they were made out of glass. “Harry your parents can see you know .. I love .. that you miss me cause I missed you too.” You were sweet as always, putting it gently that you couldn’t say I love you to him.

“Well then does that mean in my room we can—” you know you were open all the time about , doing it , but compared to this his parents were there. “Harry James Potter , yes we can but not now.”giving him a gentle pinching on his cheek as an extra measure to show that you weren’t joking around. “Says the girl who suggested to go into the library to do it because apparently you wanted to study harder.” You laughed only just a bit , “I almost forgot about that , but no , seriously Harry.”

As he had leaned in after you finished your sentence of course giving you some decent closure , he was about to kiss you yet instead he had remembered of his parents ; instead he had gave you a simple mummer. “Please don’t wear anything like that around my parents they already think we’re dating.” As his father was pulling into the house letting the car rest , he had gotten out as this was the end of the drive. The car ride was initially not even that far just about twenty minutes. “No promises !” As for that you both had gotten out of the car , James was already unloading your stuff and taking it into Harry’s room. Walking towards his house you had dusted your skirt fixing a bit , or whatever you could fix.

Until suddenly his mother’s hand appeared next to you. “Harry you go on I’ll give your supposed friend a tour!” , and with that Harry was reluctant to even let you stay with someone else let alone his mother , he was afraid she would ramble too much. “So tell me , how close are you two ? Do you sleep in the same bed ?” You had nodded your head as she let you into the house closing the door behind. “We are pretty close , we only met in fourth year however , met during a quidditch game. Being honest we don’t really mind , we’ve had to share of moments where we had to share a bed.”

As she had led you upstairs James was going down stairs as he had already placed your stuff in there. Luckily Harry was there as well so this problem could be diluted simply , killing two birds with one stone the stone being Harry. Harry was already unloading your stuff in his closet next to a little white shelf with close hangers just for you. “Oh hey , I already put your stuff in there.” He slowly had grabbed your hand , already forgetting about the rules. “You two have fun , dinner will be around eight.” As Mrs. Potter had left it was just you and Harry left now , the silence ticking. Harry slowly walked towards you pining you to the shut door. He took in your breath and scent smelling how sweet you were , almost as if you were made for him.

“Oh you want to start now?” Chuckling lightly into his ear as he started kissing your neck gently , this terrible foreplay is killing you like please get to the actual real thing , right ? But now he wanted to take it slow and ease you in. Until a sudden knock of the door was heard , it was practically reflex after a while. “I wanted to tell you your mother’s sister’s family will be coming over , and oh , did I ruin something?”

You two weren’t entirely off of each other , pinkies interlocked and not to mention you two were right by the door. “No , no , Mr. Potter we were just about to .” You then awkwardly gave Harry a hug , his arms snaking around your— “Oh you , never mind.” As James had closed the door and went down stairs he immediately went to his wife.

WITH HARRY AND YOU : “I’m panicking why would you do that why would I do that , I mean I know you’ve touched me before but oh my goodness infront of your dad , Harry James Potter why in the world would you ever—”he then shut you up with a kiss , “As much as I love hearing you ramble what we need to focus on is we are going to survive twenty plus days not having physical touch with each other.”

WITH JAMES AND LILY : “my love , we are so screwed , we can’t leave them in there by themselves what if they , think about the possibility.” Lily had only grasped her husband’s hand at his long words. “Leave the kids alone we were like this , you do realize Harry takes a lot after you. That’s why he’s so touchy with her now.” Bonking his head on the table he couldn’t accept that Harry got all his genes. “I don’t get it , do you think they’re in a relationship?” “Most definitely.”

WITH YOU AND HARRY : “Come on I’m like ice cream I melt under a tongue , but like you’re the tongue you know what I mean? And like your parents don’t know and you’re not supposed to have ice cream and now like we’re stuck here.” He looked at you as if you came up with the idea and which you did. “Are you trying to tell me something ?” Tracing small circles on your thigh as you realized the time was ticking to right. “Yes that being I’m going to melt if you don’t make me , and your parents already know that you like ice cream.”

WITH LILY AND JAMES : “I’m just saying what if they have a child young , and why did he have to inherit my genes..” Lily continued to soothe his hands and caress his hair , “it’s going to be ok , she seems like a nice girl.” “And you were too and look at us now”

The night had ended in a catastrophe especially with the fact of the Dursleys were coming over and nobody was prepared the round of mess coming for the end of the summer.

#kissedcupid ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter au #Cupid’s series ､#james potter #lily evans #lily potter #harry james potter #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter x y/n #Cupid’s works 𝜗𝜚

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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Leather & Lace

Hello my angels and welcome to Leather and Lace!!! We’ve got a very cute 3 parter (I’ve finished writing it) coming in for you guys. We love a good grumpy x sunshine and couldn’t help ourselves writing another one. Please leave us feedback! We love to hear from you

Check out our Patreon for early access to parts 2&3, as well as 170+ exclusive writings!

Wc- 8.2k

Warnings- oral sex, praise kink, soft Dom h, opposites attract, cum play/swapping

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“How can you be this happy in the morning?” Harry grunted, hoodie pulled over his head as he sat down next to a bubbly Y/N. Her couch was comfortable but it didn’t make up for the fact that he was at her flat at 8 in the morning.

“It’s not that early, lazy bones.” She hummed, tucking her legs under her as she sat down on the other side. “Thank you for coming to help today, by the way. I know you don’t like getting up early.”

He really didn’t, was the thing. He hated it. Harry only had so many days off and after working a long shift bartending last night, the very last thing he wanted to do was help someone unpack in their new flat. He’d rather claw at concrete than be awake right now, rather eat a raw egg, rather go through tattoo removal. If it was anyone but Y/N he would have laughed in their face at the mere ask.

But it was her. It was twinkly eyed, pouty lipped, warm hearted Y/N who had asked him a week in advance and promised him a bagel with cream cheese and an iced coffee for brekkie, whatever he wanted for lunch, and ‘whatever he wanted in general!’. Little did she know he was going to say yes anyway, considering he knew he couldn’t say no to her sweet little ask with her smaller hand on his tattooed arm and wide eyes peering up at him. He wasn’t someone who liked to do things for many people without there being some sort of monetary gain, but this was different.

Y/N had somehow latched herself onto one of the grumpiest bastards in the area while she herself was one of the sweetest girls he’d ever seen. Rarely spoke a mean word of anyone (except when they hurt someone close to her), went out of her way to help anyone who needed it and always wanted to be a shoulder to cry on. He’d seen her take money from her own wallet to cover someone’s bill when they were short, even seen her rush to help an elderly man across the street. It got her into trouble sometimes which was why he was glad that he’d been the hip she’d chosen to attach to.

Their first interaction had been him sitting in the courtyard of their uni, listening to music under the tree. He’d had his sketchbook in hand, doodling in between classes when he looked up to see a girl with a pretty yellow bow in her hair offering him a cupcake because he looked ‘sad.’. He had been sad, actually, but that was pretty much his normal resting face. He’d tried to blow her off but she’d taken a seat next to him, introducing herself and telling him about her own day to ‘distract him’. He hated to admit that it worked.

From then on, she popped up everywhere. At first he’d been a bit worried that she was following him but it truly was a coincidence. Y/N had found her way under his skin, wriggled her way into that cold heart of his and made it warm up just a little each time she came around. At some point she’d become a daily fixture in his life, her texts lighting up his phone with emojis and telling him to meet her at the cafe or the library- and for some reason, he followed.

“Mmm. Know y’wanted me here to see me get all sweaty. If y’wanted to see my tats and muscles so badly, you coulda just said so, Sweets.” He smirked, watching her eyes widen. So easy to fluster.

“No! Stop teasing me, s’not nice.” She grumbled, poking his knee with her socked foot. She’d chosen lavender striped ones today. “I don’t have a lot of strong friends, you know that. Niall’s comin’ by after work to help you put the bedframe together and move the books from the car. Besides, I’ll let you sleepover and everything after we’re all done. I know you loveeeee my bed.”

He did. But more than anything he liked laying in said bed with her. Harry had a hard time admitting he had begun to gain feelings for the girl but deep down he knew he did. He liked that she insisted on cuddles, curling her leg around his and nuzzling her face into his chest, or even better yet the crook of his neck. Loved when she’d sleepily ask him questions about his life and tell him facts about her own. She resembled a tiny kitten while sleepy, insistent on getting all of the pets and attention.

Harry had decided he wasn’t the relationship type after his last girlfriend had cheated on him with his old best mate- but meeting Y/N had reminded him of the die hard romantic that laid underneath the surface. All the hard work he’d had piling up bricks on top of his red, bleeding heart had seemed to be consistently excavated by the pastel wearing girl who still enjoyed the fairy lights he used to see online in those aesthetic bedroom photos. It scared him a bit at first. Even now, he was nervous about the idea of getting closer to her than they were now because her heart was a tender and precious thing and he didn’t necessarily trust himself not to hurt her- but then again, he knew he’d do miles better than anyone else could. He’d spent the time learning about her as the months went by, listening to her drawl on about the pinterest boards she made, her dream finds she always looked for at the thrift stores, her least favorite reality TV contestants, which pastries she found to be too dry at the cafe and which had the best level of moisture, what blankets she liked, every little tidbit he had stored away in his brain to use at a later date.

No one would be as protective of her as he would be, which was why lately he’d been entertaining the thought of perhaps moving past the point of no return and trying to see if maybe, possibly, perhaps.. They could be more.

It had come with a lot of deliberating but he’d come to understand that if he failed, Y/N wouldn’t caste him to the side. She’d never in a million years abandon him like he feared, which only gave him more motivation to go for it though… He was still biding his time. He had to let her get settled here before he shook up her life a bit more.

They were opposites, the sweet girl and him. Harry was quite literally the bad boy cliche of everyone’s after school special’s dreams. His hair was long and curled, brushing his jaw. He went for darker clothing, usually his ripped black skinny jeans and a band tee but sometimes more eccentric with some silk and leaving his tits out when they went on a night out. His nose had a simple black hoop, his nails painted and chipped though this week they were a bubblegum pink, a la Y/N’s expertise. His body was hard from the gym he liked to frequent and inked, only getting more every month. He wore the occasional eyeliner when he felt spicy. That was only the physical things.

Sometimes he wondered why she felt drawn to him, as she said. He was dark and moody with a darker sense of humor. Somewhat of a pessimist, he expected the worst from people and tended to stay away from them the best he could. The opposite of a social butterfly, he only usually went out in the past for a drink or to get his cock wet, never for the pleasure of interacting with people. Even then it was rare considering he did quite well in the hookup area being a bartender himself.

Harry often wondered how and why she felt the pull to be around him and why she felt so at ease in his presence but he figured it had to be that he’d knocked the lights out of a bloke in her philosophy class who’d been riding her ass. He’d made the wrong decision of cornering Y/N at a party Harry had been dragged to, touching her a bit too much and not listening when her smile became thin and she backed away from him after giving a rejection much too polite than the man deserved. There had been no hesitation in laying him out, tugging Y/N into his side and demanding she stay with him for the rest of the party after she insisted she didn’t need to go home.

Funnily enough she’d been a hit with his own small group of friends, everyone also feeling the same sort of kindred protection over her. Not many people were genuinely warm and fuzzy in the way she was.

Y/N was… She was the sun, she was a cinnamon roll fresh baked on a sunday morning, she was a kitten sprawled in a sunbeam. All the good things, he could find a way to relate them to her. That probably should have been the indicator he had feelings for her far sooner than he’d ever let himself admit, but she had taken the time to crack him open.

It was hard to stop thinking about what made her both his opposite and so special. Harry dwelled on how soft her clothing always was, both in color and texture. She liked those pastel colors and fuzzy cardigans, hair bows and those signature mary janes with the tiny heels. Lip oil as opposed to lip gloss because it was ‘too sticky’ but still dragged all his attention to her lips and made him wonder if it really tasted like tangerine like it smelled.

Her touch was gentle and tender, cautious at first but as soon as she got the go ahead, she showered you in attention. At least, she did to him. Brushing stray hairs out of faces and wiping crumbs off cheeks, she had little sense of personal space once granted permission. She’d been mindful of his distaste for touch at the beginning but once he’d leaned into it, the girl had no qualms about straightening his shirt or leaning into his form, hell- there had been a few times she’d helped herself to his lap when there was no other seating option. Usually that was when she was tipsy considering she would most likely be a little shy sober, but that was something he enjoyed.

The light to his dark, he doubted anyone else could make him feel the way she could. Hence why he was up after only getting 4 hours of sleep, sipping the coffee she’d gotten him. There was little he wouldn’t do for a hint of her smile.

—--

“Babe, you’ve got t’make a decision.” Harry said gently, placing the large mirror down and leaning it against the wall.

“I know, I know but… It’s bad luck to have your mirror facing your bed.” She wrung her fingers together. “I’m sorry, H. I know I’ve been a bit of a pain in the rear today. I promise m’not trying to, but It’s my first place and I just want it to be perfect.” Her head looked down, making his heart squeeze.

God damn it. Leave it to her to make him feel like he’d kicked a puppy. Sighing, he tugged the bandana on his head back into place and approached her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “M’not upset with you. Promise. I just think you’re overthinking it a bit.” Her superstitions did tend to make her feel a little squirrely sometimes and he knew it. “We’re gonna make it look perfect. Incredible, even. Reckon the magazines will be calling you up to feature you, but we can’t just have a freestanding mirror slab.” He’d picked it up for her off of craigslist just a bit ago. Even if it wasn’t a dodgy listing, he wouldn’t let her go on her own. That’s how people got kidnapped.

“Ugh, I know.” She groaned, flopping into his chest. Never mind it being sweaty, she rubbed her nose between his tits and let out a tired groan, her hair smacking his chin. It’d been tossed up in a very messy bun that was a bit lopsided but made her look doubly as cute, though he didn’t tell her that. “Why don’t we mount it to the back of your door then? Not facing your bed, or another mirror.”

He could almost hear her brain going as she mulled it over before he felt the nod against his chest. “That will be good, I think. I love that idea.” Y/N had been going back and forth over design choices with him all day as if he had a clue about interior decor, but he had appreciated her caring about his opinion nonetheless. “That can be the last thing we do. Niall’s fucked off somewhere futzing with the books so we can eat after that’s done.”

The thud of his heart against her ear was steady as he gently ran a hand over her shoulderblade. “What’s on the menu?”

“Think we’re ordering pizza because I know m’too tired to cook which means you lot have to be too.” She chuckled, finally prying herself out of his chest and blinking up at him.”Then we can go to bed.” He was thankful her ear was away from his heart so she couldn’t hear the way it stuttered. You’d think after sleeping in her bed a multitude of times that he’d get used to the sound of that sentence but it still did him in every time.

“Okay. I can run and pick it up after I mount this to the door if you call it in.” He knew she wouldn’t want to go. It was visible on her face how tired she was and it melted him internally. He knew that she’d be a little snuggly menace tonight and fuck if he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Gonna run into the pharmacy t’grab some body wash for here, if thats okay?”

“Course it is.” She beamed at the suggestion, making him happy that he’d even brought it up. Y/N used to suggest he sleep heer a lot before and he’d refuse, thinking she was just trying to be polite- but she really did enjoy him staying with her. “I liked the pomegranate one you used last time, just sayin’.” Patting his chest she moved from his grip, heading to grab her phone. “Normal for you?”

“Yeah, love. Same as usual.” He rubbed over the achy spot in his chest that she’d left by pulling away, looking forward to sleeping tonight so he could feel it fill back up.

—-----------

Harry had grabbed the pomegranate bath stuff. He’d grabbed the whole line, actually, the shampoo, conditioner, body wash and some sort of ‘skin buff.’ Whatever that was.

Y/N had squeaked as he showed her, along with a pack of the makeup wipes she usually used and he’d steal. He’d figured it was about time to be the one to buy the replacements. “Ah! And you got the face mask I like.” Her eyes were wide and bright as she bounced on her toes, smacking a kiss to his stubbly cheek before looking back down at the holographic packaging. He’d hoped he had gotten the right one when he’d seen a sale on them when on his way to the check out counter. It was worth the little bit of money to feel her lips for a moment. “Thank you, H. You’re the best, as usual.”

“The hell am I?” Niall scoffed, wiping his hands dry after washing them.

“You’re great too, but he got me the face masks I like and they usually sell out. So he’s a bit higher up in points today.” She placated him, brushing past him to put them in the bathroom. “Harry, plate up the pizza, pretty please!”

As soon as she had disappeared, Niall shot him a look. “When are you two gonna make it official?” He whispered. “The heat eyes bouncin’ off the both of you is sickening at this point. She’s turned you soft.”

Harry settled with a glare, placing two slices on the paper plate and sliding it over to him. “Eventually. Her whole life is shifting. Can’t do shit right now without rattling her.” It was the first time he admitted or even hinted at having feelings for her besides point blank telling anyone who came around that she wasn’t available. Y/N didn’t know he did that though.

“Thank fuck you don’t still have your head up your arse. I was worried you’d never admit you’re gone for her.” He faked wiping sweat off his head making the other man roll his eyes. “She’ll be happy, H. You don’t have to worry about her rejecting you. Just go on and do it. She talks about you like you hang the moon every night at this point even when you aren’t around.”

A weakness he’d spotted, Harry stood a bit straighter before leaning in. “She does? What does she say?” Oh, he hated how desperate he sounded to hear the answer but the fluttering in his stomach made him insisting on finding out.

“Oh, how thoughtful and kind and generous you are and how you’re the best person she knows, all of that. She stares at her phone and waits for texts from you when she comes out and you’re working, gets these huge smiles or giggles when you do. or tries to get everyone to move the party to your bar.”

That last part, he’d hoped for. He liked the idea of her wanting to be physically close to him and suggesting everyone come and see him, but knowing she did the same thing he did when waiting for messages from him soothed a piece of him. He wasn’t alone in it. It was hard sometimes for him to decipher her behavior considering she was genuinely so friendly with everyone and he didn’t want to flatter himself and think it he was special… but apparently he was.

He didn’t have a chance to answer when Y/N glided from the bathroom, finding her spot on the kitchen barstools. “What did I miss?”

“Nothin’, Babe. Just chatting shit.” He murmured, sliding her a plate with her pizza of choice on it. “Figured we’d go to the grocery tomorrow, yeah? It’s a bit sparse in here with the food.” He had the next day off and intended on spending it with her. They’d made lots of progress today and had 80% of the place unpacked, but he knew she liked those restocking videos online. “Think they’ve got those organizers back in stock.”

“Oh!” She gasped.”Yes, you genius. I’ll need your help though, strong man. I like the one trip wonder.” It was a tease considering she knew Harry hated making multiple trips up with bags.

“Lucky for you, you’ve got a lift now and I’ve got that collapsible wagon.” Reaching out he gently flicked her nose for being a brat. “So we won’t have t’worry about that.”

—-----

Y/N was either very oblivious or a tease. Harry could never fully figure out which one.

He sat on her bed, messing with her telly when she emerged from the shower in her little cotton shorts and one of his shirts. It was one he’d just been looking for last week, actually, an old Iron Maiden one with a few holes in the collar area. Unmistakably his. The faded gray complimented her skin, looking extra cozy on her as her powder blue plush bunny slippers flopped against the ground and she made her way to her skincare desk.

“You little thief.” He grumbled from the bed, leaning against her headboard. “I was searching everywhere for that last week.” Though he had narrowed eyes she would know he was only teasing.

“You left it with me, remember? I ended up packing it so I wouldn’t forget it but… It’s super comfy.” She smiled guiltily at him, spinning in her chair. “Is it okay if I wear it? It still smells like your cologne and it helps me sleep sometimes…”

Ah, a shot to the heart.

Y/N didn’t know what it did to him to know he was an aid in good sleep. That it both made his heart stutter and his cock throb at the sight of her wrapped up in his clothing like she had all the rights to it. Like he was her boyfriend and she liked to wear it to remember him. Her scent had a similar effect on him, leaving it in his sheets when she stayed over, “Totally okay, lovely.” He smiled gently. “M’just teasing you. Though it does wonders for my ego to know you like my cologne that much.”

He knew he was making her a little flustered considering she didn’t look right at him, but he thrived off of that. Knowing he made an impact on her like that made him feel just a bit more confident that she felt similarly to him. There was no answer from her, but he wasn’t done with her quite yet. Standing up with a groan, he made his way over to her little makeup and skincare set up, placing his hands on the back of her chair. “What are you putting on your face?” He asked curiously, looking over her head to the products she had neatly organized.

“Well, first I wipe with one of these toning pads.” She opened the little tub, using a tiny pair of clear tongs to grab one. “You don’t want to be sticking your fingers in there and potentially making them all dirty so it came with this little thing. You give it a few passes over your t zone.” She showed him as she did it, Harry watching diligently in the mirror.

“Mmm. Then what? You’re always doin’ all of this fancy stuff to your face. Figure that's why your skin is so pretty.” He let his fingers fiddle with a few strands of hair.

“Thank you.” She said sheepishly, picking up a smaller tube. “Um, I use this undereye cream to help with puffiness and brightening. Its soothing. I apply it with the smallest finger though, because while I’m not afraid of wrinkles it’s the weakest fingers and the skin under your eyes is more delicate.”

Huh. “Didn’t know what.” He was actually learning something from this.

“Mhm. Why do you think I tell you to go gentle when you use the makeup remover?” A smile tilted up one side of her lips a bit further, eyes focused on the mirror in front of her. She pretended not to notice the slight shiver he gave her when he leaned down, letting his face get more level with hers- but he did. He noticed anything he could. “A-And then I use some vitamin C stuff for brightening, a serum and a cream. I use the little fan to make it dry faster so it isn’t sticky.” She pointed to the mini pink fan he’d always noticed. He’d just assumed it was for when she got hot. “Do you… Would you like me to use some of it on you when I’m done?”

She sounded hesitant to ask which he understood. Not a lot of the guys in their friend circle would want that, but he wasn’t that insecure about himself that he’d say no to someone pampering him. Especially not when it meant Y/N getting close to him. “Sure, sweets. I’d love that. Reckon my skin needs it.”

“What do you usually do with it?” She asked curiously, meeting his eye in the mirror.

“Makeup remover, wash my face, that cream you left at my place if I remember.”

“It’s not fair you have the skin you do.” She huffed, shaking her head. “Cruel, actually.” It kind of was. He got long lashes too, which she always complained about. “Go and wash your face first, heathen.”

Harry let out a small laugh before going off to do that. Returning with a fresh face, he stood in his prior position, watching her finish up the routine before holding the fan closer to her face to finish it off. It was an interesting process he hadn’t paid much mind to before, but then again, she didn’t bring every single thing to his place either.

After putting her hair up in a claw clip, she stood up from the plushy chair and motioned for him to sit down. He did as asked, feeling her residual warmth as she lined up the products for them. “Okay, so we start with the toner pad.” She gently pushed him to lean back in the chair, her face coming closer to his as she delicately swiped it over his cheeks and nose. He was getting an up close look at her, noticing the scar near her eyebrow and a few spots on her face. It made him warm up a bit, being able to see her so close when she was awake. Usually this level of observation was reserved for when she was asleep. “Oi, keep your head up.”

“Sorry.” He laughed, avoiding the impulse to move the chair back and forth. He liked to swing on it at times.

“Wait- how about this.” Without giving it much thought, she gripped the chair and swung it over to turn his body to the side, helping herself to straddle his lap. “This seems a little easier, no?” Fingers gently tipped his chin up, eyes focused on her motions.

Harry’s breath had disappeared. No longer available, he felt her sitting on top of his thighs, innocent as ever as she went through the motions. Tender with her movements and pressure, she was treating him like porcelain while giving him a little makeover. He should be focused on how nice the products felt on his skin, but his mind was elsewhere.

She smelled amazing, as usual, but having it this close up was a little hard for him. Yes, she sat on his lap before- but not in his shirt, with her thighs on display and tiny little shorts. She didn’t straddle him before either, didn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. All his energy was focused on trying to ensure she didn’t feel the stiffy that was quickly growing in his pants.

“I can’t believe how good you’re being for me, H.” She whispered. “No whining or anything.” Her smile was soft as she wiped the serum over his face. “You’re so pretty.”

Fuck. He swallowed thickly, trying desperately to not let his cock construe those words into the filthy praise kink he had, but it appeared to be a bit too late for that. She had no idea what she was doing to him and he didn’t want to be a perv, but god damn. If the girl continued, there would be no denying that he’d cream his damn pants. Being pet on, feeling her brush his hair off his forehead while she stroked his face and adjusted his position to where she wanted… He was only so strong. “Thanks.” He murmured, trying to keep his composure.

“Of course.” She beamed, seeming pleased. “I’m surprised you’re letting me do this, but you’re full of surprises.” It seemed like she didn’t know the battle he was facing internally, which was his goal, but that was soon to be ruined. “Hold on a second.” Shifting slightly on his lap, she stood up momentarily before sliding further up. “Sorry, I was falling down a bit-”

Harry hadn’t meant to, he really fucking didn’t. But she sat right on top of him, squirming a bit. Giving his dick a bit of friction, making his hands grip her hips and sit her down hard to stop the movement. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t face her as he heard the hitch in her breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Sorry, I didn’t- I promise m’not being a creep or anything.” He winced. “Just been a while and uh-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Her voice rang out, fingers brushing through his hair. “H, look at me. I’m not mad.” Of course, her words were sweet and syrupy, going right to his dick yet again. Y/N had no fucking idea how much she effected him, how many times he’d thought about her in this positon and how guilty he felt that he’d turned a sweet moment into something like this. “C’mon. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

He took a moment before opening his eyes, looking at her face. Studying it, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. Her hand cupped the side of his face, a slight pout on her pretty lips. Y/N didn’t seem upset about it, seeing as she sat still and could most definitely feel his cock under her. He could feel her cunt over him, hot through the fabric and he was doing everything in his power to be fucking normal.

“There you are.” The tables had finally turned. Harry was the shy one in this moment and Y/N was the one seemingly not freaked out. “It’s a natural body function, H. I know you’re not some kind of perv. I sat on your lap, remember?” She soothed his nerves. “Besides, I’m flattered. Was beginning to think you thought I was some kind of troll or something.” The smile kicked up on her face, but his frown deepened.

“The fuck? Why would you think that?” Brows furrowed, he didn’t like that she thought he didn’t find her attractive. He called her pretty quite a bit.

“Well, I’m not your type. You go for all those tattooed girls with the bad ass attitudes, which is cool cause I think they’re hot too but… I’m all soft and squishy, y’know? I like the soft things, kinda the opposite of you so I just thought I wasn’t someone you’d be attracted to. M’nothing like what you go for.” She didn’t seem offended by this, rather stating it matter of fact- but Harry couldn’t believe how wrong she was. He had to wonder how long she thought this.

While he was secretly pining after her, she was thinking he was going off to get blowies by the girls that flirted with him which, sometimes he did. At the beginning of their friendship, he tried to stave off those feelings for her by getting someone else underneath him, fucking away the frustration but he learned fairly quickly that none of it did much when his mind was on someone else. It’d been months at this point. Sure, he liked a bit of flirting to boost his ego, but that was only when Y/N was preoccupied.

“Well, you’re wrong.” He said sternly. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Dunno where the troll idea came in when m’always staring at you.” He scoffed. “No more of that bullshit. Wouldn’t be hard if I didn’t think you were stunning. Trust me.” In fact, she was the only thing that got him hard these days. Thinking of her mouth, her thighs, her tits, her ass, anything. Even her hands, for fucks sake. “Don’t ever doubt how beautiful you are t’me. Pisses me off.”

“Sorry.” She bleated, pouting back at him. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just.. You call me pretty but I never would have thought you meant it like that. I like that you let me cuddle you and stuff so obviously I know you aren’t repulsed by me but, I dunno.” She swallowed, looking down at his bare chest. “I’m sorry for getting you… if you’re uncomfortable.”

God, he was mucking this up wasn’t he? He shook his head, letting his thumbs rub over her hips as he softened his face. “No, sweets. Don’t apologize. S’not a big deal, I’m not mad at you. Just don’t like the idea of you thinking poorly of yourself. You’re fucking stunning.” So stunning that his cock was still hard under her. “I’ll go take care of it when we’re done, but no more squirming. Okay?” Squeezing her, he tried to rectify the situation. “No more fussing.”

“But…” Y/N’s lips twisted slightly, sliding her hands down to his shoulders. “That’s not fair.”

Harry blinked a few times, looking her over hesitantly. “What d’you mean? I’m okay, pet.”

“Well, It’s my fault that you’re like this.” She protested. “I can fix it, if you want. Haven’t given too many blowies before, but I can take instruction pretty well.”

Harry truly thought he was dreaming for a moment, his face hot as she gave him an innocent look. Like she meant it, though it slightly embarrassed her for not having a lot of experience. But feeling her shift on him clued him back into reality. This was real. “You- You don’t have to do anything for me, Y/N.” He was holding on by a string. “You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your responsibility to get me off just because my cock’s got a mind of his own.”

Y/N huffed again, shaking her head. “I want to. Can I?” Her face shifted slightly. “You’re not making me do anything. It would make me feel better If i could take care of you.” Her eyes met his. “I mean it. Promise.”

And god, if Harry was a stronger man he’d lift her off his lap and insist on taking care of it himself. He’d explain that it could make lines blurry and he liked her a bit more than a friend and they’d have that talk. But he wasn’t a stronger man, and she rolled her hips on him again with a hum, making his head fall back when she repeated the action. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. “As long as.. As long you’re sure. I don’t want you to regret it or anything.”

“I won’t.” She peeped. “I like making you feel good, Harry.” Her face seemed brighter as she watched him nod.

“Go on then, sweetheart.” He sighed. “I’ll show you what I like.”

Never in a million years had he expected her to be visibly excited, slipping off his lap and on to her knees in front of him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eyes looked up at him with curiosity, hands running over his thighs as she waited for direction. He’d dreamt of this so many times, stroked off in the bathroom to this very mental image to get his load out quicker. His cock pulsed inside his sweats. This was really happening. “M’not wearing briefs under these.” He warned, pushing the waistband down as he slowly tugged himself out of the pants. His hand was slightly shaky ass he gave himself a squeeze at the base, a soft hiss leaving his teeth when her hand covered his own.

“I’ve only done it a few times but…” Her eyes widened. “Yours is the prettiest I’ve seen.”

And fuck if that didn’t get him going. Harry took pride in his dick, as a lot of men did, but to get that compliment was better than anything else. His hair was normally trimmed shorter, but it had been a while. It was groomed a bit at the base, his happy trail leading up his stomach. “Thank you.” He mumbled, removing his hand and letting hers take over. Y/N was eager and that much was obvious, feeling her give him a few strokes as she shuffled closer in between his spread thighs. “I- I probably won’t last long. I wasn’t lying, it’s been a while.” And he’d imagined her in this position so many times that he was programmed to get off to it quickly.

“That’s okay. You’re quite big so it’ll be better for my jaw.” She giggled. Fucking giggled while her thumb rubbed over the slit, making him shudder. He’d always imagined she’d be much more shy in this situation, but again he was proven wrong. “What do you like?”

Honestly? He could cum just like this. Her stroking him slow, looking up at him with that pretty little face. Splatter her pretty face with pearly strings leaking from the slit of his cock, let it drip down her cheeks and chin. But she wouldn’t like that answer. “I’m okay with anything you give me, but I… I like to hear you.” He swallowed, a shaky exhale leaving his nose. “And uh, a bit wet. If that’s something you’d like.”

Y/N looked like she was taking note, nodding at his words. “I want to know what you like, m’okay with anything.” She smiled. “I knew you had to be big cause.. Y’know you’ve got the energy. And I’ve felt it a few times when we cuddle, before you wake up. It’s just different to see it.” Y/N leaned her head on his thigh, continuing to jerk him off. “I’ll probably choke a little bit, cause you’re the biggest I’ve taken. It’s okay though, I’ll be fine. I’ll pinch your tummy or somthin’ if I need a second to breathe.”

Who the fuck was she? Y/N had never, ever shown or hinted at being filthy in her life, but here she was. Talking about choking on his cock. He throbbed in her hand, making her eyebrows raise. “You liked that. Noted.” Leaning forward, she kept eye contact with him as she dragged her pink tongue from the base up to the tip, letting it sit there for a moment before she pulled away, giving him a few more strokes. “You can show me what you like too. Don’t be shy about it, H. I want you to feel good.”

Harry nearly lost it as he watched those gorgeous lips purse, spitting right over the tip. It slipped down his length before her hand caught it, stroking and spreading it over his cock. Filthy, filthy things filled his tongue immediately, but he tried to pace himself. “Fuck me…” He whispered, gently gathering her hair in his hand. “I didn’t know you had this in you, gorgeous.” It nearly bowled him over. “Can you.. Take it in your mouth. Suck the tip for me. I want to see that.”

Normally, he had no problem being a cocky, arrogant man. He was dominant most of the time with his hook ups- but Y/N wasn’t just a hook up to him. She was special. He didn’t want to do a single thing to potentially fuck this up. He wanted her to like this, to see how much he liked it too. She had no problems following instructions, the man watching as her lips stretched around the tip and dipped down a bit as she suckled on it. A soft hum left her mouth and vibrated over him as he curled the hair around his fist, making him groan. “Yeah, jus’ like that, angel. Fuck.” He kept his eyes on her as she bobbed shallowly, taking moments to rub her tongue over his leaking slit. “You’re so good, so sweet t’me. Can’t believe you’re doin’ this.”

Y/N pulled off the tip, lips wet as she peered up at him. “I’ve thought about it before.” She whispered, lapping over the side of his length. “Wanted to see your cock. I knew it’d be pretty.”

What the fuck? Harry’s brian felt fried, completely caught off guard by this information. Sure, he had thought maybe once or twice she was teasing him but it wasn’t often. Y/N was just so sugary sweet and kind, a slight air of innocence, and… Now she was telling him she’d thought about sucking him off before. “You have?”

“Mhm.” She stroked him a bit firmer, the slick sound of her hand around his wet cock getting louder. “I heard.. Heard rumors and felt left out. You like me the best but you never asked me to do anything.” Rubbing the tip over her pouted lips, Harry was shocked yet again.

“Cause y’mean more to me than any of the other people.” He swallowed. “Too fuckin’ sweet. I like you the best, you’re right but.. You’re my sweet girl. Didn’t want t’use you for anything like that. Would break my heart if I hurt you and you’d not want to see me again.”

“What if I wanted you to use me?” She asked, peering up at him with those eyes. They drove him absolutely mad. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me unless I asked, H. You’re so good to me… I just want to be good for you too.” Taking the tip back into her mouth, she pushed herself down further and he felt his stomach clench. It took him off guard, feeling the hot mouth take him down and bob herself against him, a soft hum vibrating over him.

“Oh- Fuck.” He let out a broken groan, leaning further back into the chair. “You are, baby, you fucking are. Hot little mouth… shit.” She whimpered around his cock at his words, sucking a little harder as her hand stroked the rest of him. She liked that. “What is it, hm? Like when I call you baby? When I tell you how perfect you are?” His words got a bit darker. He was slipping into another headspace and Y/N seemed to be coaxing it on.

She did a half ass nod, not pulling off his length as she continued. Harry wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that she’d be a greedy girl like this, but he was incredibly thankful that she was. “You are. Such a good girl, so gorgeous with your mouth stretched around my cock. Didn’t know you were gagging for it, baby. Should’ve told me.” He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t have wasted my loads in the shower before comin’ t’bed with you. Could’ve pushed into your needy mouth and let you swallow it down.”

Y/N moaned around his prick, eyes watering slightly as she looked at him. He’d never seen a better sight. “You’re so beautiful, angel. So pretty. Didn’t know such a filthy thing could have you lookin’ even more beautiful.” His throat felt thick as his cock throbbed in her mouth. “Fuck, you don’t even know how many times I’ve thought about it.”

Y/N pulled off, panting slightly as webs of saliva connected her mouth to his cock. “How much?” Her voice was a little hoarse, but he could hear that she was desperate to know. “You- You could have. I don’t want you to waste it anymore.” There was the tiny bit of shyness coming back in. “If umm, if you think I’m good enough at this. I’ll do it.”

“Fuck me, baby.” His thumb wiped over her spit soaked lips, breaking the threads of spit as he caressed her cheek. “All the fucking time. S’the only thing that gets me off.” Confessions he hadn’t thought he’d be saying so soon, let alone before he’d ever kissed her, spilled from him. “You’re doing amazing. More than good enough, too fucking good for me.” He couldn’t believe she was offering. “You sure you want t’be the one to take care of it?”

“Yes, I want it. I don’t want anyone else to do it.” She pleaded. “I’ll be the best for you. Just- you can tell me and I’ll suck you or, or anything you want.” Harry tested it, gently pushing her head back towards his prick- which she immediately took back in her mouth. The perfect, wet heat bringing him back to that filthy place in his head.

How could she think he could ever say no? She’d been his weakness since she brought him over that damn cupcake.

“Oh, sweet girl. Anything?” He cooed. “Dangerous thing to promise me. Don’t want anyone else to do it either.” His breathing was getting harder, trying not to thrust his hips up into her mouth and make her take it all. Sure, she’d probably do it, but he still felt the need to be delicate with her. “Take a little more for me, baby. Just like- there, there you go.” He praised, mouth falling open as she did exactly what he wanted. “Gonna make me cum.”

This felt a million times better than rubbing one out in her bathroom. His legs were near vibrating, the wet sound of her mouth taking him down and the clicks of her hand stroking his spit soaked cock filling her bedroom. This was the last thing he’d expected was her on her knees for him tonight and part of him wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a wet dream, but he was thanking whatever higher power that was up there that his sweet girl had a dirty side to her. One he wanted to be the only one privileged enough to see.

“In my mouth.” She gasped, pulling up for a moment. “Want to taste you. Please?”

How could he ever tell her no?

Pushing her back down on his cock, he let his hips rise up and shallowly thrust into her mouth as she moaned around him, drooling down her chin and letting him use her the way he needed to get off. The best part was knowing she was enjoying it so much. It was a miracle he’d lasted this long already, but he attributed that to shock. She was dirty, his sweet girl, choking slightly on his cock as the tip hit her throat, but she made no move to want to stop.

His last straw, though, was feeling her hand over his balls, whining around him as he let out his deepest groan yet. It was sloppy and messy and so fucking good that he felt lightheaded, tummy hot and legs weak as he felt himself approach his end. “Fuck, jus’ like that, your fucking mouth is perfect… fuck, fuck, fuck, baby- M’gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna-” His voice failed as his head fell back, lifting his hips as his cum began to pour into her mouth. Ribbon after ribbon coating her throat, pulling back a bit to get it on her tongue while she worked him through it.

He didn’t realize he had so much in him, but perhaps it was just Y/N that made him cum this much. This hard. His ears rung a bit, curses leaving his mouth as he watched her mouth open and hand stroke him to see the pearly mess on her tongue. At the last little bit,he used his grip on her hair to tug her up to his face.

“C’mere, sweet girl. Share with me, don’t be greedy.” holding her face while the other had her hair, he pulled back into his lap and her mouth to his and groaned as she licked over his tongue, sharing the remnants of his load with him. It was something a bit nasty and deprived, he knew, but Y/N merely moaned back, her clean hand curling around the back of his neck.

The kisses slowed from frantic and hot, to softer, slow and sweet. Pecking her lips over and over again, her whimpers melted into giggled as he untangled from her hair, sliding his hand under the shirt she had on to get some bare skin on his fingertips. “Sweetest thing, most beautiful girl.” He murmured between kisses. “Thank you. Best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re jus’ saying that.” She whispered, though the smile was difficult to wipe off her face. Obviously she liked praise just as much as him.

“Nope. Mean every word.” He confirmed, rubbing his nose over her cheek. “Thank you, baby. Felt so damn good, can’t feel my legs now.” Harry’d never felt like this after a blowie, both in his legs and the fondness he felt for the girl. If there had been any doubts about his feelings for her whatsoever, they were shattered. He was so far gone for her, it was pathetic.

“Good.” She smiled, feeling the kiss to his cheek. “I need to finish your skincare, though. So tuck yourself back in, cause m’gonna do that and then brush my teeth again. Though.. I can tell you’ve got a good diet. Tasted nice.”

Though Harry knew cum never really tasted good, he was chuffed that she hadn’t minded. Even more, that she hadn’t minded indulging in sharing with him. “M’not selfish, I need to help you too.” He reminded, though she merely shook her head.

“I’ll take a raincheck. M’so tired now, and I want to enjoy it fully.” Pecking his cheek in return, she picked up the moisturizer. “Think you need a lip mask too. Thankfully, you’re in the right hands.”

Harry was sometimes a selfish lover with hookups and he could admit that, but with Y/N he never wanted to be that way. He wanted to make her feel good, but he could wait. It only made him anticipate it more- there would be a next time.

“Okay, sweets.” He chuckled. “Do whatever you’d like.”

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