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cursedmoon-doll13 · 10 months

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If It Serves You.

(Headmaster!Severus Snape x Reader)

Cw: Non/Dubcon + Aftermath, Afab Reader, Dark-ish Snape, Unprotected Sex, Powerplay, Sex as Bargaining, Facefucking, Crying, Fingering, Creampie, Begging, Degradation (use of slut) and Praise, Reader calls Snape ‘Headmaster,’ Former Student Reader, Mentions of Torture/Child Abuse, Denial of Feelings.

READ WITH CAUTION

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: As a professor of Hogwarts, your past ambitions, your fragile hope and unrelenting diligence have all led to nothing. Now, you are powerless beneath the rising force of He Who Must Not Be Named and his army of Death Eaters. The only thing left you have to give is your pride; your weak and vulnerable body.

Or, you beg the new headmaster to show mercy to your students in exchange for sexual favours.

Dividers by @/saradika

Of course, there was no pressing need to check and recheck the potions’ storage. Certainly no need to catalogue it twice. You did almost it out of instinct, or force of habit. Yes, It’s healthy to maintain a routine, including routine inspections, just like- just like-

“Professor ___,” comes a gruff voice from behind. In your nervous state, you imagine it is a Carrow, and freeze in panic. “Why are you here?”

You whirl around. No. It’s Professor Slughorn.

“Oh,” you straighten your robes. “Horace. I was just taking inventory.”

“Were you? I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” He says brusquely.

“Of course, of course you can.”

Your voice carries the same placid, appealing tone with which you’ve used to calm your pupils. You wince at the sound of it. Then, his expression loosens. Not immediately, but little by little, settling into the creases and wrinkles of stress and age. His walrus moustache droops into a familiar frown.

“I’m… I’m very sorry, ___,” he says. “Whenever I leave my storage unattended for too long, I take this terrible notion that some very bright and brilliant student is going to brew a polyjuice potion. Heh.”

His laughter rings rather hollow.

“Yes, those were my thoughts exactly,” you concede, heaving a sigh. “It would be so simple. Not for all of them, but some of our best could do it. And then they would make a reckless attempt at escaping, or even try to impersonate one of those Death…”

You stop yourself, and peer carefully into his face.

You’ve noticed how Horace has visibly deflated, how he has lost his colour over the past few months. How could you not? You would never accuse the Slug of being slovenly, but you’re well aware that beneath all the powder his eye-bags are as sunken as yours.

“It is unfortunate that one of my… One of our best…” It seems that he cannot finish his sentence. Nonetheless, you know who she is.

“It’s a very unfortunate thing,” Professor Slughorn mutters idly. “Very unfortunate…”

He’s fiddling with a ring on one liver-spotted finger. His lips purse periodically, as if a throb in his temple is threatening to burst.

“Horace, It’ll all be alright,” you try to reassure him, knowing you cannot guarantee this.

The only response you receive is a distant nod. He does not stop fussing over his ring. Then, he turns abruptly stony again:

“Well, then,” he says. “You’d best be on your way.”

He dismisses you as curtly as he would a student, but you don’t protest. You know that when you leave, he will pacify his anxiety with a sleeping draught.

As you exit the dungeon and traverse the silent halls, the early winter chill rattles straight through your bones. It seems that Hogwarts grows colder each passing day; colder and emptier. Even when teaching, your classroom is as quiet as death.

Alchemy has never been a popular elective, and now you are down to very few students. Some had also disappeared completely over the Summer, mostly those without Pureblood status or families to support them… You try not to ponder too deeply on it. For their sake - and perhaps also for your own - you keep it together.

Yes. You must stay stubborn and strong. Especially considering what you are about to do now.

You shiver in your thin robes outside of the Headmaster’s office. The griffin sentinel glares haughtily down at you, and for a second you fancy it alive, judging you guilty for some crime. Thinking this, You glance this way and that, wary of onlookers.

But all of the students are asleep; or at least, they should be. Most of your coworkers have also retired for the evening. You here stand alone.

You take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Sugar Quill.” Your voice echoes eerily.

The griffin does not budge. The new headmaster has changed the password, of course. You suspected as much, but it was still worth attempting.

“Amortentia,” you try next. No response.

You shift, acutely aware of how ridiculous you must appear; a Hogwarts professor stumped by a statue.

“Polyjuice. Veritaserum. Bezoar… Asphodel.”

Nothing.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you huff, already spiked with tight, uneasy tension. “It was so much easier when Dumbledore…”

A low, heavy rumble breaks your train of thought as the spiral staircase emerges. You quickly mount it and climb upwards, boots clattering on the rising stone. It gives way to a large study lined with bookshelves.

You’ve made it into Dumbledore’s office.

Except it is no longer his. You must remind yourself of this fact often, and each time it stings, like a tiny pricking thorn ingrown into the heart. The study is far draughtier than you remember; devoid and bereft in the absence of Fawkes.

No, Albus is not here. Instead, what scowls over at you from behind the Headmaster’s desk is the unmistakable face of Severus Snape, and he does not appear pleased to see you.

“Kindly inform me why you are in my office.” His voice is slow and measured, but you can sense the venom lurking underneath.

“I don’t remember ever giving you the password,” he continues, alighting from his chair. “Or have you picked up that nasty eavesdropping habit from one of our pupils?”

He spat that last word as if it was a curse.

“No, Severus,” you say quickly. “I guessed it.”

Severus. Or Professor Snape. But now…

You think you catch him pale ever-so-slightly, or perhaps that is the dim lighting of the room, casting dark, creeping shadows across the floor. While there has never been a cordiality or warmth to your relationship, you recognise that you have been spared the worst of his barbed hostility.

Before now, that is; now, the distance between you is far too great.

“Did you now?” He sneers.

In response, you draw up, mindful not to appear challenging as you tip your chin.

“I’m here because I have a proposition for you,” you announce clearly. “I hoped you would be reasonable and hear me out.”

Snape’s eyes narrow icily and suddenly you are in his Potions class again, overseen with strict authority. One wrong move, and the concoction will spoil and poison you. His black robes billow as he approaches, expanding like the hood of a cobra.

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me,” he says, folding one shrouded arm over another. “And so there is nothing to discuss. Leave.”

Your nerves are strung so tight, you can’t help but object: “The Carrows are far too cruel in their methods! Too brutal. The students-”

“Are very fortunate to have been granted mercy by the Dark Lord,” Snape interrupts, and you swallow thickly. Of course, you could not have forgotten the festering dark mark that now itches underneath his robes, writhing and serpentine.

“But it isn’t enough,” you say, throat sandpaper dry. A rush of urgency floods your system. Now. It needs to be now, before you lose your courage.

(A gash on the cheek, a row of dark-purplish bruises and welts, a swollen eye, whippings and burns, scars from chains, all so frightened, but brave still.)

“If you agree to grant my students your protection,” your voice falters. “I will give… Myself to you.”

The silence that follows is agonising. His expression is indecipherable; taut and stiff. You’re beginning to think that maybe you weren’t transparent enough.

Your trembling hands drift towards your top buttons, and you start to undo them bit by bit.

“Stop,” Snape orders.

At this, you freeze. Your heart plummets starkly into your intestines. Oh. You hadn’t even considered that he would - or could - reject your offer. You fear you may have tipped the bubbling cauldron over and left it melting through the carpet. As you linger numbly, Snape’s tongue darts between his lips. Light flashes behind his stern black eyes.

Perhaps he’s considering it, perhaps…

“Come here,” he says sharply. You obey.

Shuddering in the winter chill, you watch the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, the twitch of his lids as his gaze dips steadily downward… Snape’s forefinger comes to brush the fabric from your shoulder, his knuckle grazing your collarbone, and your pulse quickens anew.

“I’ll do anything,” you plead. “Please, Severus.”

“You will refer to me as ‘Headmaster,’” he corrects.

“Headmaster…”

You suck in a shaky breath. Standing this close to him, you can make out the lilac rims of his sunken eyes and the worry lines on his forehead.

He’s tired… The thought springs to mind, unbidden.

The hand that tends to the rest of your buttons is not rough, but the coldness of his touch makes you flinch. Snape pulls down your outer robes in one swift motion, and you can’t help but gasp. Your nipples perk from the chill, skin prickled with goosebumps. Underwear was unnecessary, and though you knew that from the start, you are stripped so quickly it still leaves you cringing. He moves to fondle your breasts, and your breathing shallows. You stare desperately towards the floor, towards some old, faded tea stain.

“Fall on your knees, ___,” he tells you.

You kneel quickly in front of him, and he moves to cup the nape of your neck. You don’t need to be instructed; you do your best to steady your hands and unfasten the button over his crotch. You nudge out his dick, and see that he’s already half-hard.

Before he changes his mind, you spit into your palm and use it as lubricant as you get to work jerking him off. You can feel him watching you, silent and still. This situation is completely wrong, all wrong, but the awkwardness of it is almost juvenile.

“___,” he calls above you. You stiffen. You know that cautionary tone. “If you have enough cheek to wag your tongue at me, you can also use it for this.”

You nod faintly, licking your lips. Of course, you should have prepared for this, too, but you have barely even steeled your nerves. Hesitant, you lean forward and run your tongue along the shaft, tracing a vein. Your movements are practically mechanical; dispensing small, kitten licks over the tip, continuing to stroke him. This is now a kind of out-of-body experience for you, the sort of bizarre circumstance you can only encounter in a very strange dream.

But then, Snape decides your next course of action for you, clutching your jaw and muffling your whimpers as he sinks into your mouth.

A teardrop falls softly onto your chest, and it only occurs to you now that you’re crying. You gag out a sob as the tip of Snape’s cock hits the back of your throat, unable to prevent loose spit from dribbling down your chin. Above you, his breath hitches.

“Open your eyes,” he demands.

You didn’t know you had closed them; squeezed them tightly shut. You peek up at his pale face.

His pupils are blown wide, almost entirely black. Snape forbids you to keep eye-contact with a firm grip over your head, and you gag again as he rocks his hips. You clutch his thighs for purchase while he fucks your face, tears streaming down your cheeks. For distraction, you try to focus on him, and his pleasure-stricken expression lulls you in like hypnosis; the tightness of his lips, his dark brows slightly furrowed, the minute twitches in his jaw.

Snape’s thrusts begin to stutter, but he tightens his hold on you and forces you to take all of him. He drags in a sharp intake of breath, and warm, slightly bitter cum pools onto your tongue.

“Swallow it. All of it.”

You gasp for air, gulping it down hastily.

“You'll be getting used to the taste of me. Stand.”

Snape urges you up and steers you over to his table. Before you can blink, you’re whirled around and caged against his desk. The edge of it cuts harshly into your naked thighs, and you yelp. You can feel his long black hair sweep over your neck, a sensation that is almost ticklish. Snape yanks down your robes and they fall limply around your boots. Now, you are truly exposed, shivering and naked. The only source of warmth is his body heat pressed into your back, the starched, dark fabric of his clothing.

His cool hand dips around and feels down your stomach, and your breath hitches as Snape unexpectedly plunges several fingers into your pussy. You shock yourself with how slick you are, mortified at the way he tsks behind you:

“Little slut. Is this what you’ve always wanted?” Snape hisses into your ear, spreading the pads of his fingertips over your labia, teasing your clit.

“Yes!” You choke out.

“Yes, Headmaster,” he pinches your clit warningly and it feels like an electric shock.

“Yes, yes Headmast- ah…!”

He starts to rub in rough, merciless circles, and you immediately try to stifle a cry against your wrist. Snape rips it impatiently from you.

“Don’t even try to deny it. I can feel how wet you are.”

It’s surely not the truth. Surely, you tell yourself...

One long, deft forefinger slips into your slit and pumps steadily in and out. You let out a soft moan, unable to resist the quivering thrill that coils in your abdomen. You didn’t realise he would even try to prep you, and, against your will, you feel some of your fear dissipate.

“You think I didn’t notice, did you?” He scoffs. “Always so desperate for my attention, always clamouring for a better grade.”

Memories of your seventh year at Hogwarts resurface and spiral dizzily in your head. The newest, youngest professor, but strict and competent, and—

Dark, sweeping cloak, black hair, black eyes…

I even once wished I could brush away the strands…

Then he retracts his fingers, slowly, torturously, You hate how you yearn for his touch in its absence, how you crave the buzz to smother your discomfort.

Snape bends you cleanly over the polished table, your still damp breasts pressing into the hardwood. He traces a long, thin finger down your back, tracing languidly across your spine; you could almost believe his touch is tender. Almost. Instinctively, you try to turn your head to face him, but he denies you with a firm hand gripping the base of your neck. You whimper as he lathers cold precum on your thighs, positioning his straining dick over your entrance:

“…Or was it praise you were hoping for?” His voice is low and subdued. Snape’s breath fans over you, and for a moment you falter.

No, of course you don’t expect—

No, not from Professor Snape. Only your best was acceptable. To elicit a nod of approval, or even a commending glance, you couldn’t possibly hope—

“Headmaster, I— I only ever wanted you to…”

“Beg for it,” his tone sharpens again.

Snape slips the tip of his cock inside your folds. But then, he stops, and does not move. You are trapped between his desk and him, left pitiful and squirming.

“Headmaster,” you say weakly. “Please.”

“Please what, ___?”

You grit your teeth, still bristling at the indignity of it all. But you know that, whether he’s enjoying himself or not, Snape has the patience to wait this out.

“Please, fuck me!” you plead.

You gasp as he grips your thighs and slides himself in further with a lewd, wet sound. Your walls stretch around him as you adjust to his length. He groans softly and rolls his hips, sinking deeper into your cunt, until you’re utterly full of him.

Despite it all, it feels sinfully good, but his movements are so sluggish that you can’t help but whine pathetically into the wooden table.

“And what exactly is it that you’ve always wanted?”

What I always wanted, when I was in Potions class…

“For you to p-praise me, Headmaster.”

In an instant, you realise this is true. Deep down, you have always hoped for his sole attention… And now he’s invading that dark, primordial world in between, spurring on those secret and forbidden desires you should never have conceived.

Snape slowly pulls out, dragging every inch of his cock, and then snaps his hips back in, briefly hitting that sweet, sensitive spot that has you seeing stars.

“Please!” You add, letting out a shrill moan.

“And do you? Do you want this…?”

He mutters so quietly, it almost sounds like he’s begging you. Snape’s pace is set now, rocking powerfully into you as you fill the air with loud, desperate whimpers.

“I do!” You breathe, mind-numbingly uncertain.

But it doesn’t matter anymore if you want it or not; the sensation is so overbearing and so ruthless, unforgiving and unfair, just like him. You’re barely cognizant of the arms that curl around your naked waist, almost embracing you, until they provide cushioning against the sharp desk.

“You take me so well,” he murmurs, “So well.”

Your head spins, threatening to give up on you completely. You could never have predicted such a drastic change in demeanour. The way he’s treating you now is so different from his earlier cruelty; his affectionate caresses might be almost loving.

“So tight, so good for me…” He groans again, heavily, and the vibrations thrill up your spine as he spears you on his dick. “You’re doing perfectly.”

He kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, sighing blissfully. You can feel the spiking thrum of Snape’s heartbeat, the soft touch of his lips on your neck, kissing reverently over your shoulder blade. You wish you could just see the expression on his face, if you could only see Severus for one moment…

“Headmaster,” you pant, craning your head.

“Don’t,” he says hurriedly. “Don’t look at me.”

Snape doesn’t relent, forcing you firmly in place with a hard squeeze on your shoulder. There’s something thick and vulnerable in his voice that you can’t place, but all you can respond with is a needy cry as he speeds up, angling his thrusts just right. You can feel the familiar shock of pleasure coiling up in your belly now, surging from how deep he reaches.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I?” He snaps without warning, bursting with emotion again. You can only nod frantically in response.

“Yes, yes, Headmaster!” You sob, your eyes stinging with tears again.

Snape’s movements only grow stronger, his breathing heavier and huskier. His fingernails are digging small, half-moon indents into your skin. You don’t try to stifle the wanton moans that spill from your lips anymore, clawing for purchase at the wood.

“___… When you cum, you cum for me.”

Uncontrollably, you arch into the table. Your leg is cramping up from the exertion, muscles pulled taut, and you’re going to, you’re going to—

Your orgasm drowns the rest of your thoughts in static, white, hot bliss that smothers you. Snape shudders and moans as he buries himself to the hilt, pumping you full of his seed. His black cloak sweeps over you as he pulls out, far too soon, leaving you quivering and dripping with his cum.

The last, mangled strands of lucidity swim hazily in your mind. It takes a moment for you to remember why you were here at all.

After a few seconds, he releases you from the confines of his desk without a word. You bend down and hoist the ring of fabric up past your hips again, though your skin is sticky and damp. After a deep, shaky breath, you dare to glance at Snape.

There’s a thin sheet of sweat beading his forehead. Snape helps you pull your robes over your shoulders. He silently fastens your buttons back up again for you, and his touch is surprisingly gentle. You don’t rebuff him. Your hands are trembling enough as it is.

“Promise me that you’ll…” You halt.

Your vision is still blurry, but you could swear he looks like the old Severus. Not the figurehead or the professor, but the man. The Severus you once knew.

There’s a strange look in his eyes that you don’t understand, and maybe you never will.

You’re so dead tired you can barely drag your feet back to the staff’s living quarters. You wake Minerva— or, no, she is already occupied by her usual routine of restless pacing, tugging at her tartan dressing-gown. While she does interrogate you a bit crossly, you can tell she empathises with your ‘insomnia.’

After that you gulp down a contraceptive and stumble into bed, boneless and weary. You don’t cry at all, though you feel that you probably should.

In a way, you’re glad that Minerva doesn’t appear concerned or worried for you. That means she hasn’t found out. There was a persistent paranoia in the back of your mind that she had, that Minerva had seen or heard or sensed it somehow.

You wonder if she’d feel disgusted, or if she would simply pity you. Maybe that would be worse.

You flick your wand and flush out the light.

No. No one needs to know what you’ve done.

A month passes. The grip of winter releases its hold, and spring emerges in its wake, fresh and pure. It’s as if you can finally breathe again.

You hope that you do not imagine the way your student’s faces regain some semblance of warmth. You hope you do not imagine the unmarred bodies, mercifully free from wounds. You also hope that it is not their own schemes or plans that embolden them.

They should leave those matters to you.

Somehow, it feels like the nightmare is almost over. But not yet. Not yet. You still await your orders, and nurse lofty dreams of freedom in your heart.

When night falls, you strip off your underclothes and climb the spiral staircase once more. It is not excitement that tightens your chest, but it is also not dread. Perhaps something else you also do not understand, and cannot afford to think of now.

Headmaster Snape is standing by his desk. You realise he’s been waiting for you. He has that strange, mystifying look in his eyes again.

He offers you a hand.

“Come here,” he says.

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futurecorps3 · 11 months

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I'm just saying, if you did James Babe Potter with a busty reader, you should do one with a big ass one... Just because the one with the busty one was GREAT. I read it and re-read it, and I thank the anon who asked for it and I thank you for writing it!

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Masterlist<3

MINORS STAY AWAY I'LL BLOCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU, THIS IS +18!!!

See also… All marauders versions in my marauders masterlist<3

I'm a James is a tits and thighs man truther but imma write this for the sake of you all thick girlies <3 I was dammed with big tits no ass so consider this piece of fiction MERE FANTASY for me but a reality for some lucky others. Tysm nonnie!<3

-Always touching it.

-Uses it as a pillow so often it's actually quite impressive

-Like he keeps finding positions in which he can be close to your bum when you guys cuddle or sit in the common room with the boys

-HE SOOO SLAPS IT WHEN HE WALKS UP TO YOU

-"JAMES!" you exclaim, startled but not surprised "You know I can't help m'self, darling" he mumbles, pecking and rubbing his nose on your neck lovingly

-At first, the boys were a tiny bit uncomfortable about it but it became such a common occurrence they just got used to it

-He stops if it makes you uncomfortable thoooooo

-oh god he puts his hand in your back pocket when you're walking together :(

-Ogling.

-Ngl he sometimes falls behind when you're walking in a group on purpose and just stares

-IT LOOKS SO GREAT IN YOUR HOUSE'S SKIRTS!!!

-AND IN YOUR JEANS!!!

-AND IN EVERYTHING YOU WEAR SO PLEASE SIT ON HIS FACE!!!

-He buries his pretty face in it too<3

-I've always thought he loves long hugs, like you know when you're casually talking to someone else and not paying your undivided attention to the person you're hugging WHILE you're still hugging that someone? Does that make sense?

-Yeah he's grabbing your ass while hugging you like that

-Makes grabby hands and whines when you're standing with your back to him so he can touch it.

-"Baaaaaaaaaby :(" he turns into a child until you lean into his hands or sit on his lap it's so cute

-CONSTANTLY WANTS YOU TO SIT ON HIS LAP JESUS CHRIST YES

-Your friends know there's almost a 99% chance you're sitting on his lap when you're together

-Sirius and Remus constantly mumbling shit like "that lucky bastard" all moody n shit <3

-Don't get me wrong!! They're super respectful of you guys' relationship and would never say or do anything creepy

-They're just jealous and honestly, can we blame them?

-HE BITES IT IN A PLAYFUL SILLY LITTLE WAY WHEN YOURE CUDDLING<3333

-So basically yeah he’s smitten about it

-Can’t physically go a day without touching/patting/caressing your ass <3

#james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter x afab!reader #james fleamont potter #the marauders #harry potter marauders #marauders x you #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #poly!marauders x reader #james potter x you #james potter #baby boy<3

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cherry-pop-elf · 2 months

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George Weasley Sexcanons

Because im extremely sick, so im bored

Warnings? Sex sex sex and more sex. Along with some submissive Georgie baby~

What gets his engine going

He’s more of the submissive type. Your definition of a service top. He loves to make sure his partner is feeling so good. Their comfort comes, heh, first before anything else. Mans has 100% just gotten off from eating out/rimming/sucking off

He’s….Hes got mommy issues. As much as we love Molly, you can not deny she was rather verbally abusive. Not to mention having seven kids means you’ll Never have one on one properly. I won’t rant, but mans got a serious mommy kink. Doesn’t matter if you are a man, he’s calling you mommy!

Is a sucker for risk taking. He’s gonna try and eat you out at a quidditch game, jerk you off at the leaky cauldron, he’s gonna rail you in an alley way. He’s an adrenaline junkie, and probably wouldn’t be to shy at the idea of actually doing it infront of people. He likes the rush of it all

If you get a tattoo with his name, or some kind of indication you are his? Oh that’s going to make him feral. He doesn’t actually believe in owning and such, but there is something so enjoyable about it in fantasy. Kink doesn’t equal reality! ((And obviously I don’t need to clarify what is off the table))

Let me say this once, mans has a MAJOR Breeding Kink. Doesn’t matter if you can get pregnant. He’s going to find a way to fuck a baby into you. He’s a Weasley. They love to prove the impossible

Like I said about mommy kink, he is so gonna be a brat. It’s not a number one go to, that’s Fred, but he loves being a menace to society. If he’s not being a brat, you calling him a bad boy might make him cry. That’s why it’s healthy to communicate in the bed room!

Spank him. Spank him nice and good.

Lingerie lingerie lingerie

He might be a size queen, but you didn’t hear it from me 🤭

Oh he just loves doing it in his office. There is something so hot about it. To have you sit in his office, as he eats you out. How you would pin him on the desk, and pound him so hard it starts to rattle. To have you casually come in, wearing nothing at all, and crawling over all the paper work to get to him. If he’s having a bad day, sneak into his office and remind him he’s the boss

Don’t think you won’t be shared with Fred. They are magical twins. They share everything together.

Don’t be shy of your body hair. He likes his bitches natural. There’s also something so romantic to him about it. That you can just be your truest self around him, and not need to panic about your looks. Just your true self, and such

Speaking of natural self, he likes his bitches a little thicc. Blame his dad for liking em big. Nothing like some love handles to grab onto, or some ear warmers to keep him trapped in place. But most importantly? The cuddles

Expect to be of ‘use’ during busy hours at work. Like sucking him off while he does paper work, or being stress relief after a Karen comes into town

Boobs? Butt? Mans a thigh guy. He loves himself a partner with thick thighs, long legs, and some well pedicured feet. Yes. He’s a feet guy. Thigh highs in orange will make him cream alright

Expect to be his partner in trying new sex shop items

Speaking of that, don’t be scared to try new things with him. You never know. Maybe your weird kink could be the next hottest item the shop!

AFAB Partner Shenanigans

His favorite position with you would be the mating press. He just loves having your legs over his shoulders, and getting a front row seat at your begging face

He is going to be that type to fill you full of cum, and make you walk around with it

Sundresses baby

Peg him silly boo boo. He will ride that strap on until sunrise don’t even question it

Expect lots of cock warming. Especially when busy at work

Your tits are his now. His favorite thing to play with, when it isn’t your pussy. Even not in a sexual sense. You’ll just wake up with a hand on the tibbie

AMAB Partner Shenanigans

His favorite position is cowgirl. To have his hands on your chest, as he pants. Whimpering and moaning, as you move in and out of him. To have you spank him to move faster. Gets him all kinds of work up

He’s gonna be a shit head and sneak under tables a lot and have his fun with you

You will wake up to him dealing with your morning wood

He is going to sit on your cock when he is doing work. He will be a bastard and spin his hips

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kitty-tea · 4 months

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The bad girl gets what she deserves

Read part 2 here!

(Link to masterlist)

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x fem!Reader

NSFW 18+ only! This is mostly filthy smut with some plot

A/N: Hi, I just had this random idea for the story pop up in my head out of nowhere about how the bad girl seduces the good boy. I thought I’d choose Cedric to write about since I haven’t seen a whole lot of fanfics about him. And since he’s already a Hufflepuff, I decided to make the reader a Slytherin, they’re my two favorite houses. This is really the filthiest one-shot I’ve ever written for now, I might write more I don’t know.

Summary: After Cedric finds a note in his bag, he makes it his mission to find out who sent it.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings/tags: nsfw, minors DNI, smut, sexual content, porn with a hint of plot, oral sex, masturbation, rule breaking, 18+ only, p in v sex, orgasm denial, bathtub sex, nudity, reader is a bad girl, Cedric and reader are of age, Slytherin/Hufflepuff house rivalry, teasing, swearing

I probably missed some stuff, but this is what I was able to come up with for now.

Meet me in the Prefects’ bathroom after dinner.

-XOXO

There were many unanswered questions going through Cedric Diggory’s mind as he held the little note in his hand. He thought it had to be meant for someone else and it accidentally ended up in his possessions until he turned it over and there was a heart drawn around his name. He had never gotten a note of this nature in his life. He mostly stuck to hanging out with the students from his house, so it had to be one of them. A more broad and logical explanation was that it was just someone who knew the password. He concluded in his mind.

He had already come up with a list of names by the time he walked over to the Great Hall to join his friends for dinner.

The main question was, how did this person slip it into his school bag without him noticing? Of course. It was obvious. Cedric had Quidditch practice today. That’s how this person was able to put the note in his bag without him noticing.

“Hi Cedric!” One of the first year students in his house waved at him, smiling ear to ear. One of the things Cedric loved about being in Hufflepuff was how close the students from different years seemed to be compared to the other houses.

He discreetly put the note in his pocket and waved back at the younger boy. Scanning his eyes along the Hufflepuff table to catch if anyone was staring at him, he took a seat.

“How was practice today?” The younger student asked Cedric. “We all saw you out there. We all think you’re gonna win the next match!”

“Yeah go Cedric!” Another student hooted from a few seats down. He responded with a thumbs up.

“It was good.” He answered. He was about to dig into his plate when he caught what the first year said. This was his opportunity to get another clue about the identity of the person who wrote the note. “Wait. You were at practice? Did you see anyone going inside or coming out of the changing rooms besides the team?”

The student froze and then looked around in all directions as if someone was watching him. “No. I mean, not that it would be my business. We were just there to watch the team.” He laughed nervously.

Cedric thought there was something the kid wasn’t telling him, but he dismissed that thought. He was going to find out who sent the note eventually, prank or not.

“Hi Cedric.” The entire Hufflepuff table seemed to hold their breath as he heard a voice behind him. He saw the younger student’s eyes go wide. Cedric’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes met yours. He felt his cheeks heat up as he realized his face was leveled with your chest with the way he was sitting. He knew he wasn’t the only one that noticed it as you smirked at him.

For most of his time at Hogwarts, Cedric had tried to stay out of the way of the Slytherins due to their reputation as bullies, but with you, he just couldn’t do it. Being in the same year and having the same preferences for school subjects, you had most of your classes with him.

The other kids warned him about being scared of you, so he felt nervous around you. There would be times where he’d catch you looking in his direction, and instead of looking away with a blush and a giggle like the other girls, he’d find himself taken aback by how you’d maintain eye contact and bat your lashes as if daring him to look away first.

“What are you doing here?” A student from your year asked you in a warning sort of way.

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t I just wish good luck to another team without being interrogated?”

“Why would you wish us good luck?” The same student frowned at you. “Our team is playing against yours. In case you forgot.”

“Well, it’s not against rules of friendly competition to wish good luck to the opponents. In case you forgot.” Cedric couldn’t stop the grin from popping out of his face at your wit.

“Anyways,” you said with a wave of your hand as if you got a minor inconvenience out of the way. “I came to wish Cedric good luck.”

“Me? Why me?” Cedric turned his whole body outside the bench so that his knees were almost touching you.

“Because you’re the Seeker and Captain. You’re a very important player.” You purred.

You leaned down and lightly placed your hands on his knees. If he thought you didn’t make him any more nervous, he was wrong. This was the first time he had the chance to see your face this close. He could feel his heart racing as his eyes involuntarily went to your lips.

He felt his breathing become shallower than it already was as you leaned into his ear. “I’ve seen the way your little friends look up to you. Not to put more pressure on you, but if I were them, I would want the best for my hero.”

“Th-Thanks?” Was all that could come out of his mouth. You leaned back away from his ear to take a look at his flushed face.

“Of course. Good luck. And see you later.” You winked and got up before leaving the Great Hall.

Did you just flirt with him? You had to be. You weren’t as shy and quiet as the girls in Hufflepuff. You were a Slytherin, but he could see how you embodied a bit of the traits from other houses too. You had the boldness of a Gryffindor, the wit of a Ravenclaw, and you were as hardworking as the Hufflepuffs even though you weren’t shy.

He’d seen you being flirty around the boys in your house, not that it led to anything serious. Sometimes, he wondered how your relationship would have been had you been sorted into the same house. You would’ve become good friends with him, Cedric was sure of it.

As you got older and started sharing more class with him, he noticed little things about you he never thought about. Like how when you would get into trouble with the other Prefects, you’d get into fights with them, but whenever Cedric would catch you breaking the rules, it was like you were a whole different person with the way you’d accept whatever punishment he had to give you with a smirk.

To have your attention be focused on him, had him feeling some type of way he never felt with any other girl who flirted with him. He thought you were one of the most beautiful girls in school, but your reputation for also being one of the most intimidating Slytherins was what set you apart from those other beautiful girls. In other words, he didn’t think he had a chance with you.

“Who cares what she thinks, Cedric. We’re gonna be the best team at our match!” One of his teammates exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

“Yeah, she’s just a big meanie.” Another first year boy said.

“Don’t worry guys. I won’t let you down.” Cedric patted him on the head and gave a reassuring smile.

—

Gripping the note inside his pocket, Cedric made his way past the other students around him, going off to the library to catch up on studying or to retire to their common rooms. He needed to find out the identity of the person who wrote the note. Had it not contained a heart with his name on it, he wouldn’t be as suspicious of someone asking to meet somewhere as private as the Prefects’ bathroom.

Cedric kept a grip on his wand with his other hand while he considered the possibility that it could just be a prank. He was wise enough to know how to handle himself.

His grip on his wand tightened as he stood in front of the door to the bathroom and muttered the password.

You were the one he should have suspected from the beginning, Cedric realized as his eyes met yours.

“Hi, Cedric. I see you got the note I sent you.” You greeted him, taking a step closer to him. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in your appearance. He took a seat on one of the benches next to the large bathtub. “And no, it’s not a prank.”

He couldn’t and wouldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes wander around your body, covered by nothing but a towel. Your hair was up in a messy bun and droplets of water still clung to your skin.

“But h-how did you-” Cedric couldn’t finish his sentence, so you finished it for him.

“How did I put the note in your bag? Easy. During Quidditch practice I snuck into the changing room, and your little first year friends saw me. Had to make them shut up. Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt them. How did I get in here? That was much easier. I asked the new fifth year Prefect, Malfoy, for the password in exchange for getting me to buy cigarettes and alcohol for him. He’s quite insufferable, really. Not all of us in Slytherin can stand him. Especially the older ones.”

“I know.” You said nonchalantly, pouting your lips. “I’m setting a bad example for the younger students. But wouldn’t you have done the same?” You stepped closer to him and untucked his tie from his sweater. You were standing between his legs, leaning towards him. He couldn’t stop inhaling your intoxicating scent as it overtook him, leaving him unable to answer.

“Oh that’s right.” You flicked your eyes towards him and smirked. “You’re a good boy. You wouldn’t give in. Are you gonna turn me in? For being somewhere I’m not supposed to be?”

“Why did you get me to come here then?” Cedric took a deep breath. You continued to fidget with his tie.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You gently tugged on the piece of fabric to the point of your noses almost touching. He held his breath as he saw you lick your lips.

Before you gave him time to answer, you whispered, “It’s because I want to fuck you.” He knew girls talked about him like that behind his back based on what his guy friends reported to him, but he had never had anyone say that sentence to his face.

He was shocked and taken aback by your boldness, but also turned on. The erection that had been forming in his trousers throughout the entire conversation only confirmed it.

The fact that you weren’t even touching his skin made him whimper.

“What’s wrong, Cutie?” That nickname you used unlocked a part of Cedric that wanted to rip that flimsy towel off your body and plant his lips onto every inch of your skin until you were the one who was left speechless. But he could only do so much as stay still as you led the interaction.

“You’re acting like those other shy girls who flirt with you. Speaking of other girls, sorry if I’m not the one you were expecting. I’ll go get dressed.” You said, getting up to turn around.

“No! No!” Cedric didn’t want you to leave him.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Don’t get dressed!” He pleaded. “I mean… it’s alright, you can do what you want to, you don’t have to-”

“Sure. I won’t get dressed.” You smiled coyly.

“Sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You could leave if you want. I’ll just be…” he stood up.

“But you know I don’t actually want to leave.” You turned and slid your hands down his chest. He could feel how fast his heart was pounding against your palm through the layers of fabric.

“Did you really mean what you said?” Cedric asked, referring to your bold statement from earlier.

“That I want to fuck you?” You slid your palms down further along his stomach until your fingertips lightly grazed the bulge in his trousers. He groaned at the contact.

“Have you got any idea how often I touch myself while thinking about you? Wanna know where in the school I’ve touched myself?”

Cedric groaned louder as he felt your palm squeeze him a little more firmly.

“I’d love to be able to hump my mattress and pillows more often, but I share a dorm with way too many people for my taste.” You didn’t stop palming his erection. “When I know everyone else is asleep, I’ll sneak into the common room, take a seat on the couch, and spread my legs. I can’t tell you how many times I made myself cum on the same spot shared by so many people. Too bad I had to stop after I was almost caught by that brat, Malfoy.”

“You alright?” You looked up into Cedric’s eyes. No, he was not alright because you stopped your movements. He didn’t want you to stop.

“Keep going.” He commanded.

You smirked as your eyes skimmed from his flustered expression to where your hand currently rested.

“I had to get more creative.” You continued. “I like using the broom closet after classes, too. Oh yeah, and the library. It’s so easy to find a quiet place in the corner. Luckily Madam Pince never checks on me because she thinks I’m so good at being quiet. Lately, I’ve been taking longer showers and you can guess why. You’re a smart boy.” He didn’t need to ask you to know that it was because of him.

“How long does it take?” Cedric was getting curious.

“It’s different every time. Last night, I made myself cum in the shower five times in thirty minutes. Oh, the things you do to a girl without even realizing it.”

He almost choked on his spit.

“What? I’m not shy about it.” You started to unbuckle his belt.

“One of my favorite things to do to myself in the shower is let the water run along my body while I let the soap lather up on my tits. I thought about the things I’d let you do to them, like squeezing them, sucking on them. Fuck, that’d feel so good.”

“Just talking about it, it's making my pussy wetter than the shower.” In normal circumstances, he’d try to stop himself from imaging what your pussy would feel like on his fingers and his cock, but moments like that were far behind, and he didn’t give a damn.

“That’s right. You’re not the only one who’s turned on.” You admitted. You unzipped his fly, taking some of the constriction off of him. He didn’t bother holding back a whimper as you slipped your hand underneath the rest of the material and palmed him through his boxers.

“P-Please…” Cedric was at a loss for words again.

Letting go of him, you took a step back.

“Please, what?” You smirked. “Haven’t you got anything to say?” You were right, he was too flustered to form any sentences.

“Please make me feel good. Is that what you’re thinking?” You eyed his crotch and licked your lips. He nodded.

The both of you took a deep breath as you stepped towards him. You got up on your tiptoes and he lowered his neck. When your lips met, he cupped your cheeks with both hands and you planted yours against his chest.

Finally, after enduring your teasing for so long, he was able to give in.

Neither of you could not and did not want to hold back from your kiss. You let out a moan, and Cedric let his teeth graze along your bottom lip, which caused you to moan even louder.

In his hurried state, he’d already discarded his outer robe onto the bench. You tugged on his sweater, signaling him to take it off, which he did.

“Are you sure you want this?” Cedric asked.

It felt as if the air had been knocked out of him as you let your towel drop on the floor. If his face wasn’t already any more flushed, it was now.

You sat down on the same bench he was sitting on before. He was about to ask what you were doing when you placed your hands behind you for balance and spread your legs, giving him a full view of how wet your pussy was. “Is this enough to convince you that I do?” You asked.

“Fuck.” Cedric gasped and his eyes widened at the sight of your completely naked body. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d hear the good boy say a bad word.” You teased him.

He was admiring how the moonlight from the window made your eyes sparkle as you caught him gazing hungrily at your entire body from your breasts to your hips and thighs.

“You can touch them.” You held up your breasts and bounced them in your hands.

He reached his hand out to squeeze one of your breasts and gently graze his thumb along your nipple.

Cedric had barely touched you and you were already a panting mess in his hands. With his other hand, he mirrored the same thing he did to your other breast while you used one of your hands to trace your finger around your swollen clit.

The moment he caught onto what you were doing to yourself, he slowly got distracted enough to seize his movements, which made you stop as well.

“Let me turn on the water.” You said, gently prying his hands off your body.

“Wait-” he grabbed your hand. He couldn’t believe you had the audacity to leave him hanging after all the teasing you put him through.

“Believe me, after what I want to do to you, we’ll both be needing a bath.” You grinned mischievously. You turned to switch the faucet on.

“Does this mean you want to…” Cedric couldn’t get himself to say the words through his nervousness.

“We’ve got to do something while we wait for the water to fill up.” You said as you knelt down in front of him. “I wanna taste you, so bad, Cedric.” You ran your forefinger along the fabric of his boxers that was covering his bulge. “Don’t you think it would feel so good to have my lips wrapped around your cock? Don’t you want to make me scream and choke? See the bad girl shut up?” You had no idea he would’ve loved to see you do much more than choke on his cock. A part of him wanted to see that bad girl cry and break for him.

“Sure.” That’s all you needed to hear in order to get you to pull out his fully erect cock out of the confines of his boxers.

You gripped onto his thighs for support and licked from the bottom to the tip before sucking it between your lips.

Cedric wondered if you knew how gorgeous you looked with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

He threw out what very little self-control he had left as he grabbed the back of your head and pushed it further down onto his cock. He could feel the vibrations from you screaming around him. His breathing started to grow heavier as your head bobbed up and down faster.

“You look so beautiful like this!” He grunted. He was starting to get hot as he knew he was quickly getting close cumming. He discarded his school tie and started to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m gonna cum!” He gasped as he completely removed his shirt. That’s when you pulled your mouth away from him. He regretted saying that.

“No!” He grasped your jaw and forced you to look up. You stood up. You stared at each other as he gathered the saliva spilling down your chin with his thumb and ran it along your bottom lip. You used this as an opportunity to pull it between your lips and suck just as you did with his cock before you popped his thumb out of your mouth.

“The tub’s full, now.” You said, ignoring the extra protests that he threw at you.

Cedric watched as you climbed into the tub and switched the water off. He soon threw the rest of his clothes onto the bench and he followed you into the water that came up to your torso.

He saw the water droplets that clung to your breasts and made a move to lick them. He made a trail with his tongue from your collarbone to your nipple where he continued to lick and suck as you didn’t bother holding back a moan.

“Cedric, I want you to cum inside me!” He felt his boner poking your stomach at the sound of your whimpers.

You grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed him so that his back was to the edge of the tub. You let your lips hungrily devour each other’s. The feeling of your soft tits against his chest only made his desire to be inside you stronger.

He grabbed your thighs and hoisted them around his torso. You grabbed his cock in one hand, aiming it to where your entrance was while using your other hand to cling onto his shoulder to balance yourself.

He planted kisses along your neck and collarbone as you slowly sunk down onto him. You let out a string of curse words as you slowly moved up and down, your tits bouncing with you.

Besides the sounds of your bodies moving against each other, you loudly moaning, and the water splashing, it was dead silent in the room.

He grabbed both sides of your hips and began pounding into you faster and deeper. This made you scream even louder than before.

“Oh fuck, Cedric! Just like that! It feels so fucking good!”

He loved how unafraid you were to let yourself lose control in front of him.

“Cedric!” You sounded like you were sobbing.

“What is it, Sweetheart?” He rasped.

“I think I’m-fuck! Oh Cedric, fuck! It feels so… so good!” It was then that he knew you reached your orgasm. You continued screaming as you rode it out on his dick.

The feeling of your tight pussy pumping around him so vigorously in a repeated manner was what led up to him spilling himself inside you a minute later.

“Don’t stop! Keep going!” He ordered you.

“I fucking love how your cum feels inside me, Cedric!” You cried out.

He continued to hold onto you with him still inside you as he attempted to catch his breath and that’s when he pulled out. It quickly went back up as you softly dragged your nails along the goosebumps forming on the side of his neck. On the other side of his head, you planted equally as light kisses from his jaw to his earlobe. He had to check himself to see if this unreal feeling was what he was really experiencing as you started to nibble it.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since the day I discovered how to pleasure myself.” You purred in his ear. “I don’t give a damn about the other boys I flirted with. It’s always been you, Cedric.”

At the mention of the other boys, he started to feel jealousy ignite in himself which was unusual for someone like him.

“Is that why you flirted with them in front of me?” He looked into your eyes for confirmation. “To make me jealous? To get me to notice you?”

“It worked.” You said. “I mean, I just got so bored of watching those girls talk about you and flirt with you I couldn’t take it anymore, so I thought I had to make you see how I felt. I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

He cupped your jaw and gently brought your lips together as soon as the both of you had calmed down. Your lips began to move along each other’s more frantically and it soon escalated into a make out session.

He quickly found himself getting addicted to the taste and feel of your plush lips which went so well with the lip balm you were wearing.

“What do you mean by waiting so long? How long exactly?” Cedric wanted to know more.

“Since our fifth year. When you became a Prefect and Captain of your Quidditch team.” You leaned your head into the crook of his neck. He absentmindedly stroked his knuckles along your bare shoulder.

“I’m just wondering, why not boys from your house’s team instead?”

You looked up into his eyes. “Because you’re so much better than them. Just because I’m in the same house as them doesn’t mean anything. They’re not as humble or as hard-working as you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” He blushed at your compliment. “Besides thank you, of course.”

You giggled.

#smut #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #fem!reader #afab reader #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #dirty fanfiction #cedric diggory x you #fanfic

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slasherbvnnie · 1 year

Text

Cinnamon and Cigarettes

It's 2023, and on your 18th birthday you received a special letter from a school known as Hogwarts University. A college exclusive to wizards and witches, teaching them how to hone and harness their wizarding abilities. On your first day there, you come across a few friends and foes.

Context: 18+ characters, modern day hogwarts au, hufflepuff reader

Word Count: 975

You sucked down a deep breath, the gentle tapping of your shoes hitting the tiles beneath you filling your ears as the world was muted behind you with every step. You had no idea why this was so nerve wracking, it was exciting all at the same time as well, it just confused you all together knowing the next few years of your life would be defined by this small action. You sat on the wooden chair, feeling it pop and creak into place as you sat. Your hands fiddled with the ends of your clothes as you felt the weight be placed upon your head, making you look up slightly. “Interesting…” you heard a voice murmur, continuing on as you swiped your tongue across your lips as you nervously awaited. “Yes…yes that fits well…Hufflepuff!” You heard the hat call out, tuning back in when you could hear cheering and clapping from one of the tables. You stood, making your way out of the chair and to the table, being greeted by one of the boys who stood by the table, holding his hand out to shake yours. “Cedric Diggory, house prefect, take a seat anywhere and make some new friends,” he said with a smile, you shook his hand and smiled. “Y/N L/N, thank you cedric,” you replied as you took a seat.

It was shortly after dinner when Mcgonagall announced that there was a game for the first years. It was a fun game they had planned, almost like a game of tag. Students were to cast a very simple spell on other students in different houses, each house either gaining or losing points passed on who was tagged and who was the tagger. She announced that whichever house won the game would be able to host the first party back for students as well as make requests for food for the day after. You had met other people in your house, like Hannah Abbott , Gregory Munslow and even the chaser for the quidditch team Heidi Macavoy. When time came to finally begin the game, you were greeted by other students you had met on the train ride. Although now in different houses, they were still friendly. “Would you like to compete together? We can all have a truce to not get each other,” one girl offered as you smiled, nodding your head. “You’ve got a deal,” you agreed, your small group taking off as the professors called the beginning of the games once the other years went back to their dorms.

You all ran through the halls assigned for the game, laughter and shouts filling the castle. You casted the game spell on a few, dodging the attempts at yourself easily. Not all the students were great with spells yet, which you were thankful for, as well as for those without good aim. You heard a cry from your friend group when you noticed one had been tagged, looking back to them as you spotted the girl who had casted them out. She was a slytherin girl from the looks of it, making note as you began to run once again. This time instead of aiming for the other houses, you instead aimed for slytherins only, casting them out whenever you spotted one.

After getting a handful of their house out, you were met with a slytherin boy making his way to you. He towered over you as he walked straight at you, you backed up, eventually being cornered as he approached you. “You’re the little puff who’s been getting my friends out, hm?” He asked, holding his wand to your face as you looked up to him. “Which of them was it,” he questioned, you were silent as you stared at him. “Which one was it,” he pressed on, you were stunned and pointed to the slytherin girl who had been watching with a smirk on her face. He turned to where your finger landed, moving his wand from your face and instead casting the spell on her, making her gasp in surprise. “There, your problems gone,” he said as he turned back to you. “Now why don’t you and your little friend group scurry off,” he said before noticing another girl who was in your group. “And you, wearing a slytherin uniform and not defending your house? It may be only a game but some of us won’t forget you didn’t help stand up for your house,” he sneered to your friend, a more threatening glare in his eyes as you looked over. “Lay off of her,” you said, he sighed as he turned back to you, smirking a bit. “Stay out of it little badger, I know more than enough to get back at you,” he said as you frowned. He looked back at your friend, threatening her with something else before you stepped up, as your friend began to grow more scared, something inside you overpowered your judgement and you swung at the taller. He was surprised and stepped back, holding his nose as a few of the others in his own group snickered. “Beaten by a Hufflepuff, Riddle,” one blonde laughed as the taller looked at you.

Instead of hitting back, he only chuckled as he pulled his hand away, revealing some blood running down his face. “You have a good swing,” he said as he backed away from your group. “Why don’t you come by the dungeons sometimes, we’ll send an owl with the password,” he hummed with a smirk as you scoffed. “As if I would want to be around barbarians,” you said, casting the game spell on him, making his eyes widen as he stared at you. “All my problems gone, right?” You mocked as he wiped at the blood on his face, shaking his head with a laugh as he walked off.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x hufflepuff #mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!reader #mattheo riddle x afab!reader #hogwarts au #hogwarts university au #harry potter au

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mandoatsea · 1 year

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darling, dearest | prologue

pairing: regulus black x f!reader

rating: mature but don’t worry, it’s gonna get spicy

word count: 6k

warnings: angst, mentions of execution and murder, references to cults (sorry death eaters), forced marriage, some iffy coping mechanisms (nail picking, pain), enemies to lovers, divergence from canon (just a little bc the first wizarding war is such a bummer and james deserves a baby sister), friendship turmoil, some manipulation because sirius is desperate, albus dumbledore jumpscare, tiny baby sprinkles of wolfstar if you squint ... i think that’s it, but please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: helloooo! i was shocked at how many people saw the sneak peek and let me know they were excited for the first chapter! welcome to the first installment of the dumpster fire that is my regulus black obsession. he deserved so much better, and i’m dedicated to giving him a happy ending. i decided to start with a prologue, as this one is more of setup to the main story. i took a little liberty with the court system and marriage because they’re not super detailed in the books as far as i know. i hope you enjoy, and join the taglist if you want to keep up!

⭒☆⭒

If you were asked what you thought about the end of the Wizarding War, you would have to say it all felt rather anticlimactic. One minute you were obsessively checking the radio for news of attacks and casting wards every hour, and the next – everything was quiet.

"It's quite eerie, isn't it?" James remarks from the end of the dining table, glasses crooked. His green cardigan hugs his shoulders – broad but thinner now after months of stress. His spitting image, Harry, is bouncing happily on his father's knee and chewing on his knuckles. You wince as drool hits the knee of James' slacks.

"It's lovely," Remus moans from the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes and his long legs crossed at the ankle. His dark gray cardigan practically swallows him as he blindly spins his wand between long fingers. "Only you could find an issue with the end of a war, Prongs."

You grin at him, fingertips tapping nervously at the grain in the wood. Your brother pouts at Remus and Harry seems to pick up on his disdain because he turns and frowns at his father until James grins at him cheerfully.

James practically glowing as he carelessly wipes slobber from Harry's chin, declaring half-heartedly, “Don’t be a prat, Moony.”

"Has anyone heard from him yet?" Lily asks as she glides into the room, her wand suspending four mugs of tea that trail after her. Her long red hair is tied back in a plait. The question makes you swallow nervously. Two of the mugs land in front of you and James, the other settling neatly on the floor next to Remus, and the final one settles against Lily’s palm.

"Nothing," James sighs, expression suddenly pinched as Lily settles in the chair next to him and tugs Harry into her lap in response to his grabbing fingers, tapping his nose with her finger and earning a delighted squeal. "The trial was supposed to end hours ago."

"No news is good news," you offer rather unhelpfully as your stomach continues to twist itself into knots, "maybe he took him to celebrate."

Silence hangs over the room. The chances that anyone is going to be celebrating tonight are dismally low.

Remus seems to pull himself from his dozing, sitting up on the couch and lifting his mug of tea cautiously to his lips and your fingers curl around your warm mug.

"I've cooled it, Moony," Lily calls with a soft smile, "it shouldn't be too hot." Remus smiles sheepishly in thanks over his mug, taking a healthy swallow. You focus on a rip at the bottom of his sleeve, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and relishing the slight sting.

More silence.

"It shouldn't be too bad," James says rather factually, though his voice is pinched with nerves. "He did help at the end–"

"James." Remus cuts him off quietly, his eyes serious. "Let's just see what happens." James sinks slightly in his seat, draping an arm over the back of his wife's chair.

You swallow, nausea beginning to stir in your gut. Remus is more knowledgeable about the Wizengamot than anyone you know, and his guarded expression leaves you feeling sick.

"Poor Sirius," Lily's normally cheerful voice is pained and Harry has dozed off against her neck, "I hope it's not too–"

The silence is broken as someone apparates into the living room with a sharp crack.

Sirius stands in the middle of the living room, hunched slightly at the waist as though he’s about to be sick. Your heart sinks like stone. Remus and James stand and Remus crosses the short distance as Sirius' knees appear to buckle. Remus gathers him in a firm hug and you stare in disbelief as Sirius hugs him desperately.

Sirius Black's usually amused expression is twisted into one of profound grief. His black robes are rumpled and his hands shake as they twist in the fabric covering Remus' back. Purple smudges of exhaustion from the war are nearly black now and his curls have gone limp and frizzy – most likely because he's been tugging at them all day.

"Sirius," James says worriedly as Remus guides him to the couch, and he crosses over to his friend, "what's happened?" Remus sits next to Sirius, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed in concern.

Both you and Lily watch worriedly as Sirius swallows a few times. His shaking fingers worry at the fraying hem of his robes.

Voice wrecked, his voice is barely a croak as he announces, "He's getting Kissed."

You suck in a gasp of disbelief. It feels like someone has wrapped a hand around your lungs and squeezed as tightly as they can. Lily's slender fingers press against her mouth, her green eyes are suddenly shiny under the light of the dining room.

Remus stares at Sirius blankly, though you can see that his knuckles are white where they're gripping the edge of the couch cushion. You watch as your brother merely shakes his head.

"That's not possible," he says, voice hollow, "he... he was the one who destroyed–“

"James," you say firmly, "stop." Sirius has begun to rub frantically at his eyes. You’re not sure how you make it from the dining room table to kneeling in front of Sirius, but you do. Your hands wrap around his wrists and pull his hands from his eyes – his skin is clammy and cool.

Sirius whimpers quietly, brown eyes red and full of tears. He looks like he's going to be sick, his light complexion washed even paler. Your throat squeezes tightly and you lace your fingers with his, giving him a gentle squeeze as James rests a shaking hand on his shoulder.

"It's my fault," Sirius chokes, and you shake your head immediately, his figure wobbling as your eyes sting with tears, "I should have never left him in that fucking house."

You’ve never heard the entire story of the night Sirius fled Black Manor and ended up shivering on their doorstep, stinking of Dark magic, his eye bruised, begging for James. The guilt he harbors over that night is something he rarely shares with anyone. All you know is that leaving his baby brother was something Sirius never fully recovered from.

Terror strikes you now. You’ve seen what happens when Sirius closes up, locking everyone out and weathering his emotional storms all alone. Maybe it's a skill he learned growing up – the ability to throw up walls and barricade himself deep in his subconscious. The last time – when he'd found out about the most recent legion of Death Eaters and their Dark Marks – he didn’t leave his room for days.

He’d refused to talk to anyone, even Remus.

"It's not your fault," is all you can tell him, "it's not, Sirius."

Don't shut me out, you think, squeezing his hands as he shudders, please, let me help you.

You love Sirius the way you love James – deep, undying love. Regardless of the endless pranks and infuriating overprotection, he's one of the most important people in her life. The sight of him so devastated has you breathless – floundering for anything that might stop the course he’s on.

"He took the Mark when he was sixteen!" The words break as Sirius spits them furiously. "He was a fucking child!" His head tips forward as a sob splits loose from his chest.

"We'll fix it, Sirius," Remus says quietly, "surely there has to be something we can do." He locks eyes with you as a tear makes its way down your cheek.

"The end of the week," Sirius whispers, "they're going to kill him at the end of the week with all those bloody murderers." You brush a limp curl behind his ear before James pulls him into one of his tight, nearly suffocating hugs. Sirius’ panicked heaving is muffled against James’ shoulder.

It takes an hour and a vial of Dreamless Sleep to finally get Sirius to bed, and you lean against the wall outside of his bedroom, waiting for Remus to reappear. The door opens slowly and Remus emerges, brow furrowed as he shuts the door as gently as possible.

"Is he alright?" You ask him. Remus rubs an anxious hand along the back of his neck, his sleeve pooling at his elbow. Thin, pale scars along his forearm shimmer slightly before he tugs the sleeve back to its rightful place and his arm falls back to his side.

"No," he sighs heavily, hand closing on your upper arm, pulling you into his chest, "no, he's not." You hug him tightly, fingers buried in the soft fabric of his robes. Your eyes sting and you press your nose to his shoulder, inhaling the smell of clean cotton and mint.

"There has to be something we can do," you whisper.

Remus knows the ins and outs of the Wizengamot like the back of his hand. After applying as an Auror, he’d been questioned for ages – hours in front of the members trying to convince them that he was still fit for training despite his “affliction.” He had practically lived at the Ministry for months.

"I'll stop by tomorrow and talk to Doris," Remus remarks quietly against your hair, referencing the advocate that had been assigned to his case, "maybe there's some way we can get him out in a few years. Sometimes it's just a matter of showing them what they want to see. I doubt he had a third-party advocate." You nod and the door to James and Lily's room opens cautiously.

"Is he asleep?" Lily asks, stepping out into the hallway as you and Remus step apart.

"Passed out," Remus tells her, James stepping into the hallway after his wife. "He didn't stop shaking for a good ten minutes, but I think the potion finally kicked in."

"Merlin," James' voice is crushed as he leans against the wall, "hasn't he been through enough already?"

"He's bound to feel some guilt," Lily states factually, "he probably thinks he would have gotten the Mark instead if he'd stayed."

"Of course he thinks that," Remus says, voice tinged with rare anger, volume raising, “that’s what his parents made him believe before he left.”

You could wake him, you realize rather suddenly, and place your hand on Remus' arm to quiet him, earning an exhausted sigh. The last thing you need is for Sirius to hear you confirming his worst fears. Nibbling anxiously at your thumbnail you vaguely recall a few books in the manor's library about Azkaban and the Dementor's Kiss – a rather morbid fascination of your father’s for a few months at the beginning of the War.

"Remus is going to The Ministry tomorrow," you announce quietly to James and Lily, "I'm going to do some research of my own. Maybe we can find ... a reason for an appeal, or a loophole. There has to be something. He helped The Order, it should count for something." James seems to perk up at the idea and Lily smiles fondly at you.

"I'll go with Remus."

"No." You and Remus say simultaneously, earning a shocked and disbelieving pout from James.

"Someone has to stay with him, Prongs," Remus says pleadingly, "I don't know what he'll do if we leave him alone. He needs a Calming Draught and about a hundred cups of tea. Please stay with him."

Almost immediately James sags, bobbing his head of dark curls once in understanding. Lily slides a hand up his back, rubbing comforting circles between his shoulder blades.

“We should all get some sleep,” she announces and you nod immediately, stretching your arms above your head with a groan, muscles stretching taunt in your shoulders, “we can worry about all of this in the morning.”

“Alright,” Remus agrees, slumping as though someone has cut the string holding him up, “I’m going to crash on the couch.”

Normally you would argue, protesting about his back, but your attention is almost solely on the books. By the time you all go your separate ways, you’re so absorbed in which titles to pull first that your feet practically carry you to the library – you stay there until the sun creeps over the horizon and your hand aches from its grip on your quill.

⭒☆⭒

James catches you on your fourth trip to the library in as many days. You and Remus have barely spoken, ships in the night as he leaves for the Ministry and doesn’t return until late. Sirius has spent days pacing the living room, eyes cloudy with exhaustion, or passed out on the couch after another Calming Draught. Much to your frustration, none of the books have offered any useful information.

“Moony and Padfoot are in the study,” your brother tells you, “it seems important.” Hope flares in your chest and you nod hurriedly.

“Yeah, alright,” you say, already turning back around to head to the study, “are you coming?”

“I’ve got to drop off Harry,” James says with a shake of his head, “mum and dad have been dying to see him. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Sure,” you call, already heading down the hall to the study, “tell them I miss them, please.”

“Sure, love.”

Rushing down the hall lands you in front of the study rather quickly. You knock twice before swinging the door open. Remus and Sirius are talking in hushed, tense voices at the large table in front of the fireplace. The side of Sirius’ face is illuminated with firelight, reflecting his nearly manic expression. His eyes are wide and pleading as Remus stares at him with a disappointed expression, shaking his head in disapproval every few seconds. His normally bruised under-eyes are even darker with exhaustion.

“When did you get back?” You call in greeting, hesitant to interrupt their tense discussion. Remus’ head lifts immediately, softening at the sight of you. A pleased grin lifts the corner of his mouth, pulling a very faint scar on his cheek tight. Sirius’ throat bobs before he turns to look at you as well.

“Hi, darling,” Remus greets, “I only just arrived. I’ve been with Doris all night.” You make your way across the study to the table, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder as you settle at the table.

“You must be exhausted,” you remark sympathetically, worrying welling as you take in Remus’ drawn expression, “are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” he brushes you off, “I’ll head home in a bit.”

“Did Doris tell you anything helpful?”

Your question seems to land like a bomb.

Remus’ lips press in a thin line and Sirius turns to look at you, his expression open and full of hope. He looks so young that it takes your breath away.

“Remus talked to Albus Dumbledore,” he tells you, “he said–”

“Sirius.” Remus snips, his gaze cool. “Don’t.” Sirius deflates slightly at the reprimand but appears to steel himself before looking at you again.

Sirius' voice has taken on a pleading quality when he says your name, his dark brown eyes brimming with sorrow, "Darling, you know–" his voice breaks and you suck in a breath. "You know I would never ask you to do this if I had a choice."

“Ask me to do what?” Your eyes flicker between them.

"The Wizengamot would be inclined to pass down a more lenient sentence," Remus informs you quietly, "if it could be proven that he had a motive to help The Order." Disdain colors his tone.

"Motive." You parrot blankly. Your mind is swimming. The Wizengamot has been in disarray since the start of the war and lately, they seem to be doing all they can to move cases through the court as rapidly as possible. You’ve heard a few previous life sentences cut down to a few years in Azkaban or house arrest when new information is presented. An unsettled feeling has begun to churn in your gut as Sirius worries the edge of his sleeve between his long fingers.

"Remus thinks maybe if he had been in a relationship with someone in The Order, people would more easily believe he destroyed the locket." Sirius' voice is hopeful. "Helping The Order would get him a few years of house arrest, they probably wouldn't even hold him in Azkaban."

You shake your head, brow furrowing. You can't remember any relationships other than James and Lily throughout the entirety of the war. Maybe Frank and Alice Longbottom, but you hadn't been particularly invested in romantic drama – no one was. It was too much energy to waste when everyone was exhausted by stress and grief.

"Who was he with?" You ask, locking eyes with Remus. His expression is pinched, hair falling over his right eye, making him look boyish and haughty. "I don't remember him even speaking to anyone, but maybe if we can find some witnesses–"

"He wasn't seeing anyone," Remus says quietly, "no one in The Order would have wanted to touch a blood purist anyway." There's a bite in his voice that earns him a sharp glare from Sirius, and you feel dread crawl its way up your throat.

"I don't understand." You confess tightly. "Why are you even exploring that as an option?"

"It's the only option," Sirius says sharply, "there's nothing else we can do. This is the only way we can–"

"I still don't understand why–"

"I'm asking you–" Sirius' voice is shaky and he lifts his brown eyes to yours, "to marry him."

Static buzzes in your ears, quietly and then louder as the seconds tick by. Remus grimaces at his hands, thumb pressed against the pale scar that runs along his thumb and disappears under his sleeve. The world feels faintly tilted, and you shake your head in an attempt to rebalance yourself.

The second the statement leaves Sirius' mouth, you know you’ll do it. It’s an absent, emotionless conclusion. Anything Sirius asks of you, you'll do – because you love him. You want his trust, and to earn that trust you’ll do whatever he needs. Anything to keep him out of the unreachable place he flees to in times of grief. Losing his brother would kill him, and if you refuse he'll never forgive you – something you can't risk.

You come to the additional deduction, as you look at him, that he knows all of this. The request doesn't come from a place of clouded or misguided desperation – the look in his eye is calculating rather than manic. You realize, suddenly, that he has already added up the cost of this request and the consequences it will have on your relationship.

He just doesn't care.

You stare at him for a few more seconds in suffocating silence.

"You're asking me to marry your brother." You confirm quietly. Sirius' expression falters for a moment before he tips his chin up, emotions shuttered.

"It's the only way they'll let him out." He tells you, his voice flat. An ache opens up in your chest and you have the fleeting thought that you’re not going to recover from this for a long, long time. "I don't have any other options."

"Don't decide now. This is..." Remus starts to plead with you, openly devastated. "It's an impossible choice you have. Please, for me, sleep on it–"

"I'll do it." You interrupt him, earning you a disbelieving stare. "Assuming he agrees, I'll do it." You look at Sirius sharply. "You already knew that though, didn't you?"

The only response you get is the twitch of his jaw, his eyes falling to the table. Very suddenly, emotion wells in your throat and behind your eyes – suffocating in its intensity. In a panic, you stand from the table and make for the door.

"I'm sorry," Sirius calls out to you as you reach for the doorknob, "I hope one day you'll forgive me."

The only response you give is the violent bang of the door shutting behind you.

⭒☆⭒

The wait to leave for The Ministry is passed in silence.

James' knuckles are white and his grip on your hand borders on painful. His jaw clenches furiously as he stares at the fireplace, flames flickering in his blank expression. It feels as though you’ve gone numb – unable to even summon the energy to soothe your brother. Your gaze is locked blankly on your free hand, throat tight with anxiety and dread.

"You don't have to do this," James whispers furiously, abruptly abandoning his stewing to stare at you, "I can't believe he asked you to–"

"James." You tell him quietly. "It's fine."

"It's not fine!" He continues to whisper, turning to you fully now. "The bond is forever. It's an Unbreakable Vow. He's a fucking Death Eater. He's a blood purist."

"If you knew," you ask flatly, "that you could do something to save my life, would you?" You turn your head and meet his eyes. Surprise flickers on your brother's face before his lips press in a thin line. "Would you?"

"Of course, I would. I would do anything." James says, the words hushed, "But–"

"I would too." You tell him, squeezing his hand. "For you or Sirius, I would do anything." Your lips quirk in a wry smile and you return your gaze to your fingers. "It's just my luck that I have to."

James doesn't seem to know how to respond to that particular conclusion, and he sinks back in his seat – squeezing your hand.

Marrying a Death Eater was, without a doubt, not part of your plan. You can't say you ever really had an image of whoever would be on the other side of the bond – but a murdering blood purist was certainly not on the table. Faintly, you recognize that it is all sort of funny. You’ve spent the last few years obsessing over how to dismantle Voldemort and his followers, only for you to marry one of them.

The urge to laugh evaporates quickly when you realize the life you wanted has gone up in flames. Your parents have always set the marriage standard since you were little. Fleamont and Euphemia have been soulmates since their first year of Hogwarts and they've never wavered in their adoration for one another – even when raising two children and through a devastating war. When James and Lily got married, it only further cemented your surety that one day it would happen for you. You believed that everyone in your family was just lucky with love.

The irony is enough to make you faint.

A light knock on the doorframe pulls you from your thoughts – which is quite fortunate, you think, as an embarrassing set of tears have begun to make their way down your face. Rapidly, you pull your hand from James' and wipe your eyes, cheeks burning from the fabric of your robes. Remus steps into the living room, gifting you with a soft smile.

"Alright?" He asks, with his natural way of conveying that he already knows. You fist your robes, nodding and giving him a faint smile. "I think we're about ready to leave." All you can do is nod again, and all at once, the room feels like it's rapidly losing oxygen. Remus seems to sense your spike in anxiety and he pads across the carpeted floor to crouch in front of you – wincing as his back pops.

"It won't be too bad, darling," he says, taking your hand and squeezing gently, "they won't make you take any Veritaserum or anything frightening. I think they all want this case to be over rather quickly, and no one wants to upset The Order." You nod, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. "They'll ask you a few questions, reach a verdict, and then we can go home."

"Will he–" your voice cracks and James' hand settles on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, "will he be there?"

"Probably," Remus tells you honestly, and you take the tip of your tongue between your teeth. "He'll be sitting in the back most likely, and probably surrounded by Aurors. He won't be anything to worry about."

That's rather nice to hear, you think drily, seeing as I'm marrying him tomorrow.

Remus glances at his watch, lips pressing together in a flat line. Your anxiety begins to climb.

"We should go," Remus says quietly, and James squeezes your shoulder again before standing and helping you up off the couch. Remus retrieves a small pouch from his pocket, making his way to the fireplace as he takes a small pinch of powder between his fingers. Tossing the tiny amount of powder, the flame roars as it turns emerald green. Remus turns and offers another quick smile before he steps into the flames and disappears with a whoosh.

You’re next, staring at the green flames with burning eyes until James drops your hand and nudges you forward. You inhale deeply, squeezing your eyes shut before stepping into the flames. The room blurs around you before you appear rather suddenly at the entrance to the Ministry. Remus is standing at the edge of the fireplace, arm out for you to take as you step out and onto the marble floor. James appears with a gust of air behind you and stumbles out of the fireplace with a cough, brushing soot from his shoulder.

“Merlin, I hate that,” he mutters, coming to stand beside you.

Wizards in all colors and styles of robes bustle past you, some alone and some in groups. A few carry briefcases and some wear heels that click sharply on the immaculate marble floor. Chatter bounces off the walls of dark brick that tower over your head and you marvel at the stunning statues lined down the enormous hall – a variety of glimmering witches, wizards, centaurs, and countless others. Only Remus' hand on the small of your back pulls you from your admiration and rather quickly back to reality.

"The courtroom is just a few halls down," he explains as the three of you enter the throng of movement and make your way through the Ministry, "we're just a bit early." Sweat begins to bead on your forehead and your robes feel suffocating, the fabric clinging to your arms and chest. You fight the urge to place a hand at your throat to ensure you’re still breathing as Remus continues his quick explanation. "There will be a few formalities, just some legal rubbish. You’ll give your testimony, he’ll affirm it, and then they’ll reach a verdict."

Two large wooden doors come into view, large ornate letters reading WIZENGAMOT. It would all come across as incredibly posh if you weren't on the verge of a panic attack. Remus comes to a halt a few feet away from the doors and turns to you.

"Alright?" Remus asks you, the words heavy with concern. He reaches for you, a cool palm settling on the side of your neck. The gesture is grounding. His hazel eyes are full of comfort. You manage a weak smile, nodding just once, and Remus nods back before turning to the doors. His wand raises, and with a slight flick of his wrist, the large oak doors creak open.

The courtroom is quiet, save for the low murmurs from members of the court. All at once, you feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on you. Without thinking, you cast your eyes up toward the court.

The unsettling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore are the first you catch, plum robes stark against his long, white beard and pale skin. His stare is curious, almost amused, but deeply unsettling. You clench your jaw, pulling your gaze away as you follow Remus to the bench. Sirius is already sitting, his posture rigid and his hair pulled back in a low bun. Briefly, his brown eyes meet yours before they flicker away. Your heart gives a pitiful, wrenching throb before you swallow it down and settle in your seat.

The minutes pass in agonizing silence. Your nerves leave you to pick at your nails, avoiding the harsh stares by keeping your focus on your lap. The cuticle of your thumb begins to bleed and you bring it to your mouth with a curse, nausea swarming as the metallic taste fills your mouth. The heavy wooden doors continue to open and shut with heavy slams. Occasionally, you accidentally meet the chilling gaze of one of the members. Every glance is welling with pity or disdain.

You’re not sure which is worse.

Dumbledore's clear, sharp voice startles you as it breaks the low mumble of noise. “All rise, for the opening remarks.”

Your knees wobble as you stand and you grip the back of the bench in front of you to keep yourself steady. The remarks pass in a blur, and at some point you return to the bench, hands anxiously smoothing down your thighs. A lot of jargon you don’t understand, a summary of the charges, and a quick introduction of the appeal. Relational motive is the term they seem to prefer when referring to the appeal. You fight the hysterical urge to snort. Finally, the speech comes to an end as Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Will the accused be brought forward for the court?”

Heavy, black doors, that you’ve somehow missed, creak at the far end of the courtroom. Sirius straightens, his fingers clenched into fists. The low hum of muttering fills the court again. Slowly, the doors grate against their hinges until they shudder to a stop, revealing a dark hallway.

Two tall, serious-looking Aurors step out onto the marble floor. One is taller than the other, both in the dark robes of their profession. Their wands are drawn, but relaxed. Your fingertips press into your thighs, relishing in the grounding sting.

Behind the Aurors, a tall, lean figure makes his way to the center of the room. Black, shaggy curls are limp and greasy, his head bowed and hiding his face. Broad shoulders make clear impressions against the gray uniform, the bones far too defined. Sirius lurches forward in concern as the figure’s steps falter – almost as if he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him for a moment.

Despite his bedraggled appearance, there’s a certain aristocratic air to him. It seems to be a piece of his very essence. Long, elegant fingers are clasped together tightly at his waist, silver restraints clasped around his wrists, linking them together. Two more Aurors emerge behind him, the doors swaying before slamming shut.

Your fingernails continue to dig into your thigh.

Dumbledore cuts through the murmuring as he announces, “The appeal trial will begin as soon as the accused is seated.”

The murmurs crescendo.

One of the Aurors mutters something to the man handcuffed in the middle of the room, his head tipping slightly as they speak to him in a low voice. Two of the wizards make their way to the chair in the center of the room, standing on either side. The Auror speaking to him seems to inform him of something upsetting – his knuckles white as his fingers clench, shoulders pulling up to his ears.

He lifts his head, light hitting his face, and a pit of dread opens in your stomach as you meet the flat, dark gaze of Regulus Black.

⭒☆⭒

taglist: @coffeeaddictednymph @wbellab @houseofblackbaby @ainasadge

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luvsfics · 3 months

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Hi, I saw that requests are open, so could I request a Lorenzo Berkshire X hufflepuff!Reader, where the two are in a relationship, and Reader is very much a sunshine/sweet/kind girl (very hufflepuff vibes). At first their relationship looks from outside like a very Sunshine x Sunshine/ Innocent x Innocent one, but one day some guy flirts with Reader, making her very uncomfortable, and Enzo shows up, his possessive/protective instincts kicking in, puts the guy in his place (maybe exaggerating a bit) and everyone is super surprised because he basically almost never fights, and Reader is at first very taken aback but still offers to clean his minor injuries up, and Enzo starts overthinking that maybe he scared her or worse, but they talk about it and in the end she reassures him that she just doesn't like to see him hurt and she got worried about him, but definitely not scared. So a very angst to comfort fluff thing☺️ because I really like the trope "seems sweet but is actually dangerous" and "seems sweet and is actually sweet" together🥰 Thank you!!♥️

SPARK OF JEALOUSY — Harry potter

PAIRINGS: lorenzo berkshire x hufflepuff!reader

SUMMARY: something inside enzo sparks when he sees McClaggen flirting with his girl. He can’t help but act before he thinks, whatever it takes to save his girl.

WARNINGS: afab reader. physical assault. reader cleans Enzo’s wounds. suggestive language.

WORD COUNT: 0.5k

“Look who’s talking to your girl.” Mattheo laughed as he pointed you out to Enzo. His gaze turned towards you, envy filled his veins as he watched Cormac flirt with you across the hall.

You were clutching onto your books as the intimidating man flirted with you, “So, what’s a pretty girl like you walking to class by herself for?” He said as he leaned against the wall, almost pinning you against the stone.

You shuddered as you felt his warm breath on your cheek, he was entirely too close for comfort.

“Um…” you began before he was ripped away from you, his back hitting the wall beside you. Thats when you saw your boyfriend, Lorenzo, pinning him to the wall with an angry look on his face.

“What do you think you’re doing chirpsing my girl?” He asked, taking him by the collar.

“Maybe your girl…shouldn’t be wearing such a short skirt if she doesn’t want guys coming up to her?” He laughed in Enzo’s face.

You uncomfortably pulled down your skirt, this morning you couldn’t find your tights so your legs were bare, you didn’t think it was that much of a problem.

Enzo’s fist collided into Cormac’s jaw, a loud cracking sound following after. You gasped as he threw another punch his way before Cormac hit him back straight in the nose. Enzo quickly clapped back with another punch to his face, pinning him to the wall.

“Don’t you ever. Talk to my girl. Ever. Again.” He said.

Professor mcgonagall swiftly made her way to the scene, breaking up the two boys. She sent Enzo your way before escorting Cormac to her office.

“Are you alright?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you took his bruised face into your hands. “I am fine, sweetheart. Are you?” He asked as he pressed his hand over yours.

You huffed, giving him an ‘are you serious’ look. You took his hand and began to lead him to the prefects lavatory, as you were one yourself. You bursted into the bathroom and pushed him against the sink.

You turned on the water and rushed to grab some paper towels, wetting them and ringing them out. His gaze followed you as you moved around the bathroom.

He wondered if he had did the right thing by hurting Cormac, his emotions had gotten the best of him. He had just wanted to protect you. He winced as you pressed the wet towel onto his nose, cleaning off the blood.

“Are you upset with me? Did I scare you?” He asked with a saddened expression. You sighed, “No, my love. I just…don’t like seeing you get hurt and fight because of me.”

“I didn’t like seeing him flirt with you and touch you.” His words made you smile, “I know, it just shocked me. I’ve never seen you like that.” You said as you dabbed the towel on his skin.

“I’m sorry..” he apologized as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You smiled, you pressed a soft kiss on his jaw.

“Don’t be. You were just protecting me. It’s like you’re my very own Prince Charming.” You giggled, his face lit up before he pressed a thousand kisses all over your face before pressing a kiss on your soft lips, making you both forget about all your troubles.

#lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #hp fanfic #hp #hp fandom #mattheo riddle #cormac mclaggen #harry potter #louis partridge #louis partridge x reader #harry potter x reader

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elaemae · 3 months

Text

The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.

[Twst x Obey Me!AFAB!reader]

CHP.3

CW: Same as before.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: PROLOGUE 2

FUN FACT: You were just about to remove your unbelievable amount of jewelry and go to sleep when the dark carriage appeared in the middle of your room.

You didn't notice because you were busy tryna reach for your bangles but then you were suddenly yanked by the hair into the carriage where you quickly lost consciousness from the strong sleeping magic inside. That horse got no chill, wtf..

This is one of those times where you need to channel out your inner Belphegor.

Be loveably infuriatingly bratty and murderous at the same time.

Turns out, you were yanked by the hair and shoved into the carriage by that creepy looking horse because you were "chosen" by the dark mirror to attend their oh-so-prestigious college. (Move out the way Harry Potter, there's a new chosen one in town—)

So you decided to stress these fuckers into bringing you back to where their unhinged horse first took you.

You don't have to be a genius to know that if any of the brothers notice your disappearance, there can either be a war or a bloodbath. It's either one of those things or both of them.

So as you were freed and guided in front of the mirror by the bird-man who you've come to find out was the headmaster of this oh-so-grand college that you've never even heard of.. you side-eye the Mr. Boutta-sell-yo-kidneys guy that tried to take your bangles before you faced the mirror.

'...Hmm? Who's this?' You think, as you look at the person half-hiding behind the mirror.

They seemed to be quite nervous as they gave you a small wave, earning them a smile from you.

The headmaster seemed to be confused about them for a second but quickly remembered something as they called upon that person.

It seems that Yuu, quite a confusing name they've got also desires to be sent back to their home as they said they had responsibilities they must fulfill.

Nice.

Twinning with your problems fr.

It's like you two looked at each other and something just clicked.

Like, Omg we're both kidnapped by a school filled with hot men and forced to be their unpaid therapists, Slay gurly~ 💅🏼 sry it's your inner asmo talking.

You decide to let Yuu be the first to face the mirror so that they'll get home first.

Ah, aren't you so kind and patient?

You don't know anything about that mirror, so it's best that you let someone else have a go first to see if it's safe.

Sorry Yuu, we may have clicked but I don't know if I can trust any of you right now.

It's too risky.

If we ever meet again, I'll treat you to a meal in hell's kitchen as compensation.

Thank Belphie for my trust issues.

...

...Huh.. The place that Yuu belongs to "doesn't exist"?

What a strange response... This damn mirror better not give you the same words lest it wants to be melted out of existence via hellfire.

You can see the dudes behind y'all who turned out to be the housewardens of the dorms of this school start whispering to each other like some nosy aunties on a regular sunday morning.

You gave reassuring pats on Yuu's shoulder after they went back beside you, getting a shaky smile in return.

"I'm sure that it'll be okay.. Their dark carriage took you so it must have the capabilities to take you back, right?" You whispered to Yuu, trying to keep them from panicking as you notice their breaths starting to quicken.

"People in distress are prone to being exploited and manipulated by others. Breathe slowly and calm your mind." You lean closer to their ear, rubbing small circles on their back.

Panicking won't help anyone. You had to learn that from experience. Now you just want to make sure that Yuu doesn't have to.

You may be alright with using this new acquaintance of yours to verify the safety of the mirror, but you won't stand by and watch them expose their vulnerability to a group of people that haven't really made a show of good morals they might possess.

As the headmaster guy started going on a rant about how "tHiS hAvE nEvEr hApPenEd bEfoRe" you keep an eye on the five housewardens dudes, seeing as those guys were eyeing you and Yuu lmao💀 like they were looking at some weird... thing.

Except for the shady mf who's looking straight at you with his weird-ass smile.

Really giving you the impulse to sock him in the face again.

(Oh, and also that tablet that kept taking pictures of you thinking that they were slick when you can hear the click every time a pic was taken.)

The headmaster then guided you to the mirror, mumbling pleas for the reflective object to work properly.

"I... I seem to be unable to reach the place that you call home.."

The mirror spoke, troubled and seemingly confused.

Yuu peeks at your face, before paling and trying to get closer to comfort you the way that you did for them, only to full on try to tackle you when you bring out your staff to try and break the damned thing.

If you can't bring me home then maybe I can take your power and do it myself.

MEANWHILE...

"There are traces of what seems to be teleportation magic as well as a smidgen of sleeping magic mixed in, on center of MC's room."

Solomon stated, glancing at the people sitting around the big oval table inside Diavolo's castle.

If anyone else saw the attendance in this little meeting of theirs, they'd have a heart attack.

I mean, when will you ever see representatives of the celestial realm mingling with those of the devildom, the human world and the grim reaper in such a serious manner?

You'd think there's an intergalactic threat on the loose if you ever see their expressions..

But that's the thing.

You weren't there to see them.

That's the problem.

Someone or something took you away from them.

Those connected to you via pact can still feel your emotions and connections through your pact marks but nothing more.

At this rate, they worry that you're too far to reach because they couldn't get to you through their pacts. Where could you be?

The only reassurance they have that you're fine, is your candle in Thirteen's hands.

The last string of reason they have that is keeping them from drowning in their grief and anger.

The burning flame of your candle gave them comfort and fueled their determination to bring you back into their arms.

Don't worry MC, we'll bring you back.

No matter what it takes.

← Pr. 2 | Chapter List | Pr. 4 →

I'm tryna sketch my MC, but it's taking a long-ass time.

Elae: Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter y'all😊

Don't forget to like, comment, and reblog guys, it really helps me out :3

See y'all next time~

(still tryna figure out tagging)

@leviathans-tail-scales

@f0uerleafedcl0ver

@a-traveling-void-human

@pumafiredraw

@lunasakuravalentine

I tried to tag all of y'all but it won't work for some reason :c

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evenstar0600 · 1 year

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DECEPTION | t.riddle

IN WHICH: lucius malfoy never put tom riddle's diary in ginny weasley's cauldron. instead, history puts a twist on the events and the diary is put on a shelf in flourish and blott's, only to be picked up by an unsuspecting, muggleborn witch in hufflepuff; sixteen-year-old (Name) Tyler.

PAIRING: tom riddle x afab!hufflepuff reader

WARNINGS: dark/yandere(?), mind control, manipulation, animal death, murder, hypnotism, tom riddle is a warning on his own, mental breakdowns, insanity, lady macbeth arc(?), character death, etc

Your hands were shaking. They'd been doing that a lot lately. The skin around your fingernails was red raw and bleeding, due you picking them from stress. Your pupils were blown-wide yet had a distant look to them, as if you weren't in the moment itself at all.

Desparately, you tried to scrub the blood stains that wouldn't go away. They wouldn't wash off. You felt like you were going insane. Like you were losing your mind. How the fuck had it come to this? You knew exactly how it'd all come to this.

It was a dreary August day in the summer of 1992. And your parents decided to take you back-to-school shopping in Diagon Alley for your sixth year at Hogwarts. You recalled going into Flourish and Blott's, dodging through the ever-growing line to see the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart, whom you paid no mind.

You'd spied the even-more infamous Harry Potter in the line somewhere. You were more focused on obtaining your school books for this year when you'd caught sight of it in your peripheral vision. The diary. The vintage-looking, leather-bound diary with it's worn exterior and its off-white parchment pages. And the three-word name at the bottom in a gold-colour. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Something scorched the back of your mind as helpless fingers plucked the diary off the shelf and into your cauldron with a clatter. To others, it was an unnoticed background noise but in your delirium, it sounded like the rolling East Winds of the storm last week. Crashing and forcing itself to be heard. You didn't want to take it but something beyond your control forced you to take it.

For the first couple of days back at Hogwarts, you'd neglected to write in it. Then you did. On the 9th of September, you finally wrote in it. The classic sentence starter of Dear Diary. Then came the reply. Hello (Name) Tyler. You adored Tom and wrote to him as often as you could.

Between classes. During lessons. During meals. After your dorm mates had gone to sleep. Then you began to experience the black-outs. One minute you were walking between classes; the next you found yourself near Hagrid's hut, robes drenched in a strange, crimson substance.

Your mind tried to deny it, the very fact, trying to convince you it was red ink or paint. But in your heart you knew the truth. You were covered in blood. The blood of the school roosters. And the guilt began to slowly eat you up. Consuming your heart. Clouding your mind. Until you began to soothe your madness by writing to your sweet Tom and picking the skin around your fingernails until it bled.

The same sinful red as the roosters' blood. Then the attacks followed swiftly. First, Filch's cat, Mrs Norris was petrified by the Basilik that you set loose on the school. You warned them. Writing the message in blood on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.

The victims of the Basiliks' petrification began to pile up. Sir Nicholas. Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Penelope Clearwater. Hermione Granger. And it was all your fault. You'd condemned them to their fates. And the more paranoid you got. You'd hallucinate the blood on your hands. Scrubbing your hands for hours on end until they were red raw, just to get the fucking stain out.

You had your Tom to comfort you all. To soothe your ever-growing madness and paranoia. He'd appear to you sometimes. The tall, dark and handsome boy with his dark brown locks and insatiable smile. Then you figured it out. It was him. It was all him.

You'd pointed an accusatory finger at him, shaking like a leaf. "You..." you'd muttered in horror before meeting his piercing gaze with blown-wide pupils, "It's you!".

In a fleeted attempt to save yourself and anyone else, you stormed to the Girls' Lavatory on the third floor and threw the diary into the toilet. Thinking yourself safe, you relaxed. But you shouldn't have let your guard down. Tom had basically imprinted himself on you.

You always recalled his beautiful brown eyes piercing your soul, the very image was burnt into your memory. And no matter how many times you tried to forget, he always. came. back. You'd broken into Gryffindor Tower and basically ransacked the one of the Boys' Dormitories until you retrieved it.

Your diary.

You weren't yourself anymore. People around you noticed too. What happened to (Name)? Was something that was whispered among peers. Your bestfriend, Lily Peterson, had noticed too. You brushed her off, pushing her away. Then, tired of waiting, Tom summoned you down to the Chamber of Secrets.

His initial plan was to drain your life force so he could live again. But things changed. As the product of a love potion, he couldn't properly feel true, honest love but rather a warped version of it. Dark love. Obsessive love. Unjust love. His love was cruel. His touch was cruel. And he was cruel.

And you were his. No matter how you tried to stop him, you were always going to be his. "Mine," he'd murmur, holding your weak form against his own, carressing your face, "All mine,".

You'd tried to fight him off. But to no avail. You'd lost. Now, the world was going to feel Voldemort's wrath. And he'd start with the figure of twelve-year-old Harry Potter marching into the Chamber of Secrets.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #christian coulson #tom riddle x reader #yandere #angst #romance #fanfic #first fic #voldemort #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle x reader #voldemort x reader #lord voldemort x reader #manipulation #harry potter fanfic

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rainydayathogwarts · 10 months

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Jealous, Jealous, Jealous girl - Ron Weasley

summary: Lavender won't stop flirting with your boyfriend, but he won't tell her off because he's loving the PDA coming from you. You can't stand it, so you show her who he belongs to.

warnings: smut, handjob, exhibitionism, (semi) public sex

She's gone crazy.

What was going through her head when she threw herself onto him and pulled him in such a tight hug? Did she not see you, standing just feet away from him, about to give him a kiss for his success? You could see the shock and confusion on his face, arms by his side as he ran the situation in his head, refusing to return her hug.

From beside you, you heard Fred and George gasping and murmuring some "She's dead" and "Good luck to her" when they saw the look on your face.

Just the other day she sat at your potions table, listening as you told Hermione how well your relationship was going. She saw the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulder when class finally ended, guiding you to your next one.

And now she's the one with her arms around him.

Ron attempts to push her away slowly, separating himself from the hug, but you don't acknowledge him as he walks towards you, rather giving Lavender a death stare before turning to your boyfriend and returning the kiss he leans in for.

You can feel her eyes on you as you press yourself further into him, going onto your tiptoes as you reach your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue into his mouth to meet his, intertwining yourselves into a passionate kiss. When you separate, you're both panting for air, and Ron's big hands are gripping the curve of your ass, one of his hands moving up to caress your waist.

You're still holding him close, a manicured hand moving down his neck to run down his chest and you giggle when you see the look of amazement on Ron's face. It was clear he was only expecting that from you behind closed doors.

"Congrats on your win baby." You whisper, and Ron leans in again, stealing a quick kiss from you before giggling and pulling away from you, receiving pats on the back from his older brothers who wink at you when you walk away. You wipe your bottom lip from the smudged lip gloss and make eye contact with Lavender, whose eyes were still glued to you, and you tilt your head, smiling kindly at her.

It wasn't until the day after, when you sat with your friends at the Gryffindor table that you understood that this 'game' Lavender was playing was only just starting. You brought your mug to your lips, lightly blowing on it before taking a sip when Lavender walked behind your boyfriend, clasping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a flirtatious smile when he turned around before walking off. His lip curled upwards in disgust and you slowly swallowed your tea as your eyes followed the strawberry blonde.

You didn't bother reacting to her, even as she stared at you with a satisfied smirk on her face, which started to falter at the unfazed look on your face.

"Darling, are you done?" Your head snapped back towards your boyfriend and you nodded, standing up in sync to walk to class. When you stood side by side, you let Ron take your book bag off your shoulder to sling it over his as you took his free hand, intertwining your fingers together.

You could see Ron open and shut his mouth several times from the corner of your eye, as though contemplating if he should say anything about the situation. Deciding against it, he walked into the classroom and pulled a chair out for you as he sat next to you. He opened his textbook, placing his wand on the edge of his desk when he felt your hand on his thigh. You could see his cheeks turn pink as your second hand came up to straighten up his tie.

"Everything alright love?" He asked and you nodded, your hand coming up from his thigh to rest on his shoulder. Leaning close to him until your face was mere inches from his, you whisper into his ear with a sultry tone "You don't have any plans for your free period after this, do you?" With Ron's gaze looking down, you squeeze your thighs together to make sure he gets the message. He shakes his head frantically as his hand comes down on your thigh, looking up to make sure no one is looking at your private exchange.

But someone is.

Lavender, now seated in the front of the class, is turned around in her chair to speak to her friend behind her, yet her eyes are locked on you and your boyfriend. He sighs, his hand lying still on your thigh, but he faces the front, ignoring the way she leans towards her friend to point you both out to her.

For some reason, Ron can't pay attention to McGonagall as she explains another spell, a million thoughts racing through his mind. Usually, he was the one who tried dragging you into his dorm during your free periods and you always fretted that one of his dorm mates would walk in on you, even as he laid on top of you and pressed kisses onto your body. Normally, he boldly kissed you in front of your friends in the common room, only to pull away and find you rosy-cheeked with your head turned away in embarrassment. Never in your relationship had you been the one with wandering hands, suggesting you ditch everything at hand to find an empty space to fuck while you could.

It was all because of her.

And as much as he hated her, God he was so grateful.

Having you express your possessiveness over him was igniting a kind of fire in his belly, and he would take your displays of affection towards him any day, anywhere. That's why he mindlessly let you guide him through the halls at the end of class, his eyes glued to you as his hand clutched yours tightly. He paid little attention to the wavy haired strawberry blonde who followed you, having seemingly ditched her friend to isolate the three of you and confront you.

Lavender stopped abruptly when she saw you heading into one of the small secluded study rooms deep within the Gryffindor common room, leaving the door open behind you, allowing her a full view of you pushing Ron against the wall and connecting your lips to his. She wavered in the doorway, looking through the small gap as you pressed your body to Ron's, one of his moans filling the air.

Your hands wandered down Ron's body until you reached his belt and you paused momentarily, looking into his eyes for any signs of discomfort, but all you got from him was a pleading "Baby, please."

You started unbuckling Ron's belt and he whimpered, pushing his hips against yours and leaning down to reconnect your lips in a desperate kiss. Once Ron was freed from the restraints of him belt, you reached your hand in his underwear to wrap around his hard cock, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. Ron separated from the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours and he let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your hips as he let quiet moans out.

You spread his pre-cum around his dick, starting to move your hand slowly up and down his shaft and squeezing him at the base only for him to cry out in pleasure as one of his hands came up to lace itself in your hair. You gasped when he pulled your hair, looking up at him, mouth agape and eyes shut as his head leaned against the wall. Giggling, you looked down at his thick cock in your hand, his tip red and leaking pre-cum, so you brought your hand up to squeeze it, then smoothly ran your fingers across the top of it. Ron shuddered, his hips bucking in your hand uncontrollably and you sped your hand up, leaning into him to whisper words of praise.

"Come on baby, you're doing so good for me.

Why don't you come for me?

Be a good boy and come for me, then you can do whatever you want to me."

Ron gruntled, letting out a strangled moan as his hips humped into your hand a few more times, white ropes of cum shooting onto his crisp white shirt in long spurts.

You continued stroking him so he could ride out his orgasm until he started catching his breath, his clammy hands coming up to cup your face and pull you into another kiss. When you pulled away, he was grinning boyishly at you, and he glanced down to see the mess you created, raising his eyebrows at you.

When he looked back up though, he caught Lavender's eye in the doorway and shook his head. You followed his gaze and smirked, looking back at him to say "She just can't get enough, can she?"

Ron chuckled, putting his hands on your hips to spin you around to face the doorway and started undoing the buttons of your trousers. "Yeah, well why don't we show her who I belong to huh?" He teases, his fingers trailing under your panties, immediately finding your clit.

You moan, throwing your head back onto his shoulder and nod as his fingers find their way inside you and Lavender turns red in the doorway, frozen in place.

She doesn't know if she wants to be you or be with you.

#ron wealsey #ron weasley smut #ron wealsey x y/n #ron weasly imagine #ron weasly x reader #harry potter oneshot #hp fanfic #harry potter #smut #fem reader #afab #imagine #the weasleys #weasley wednesday #hogwarts #rainydayathogwarts #ron weasley

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cursedmoon-doll13 · 10 months

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Some Kind Of Stranger.

(Sirius x Reader)

Cw: Angst, Smut, Dub/Noncon. Afab reader. Prisoner (also falsely accused) reader and they are having a very bad time™️ Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Comfort Sex in a very uncomfortable place.

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Condemned to rot in Azkaban, you find yourself thrown into a cell already inhabited by a particularly infamous wizard. Perhaps you can stave off the torment together…

Dividers by @/saradika

Your life is forfeit.

Until now, the threat of death never seemed real. Not when you were seized by the officials and dragged before the ministry, not when those cold, sneering faces looked down upon you and sentenced you to a life in Azkaban for a crime you didn’t commit. It was a farce, a bad practical joke. It couldn’t be real.

Perhaps you were simply enduring some nightmare; this was only a dream, you’d soon find your coworker, Mildred, shaking you vigorously - wake up, you lazy git! Do you even know what bloody time it is? - And then, you’d wipe the crust from your eyes, pull on your Honeydukes apron and go back to peddling sugar to those titchy new Hogwarts kids, who shrink more and more each year.

No. It’s now that it feels real. Now, you're forced behind rusty iron bars, stranded in the middle of the ocean, trapped forever. All you can hear is the crying and moaning of the other prisoners, who sob and bay like animals. You’re still frozen in shock.

Then, the panic sets in. Sinking and emptying, like a vast hole has opened up in your stomach. But you can’t even scream anymore; it dies in your throat like a broken whistle. Instead you just cry, sliding down to the filthy floor in a pathetic heap. No matter how you plug your ears, the older inmates howl louder, joining in a cacophony that almost deafens you.

After a while, the din thankfully quiets down. Exhausted, you drift off into uneasy sleep for a few hours, until some damp chill startles you again. You feel numb and heavy. For the first time since you came here, you take in your surroundings, though there isn’t much: You’re boxed into a container of rock, packed like a product. In one shadowed corner, there’s a pulpy grey lump stuck to the wall like mould. You blink away the darkness and realise it is a vaguely human shape: one with filthy, matted hair.

He is a man; or the sordid remnants of one.

He’s wearing the same drab, striped clothing as you, though older and rattier and crusted with grime. For a moment, you’re convinced he’s dead. The idea of being locked in with a rotting corpse flashes horrifyingly through your mind. But then, he raises his gloomy head. He must be waking up, too.

“Hello?” You gently call out to him. Your voice echoes around the room. You scrape your knee on the floor as you crawl over, trying to see him better.

Almost immediately, you regret your decision.

This is a mistake. Oh, god, it has to be.

The prisoner sharing your cell is Sirius Black.

That Sirius Black.

Sirius Black, who once fired off a curse that killed twelve muggles before you. Sirius Black, whose gaunt and hollowed cheeks now recall the skeleton you first believed he was. Sirius Black, who’s gazing fixedly at you now, in awe, as if you’re an apparition.

“Hello,” he echoes back, and his voice is so gravelly that he sounds like he’s swallowed a bag full of glass. His eyes are wide and strangely bright.

“I…”

Your throat constricts.

The panic from earlier almost drove you into hysterics. Now, you’re just a deer in the headlights.

He rises, advancing towards you.

“You don’t look like one of them,” Black rasps. You follow his line of sight towards your empty forearm.

“N-no, I’m not a Death Eater!” You cry, and scramble quickly away. Still, you feel the urgent need to clamp a hand down there. It’s as if his gaze burns you.

“I’m Innocent! I didn’t do it, I swear, I… I… ”

But you’re choked up with tears again. Now the dam is breached, and you can’t staunch the flow. You were so sullen and distant before the actual judges, but as you’re confronted with death at the hands of a possible madman, you’re desperate to prove yourself. It’s all completely pointless, but you can’t help it. You felt it when you failed your N.E.W.T’s, too. The weight of inevitability; the realisation that a door had slammed permanently shut on your life.

You’re so beside yourself, you don’t register how close Black has gotten. Now, you can feel his warm breath tickling your ear, almost pleasantly. But then you flinch, as images of brute, bloody violence force themselves into your head. All you know of this man is that he’s a ruthless killer, that’s he’s…

“Not going to hurt you,” Black tells you. He’s backed you into a wedge in the stone, with nowhere else to turn to but him. You feel like a cornered animal.

“Don’t cry, now,” he says quietly. A bony, shaking knuckle comes to wipe the wetness from your cheek. “If you are Innocent, don’t you forget. It helps not to.”

Don’t Forget… Black’s words solidify in your mind. You swallow down a lump. The scrape on your knee is beginning to sting painfully. You realise it’s bleeding.

“Wouldn’t do to catch an infection here, eh?” He quips. Black clumps together the cleanest strip of cloth he has and dabs at your weeping knee.

You blink owlishly. It’s so starkly conversational, it sounds like it came from an entirely different man.

“Um… No. No.” You sniff and rub your eye; it smarts. “You’re right, It really wouldn’t do.” You glance sheepishly back up at his pale face.

“…Thankyou,” you sigh, and you mean it.

For a brief second, this encounter feels precious. Without realising it, you’ve relaxed so much tension in your tired body. Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in hits you like a ton of bricks. How could you have ever imagined you’d be comforted by a convicted murderer? He’s bent forward, staring intently at you, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. A little too intently.

Black’s tattered shirt gapes open like a wound, and your gaze dips instinctively downward, tracing black-inked, swirling tattoos. His bare chest is coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Black’s hand brushes momentarily against yours, and you hurry to pry your wandering eyes away.

It’s no use, though, because he’s rather caught on. You believe you half-fantasise the ghost of a cheeky smile, twitching beneath his rugged whiskers.

He would’ve been handsome, once. He still is.

“Tell me your name,” Black murmurs, and licks his cracked lips. “I want to know.”

You tell him. He nods faintly, and draws closer.

Black’s grey eyes are half-lidded. He’s leaning flush against you now, breathing huskily, almost clinging to you, like he can’t bear to be apart from your heat. Maybe you’ve already lost the plot - after barely a day here - but the anguished, far-away longing in his expression makes your heart pang.

Eleven years ago now, it must’ve been…

A shrill, unwelcome noise cuts through the silence. Outside, another inmate is shrieking.

Then, the nightmare truly begins: an eerie rattle dragging across the air, knife-sharp, closing in, as certain as death. You realise immediately that it is the Dementors - your prison guards- even without seeing them. You feel them, cold like a sheet of ice, crushing you, inescapable.

You shift, darting your eyes around your cell; you must think of something, anything else.

Your distraction comes in a rush of warmth, cocooning you in a grimy coat. Black has caged you into his arms, and will not budge.

“Stay here with me,” he breathes. His voice is raw and hoarse, pleading: “Just for one moment…”

He shudders violently, and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Black squeezes you so tightly, so desperately, you feel like you’re suffocating.

“Sirius,” you croak out a protest. “Wait, let me go.”

The sound of his own name jolts him out of his panic, but his grip on you remains unrelenting. Sirius turns a sharp glare on you that makes you shiver.

Before, his gaze was fond, almost gentle, but now there’s a hungry glint in his eyes. It reminds you of the starving, feral dogs that roam the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the ones that’d rip your throat out for a mere scrap of meat. No, he may not have tried to kill you, but that doesn’t mean you should’ve let your guard down. You’re powerless to stop him now.

“Don’t leave, don’t you dare leave me,” he’s chanting through dirty, gritted teeth.

“I’m not going to leave, Sirius,” you muster. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay here with you…” The words seem to pacify him a little, and he softens his touch once more. You see again the sad, forlorn expression, and pity floods your heart. He’s a hurt man. A lonely man…

Another frigid spike of mental agony is driven through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You no longer have the willpower to resist. He’s so warm, his body wrapped around you like a protective blanket. You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat underneath his striped shirt, pounding like a drum.

“Help…” He sounds so lost, feverish. “…Stave it off.”

You find yourself nodding, pressing yourself closer to him. He’s right. It hurts you, too, the Dementors’ presence. All you have now is each other. Sirius strokes a clammy hand over your tear-stained cheek, lifts your chin and kisses you. His lips taste salty and bitter, and your teeth clash together clumsily with the urgency of it. You rush to hook your arms around his neck, fingers raking across knots and tangles in his dark, unkempt hair.

Sirius groans heavily into your mouth, bucking his hips. He’s so malnourished you can feel the harsh angle of his pelvic bone jut against you. Something else, hard, twitches fervently over your thigh. He tightens his hold on you before you can react, grasping your thighs and grinding powerfully over your still clothed cunt. You whimper as his heat radiates into you. Sirius doesn’t stop, panting frantically. Maybe he can’t stop. He’s trapped you between himself and the cold, hard stone, and you start to crave friction and relief from him. Something you can focus on that isn’t discomfort or pain. But you’re completely at his mercy in this position, and can only rub your clit wantonly against the throbbing outline of his dick. A low, pleased grumble resounds in his throat, almost canine.

Sirius paws at the confines of your inmate’s rags, and without warning, he forcefully disrobes you. You gasp as a freezing gust of air pimples gooseflesh on your exposed skin, but he’s on you just as fast, You cling instinctively onto his jacket as he hoists you onto his waiting lap. He latches onto your throat with a greedy bite, sucking ravenous hickies down to your collarbone. Sirius rolls a hot tongue over your hardened nipple, and you tug again at his tangled locks as he grazes tantalisingly over it with his teeth.

His hands are everywhere, movements once well-practised, natural, stirred into a lustful frenzy. One comes to pinch at your other nipple, another is slipping past your stomach, down in between your thighs where you’re needy and slick. You can’t help the moan that escapes past your lips as the pad of his thumb circles over your sensitive clit.

For a small, blissful moment, you rock into his palm as he holds you, stifling your mewls into his shoulder as he massages the bundle of nerves there. Oh, fuck, you need him, as much as you need air to breathe. If you shut your eyes, you can almost pretend that you weren’t here; that you are joyful and unfettered, making love to a free man.

“Mm, Sirius!”

Sirius curls another long finger into your wet slit, and you could swear the glint in his eye is smugly satisfied. He pumps mercilessly into your pussy, not sparing your clit from his attention, and it isn’t long before you feel a thrill rippling up your spine; tight, warm pressure building in your abdomen.

But then he seems to grow antsy and impatient. You whine as he pulls his hand away, but he hushes you, pressing a consoling kiss to your temple. The lucid side to him, the one that still cares for your comfort, provides you with his coat to rest your head on. You lie down, shuddering as the frigid air assaults you again. You grab at his rags as he quickly undresses. He’s taking too long, too long…

Sirius drags down the waistband of his slacks and releases the straining hardness of his cock. It’s erect and veiny, leaking precum from an enraged tip.

He’s left you so soaked that he meets no resistance as he buries himself deep into your ready cunt. You groan as you adjust to the girth of him, stretching your gummy walls. Sirius grunts, clutching your thighs so tightly his nails leave indents on the tender flesh. Sweat is pouring down his forehead in rivulets, and you reach up to brush damp hair away from his haggard face. It occurs to you faintly that maybe after such deprivation, this much sensation is overwhelming him. That notion is swiftly dashed as he stutters his hips jerkily into yours, and you squeak out a moan as your nerves jolt with pleasure. You clamp your legs down over his waist, rocking back into him with all the force you can muster.

Sirius is picking up pace faster and faster; he’s had enough of being attentive. He braces you against the thin material of his coat and begins fucking you in earnest, and his rough, sloppy thrusts knock the breath clean out of you. The impact of skin on skin echoes around your cell, drowning out the screams of agony from outside. You arch into him, clawing meagrely onto his biceps for purchase as your shoulder blades burn across the ground.

Sirius growls and grips the back of your neck, lifting you up to pull you into a hungry kiss. His free hand slips down to ruthlessly tease your clit again, and the inescapable power of his body dumbs your senses. It’s a mercy: now all you can feel is him, all you can think of is… The taut razor wire in your belly is threatening to snap. You’re so close now, and it’s like he can taste it, muffling your cries with his tongue as he buckles down and pounds into you.

Then it all breaks, a flash of heat rippling through you like an electric shock. The force of your climax is so strong that you instinctively writhe away from him, but Sirius holds you firmly down and only fucks you harder as you come, rumbling with satisfaction as you spasm and clench uncontrollably around his dick. You can barely comprehend how his movements are faltering, growing increasingly messy and desperate…

Sirius groans hoarsely before he drags himself out of you. His cum splashes over your still twitching stomach in a thick, white rope. He slumps, shuddering out a jagged sigh. Your orgasm lathers over you until it tapers off into a pleasant buzz. For a while, all you can hear is your intermingling breaths, panting in sync. Now that he’s pulled out, you feel strangely hollow and empty inside.

Uncaring of your still sticky belly, Sirius heaves his sweaty body on top of you and smothers you like a blanket. You only wish he could clog your senses, too, so that this reality could fade away. Seeking sanctuary in his warmth, you press your eyes shut and resolve to fall asleep and dream of better days.

Your life is forfeit. Now you will exist without sun, without moon, without food or water. Someday you may forget your own name.

But you will have this. You will have this.

#was trying to write some fun sexy smut then it turns out quite angsty #but for me I think that’s just par for the course #I honestly haven’t read the books in years I just think escaped prisoner Sirius is hot 🤷‍♀️#the wiki is my friend #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black in azkaban #tw dubcon #afab reader #smut #angst #my writing

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futurecorps3 · 11 months

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Jamie Potter with his busty reader who dresses in short clothes. James being jealous? James bragging? Who knows.

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Masterlist<3

MINORS STAY AWAY I'LL BLOCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU, THIS IS +18!!!

See also… All marauders versions in my marauders masterlist<3 (Sirius’ is up!!!)

oh my god I love this concept!!! BIG TITS FOR THE WIN.

-My man is INSANE about them.

-I mean, especially if you like wearing short/revealing clothes like yes please

-Buries his face in them for suuuuure

-The others think it's disgusting (they're SO jealous), probably yell things like "oh James, not again" or "get a bloody room you two!"

-"You wish you could have something like this Pads", muffled because he's too busy suffocating on them. He’s right.

-Always respectful tho!! If it makes you uncomfortable and prefer to do it in private or not at all he’ll understand

-He is obsessed with them, yes, but Effie raised a boy with manners and there is no way in hell he’d touch you if he knows it’s making you uncomfy

-James brags RESPECTFULLY.

-Someone makes a comment about how hot their partner is? smug smirk, looks towards you.

-If he notices one of his friends staring, he looks them up and down knowingly and they immediately stop

-That man has an INTENSE death stare

-I feel like he just worships you in many ways and those massive boobs just add to the mix

-James gets protective but not jealous I think!!

-Like maybe if he sees someone staring too much, he’d offer his jumper or put an arm over your shoulders if you don’t feel like wearing anything else

-Just thought of him coming back from Quidditch practice, all burnt out and just

-“Hi baby! How was practi-“ “Missed you, missed m’girls” and straight up just lifts your shirt and stays on them while you play with his hair until he feels recharged.

-OF COURSE THE BOYS HAVE WALKED IN ON YOU GUYS WHEN IT GETS SPICY AFTER HE BURIES HIS FACE LIKE WHAT DID YOU EXPECT

-“YOU ABSOLUTE PIGS, MERLIN!” -Padfoot

-Buys you tank tops, crop tops, dresses with pretty cleavage and such, all in your favorite colors

-booooy you’re getting SPOILED

-“Jamesie darling, thank you! But what’s the occasion?” You say, opening the small bag containing three crop tops with different lengths of cleavage, “Do I need an occasion? The occasion is you’re gorgeous, okay? Now go try ‘em on!”

-Hehe, I’ve always thought my man loves a nice set of lingerie so you can guess how that goes

-All these don’t compose your relationship, it’s just a part of you guy’s dynamic!!!

-So basically, yeah, he’s obsessed.

-He’d die a happy man if your tits end up suffocating him <3

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x afab!reader #young!james potter x reader #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders imagine #the marauders era #the marauders #harry potter marauders #harry potter fanfiction #james fleamont potter #james potter fluff #james potter smut

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itsharleystuff · 8 months

Text

↳ II. 𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘋

Read part one here.

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Joel Miller x afab!fem reader (no outbreak au).

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (once again, I’m sorry)

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after your steamy encounter with Joel during your homecoming party, things between you have been stagnant. Although, fate seems to be on your side when both Sarah and your dad have to leave town for a short while.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), sex, p in v sex, Joel hits it from behind, blowjobs, some teasing, a bit of spanking, pet names (darling, sweetheart, honey), unprotected sex (pls do not attempt), cum eating, taking nsfw photos, Joel tries to be dom but fails, age gap (reader is twenty four, Joel is late forties), reader is kind of a brat, fluff and feelings (yes, this is a warning), alcohol consumption, brief mention of family death. Barely edited, sorryyy. No use of y/n.

—A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone but I suggest reading the previous part for a better understanding. Btw, there’s a couple of Easter eggs from the game in this! Also— I tried making a moodboard and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’ll probably stick to gifs in the future, lol.

“I like Indiana Jones," you babble, taking a sip from your coffee without looking at anyone in specific. "I was twelve and in love with Harrison Ford..."

"Okay, so that's one movie we're definitely not going to watch." Sarah chimes in, lazily chewing on her scrambled eggs. "How do you feel about Robert Pattinson?"

"That depends," you reply, moving your head side to side in a contemplative manner, "are we talking twilight or Harry Potter?"

You hear your dad snort on the other side of the table and see Joel chuckling beside him. Sarah crosses both arms over her chest and raises a brow at them. “What's so funny?"

"Nothing," your dad clears his throat and side-eyes his friend. "Just thought you two were a bit old for those crappy vampire movies. Maybe watch-"

"Forgive me, but I don't think it's a good idea to take recommendations from either of you," you cut him off, leaning back on your chair. "You're both obsessed with die hard, think The Godfather is incredibly complex and in your spare time watch construction programs. We'll be fine on our own."

"Touché..."

It's been three weeks since your homecoming party, and ever since then it has become a habit to have breakfast together every weekend. Today, Saturday, it was the Miller's turn to cook, which consequently had you and your father sitting at their table. As of now, you and Sarah were discussing your movie night, which had to be postponed due to her road-trip to San Antonio— apparently, she and her friend Ellie were going to visit some college campuses there.

It's also been three weeks since that little, hot encounter you and Joel had in your kitchen. And, contrary to your better judgement, both of you were more than eager to spend some extra time alone. Things since then had been uneasy, specially when being surrounded by others; always worried that someone might notice those stolen looks you'd share or sense the palpable tension that rose when you would stand too close to each other.

You try not to think about it. Except when you do. A swirl of memories would come flooding your mind in the most inappropriate moments, creating that heat that made you remember exactly how his fingers felt inside you, his tongue between your folds, the sloppy kisses and that feral, hungry look in his eyes while eating you out, touching you like you were the most precious thing on earth.

"How about pride and prejudice?" the girl wonders, standing up to clean her dishes and snapping you back to reality.

"Shit, I love period dramas!" your dad shoots you a reproachful glare at your language, but you chose to ignore it. "As a matter of fact, most of my designs are inspired by the Victorian and regency eras."

"Oh, yeah," Sarah recalls, "I remember I read about it in one of your blogs. Dad showed it to me, by the way..." Joel clears his throat loudly, making her giggle.

Although she had mentioned it before, it was still kind of weird that he acknowledged your work. At first you thought it was merely because he wanted to connect with you somehow, but lately he'd been asking if he could see your new sketches and would let you borrow some old magazines he had around the house. Your best friend, Sophie, mentioned he might've been trying to show his interest in you subconsciously. And she was that one psychic friend who believed in zodiac signs and angel numbers, so you decided to believe her.

In that moment, your dad receives an incoming call on his cellphone; he excuses himself and heads to the living room. Your eyes lock with Joel's, and the fact that he was uninhibitedly staring back at you drew a smug smile on your face.

"Are you interested in fashion, Mr. Miller?" he sulks out a dry 'no', but you could see him fidget with his watch nervously. "Pity. I thought maybe you could model some of my male designs."

Sarah genuinely cracks up at your comment, slapping one hand on the table. "You want dad to pose for you? Seriously?"

"Why not? I brought my Polaroid camera, I can get some very nice shots." You were partially joking, but deep down you just wanted to see how he'd react.

"I mean, I know dad's got his charm with women, or so they keep saying-"

"No way anyone says that," he rambles.

"But the idea of him modeling is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard."

The fact was that you didn't want to take pictures of him so anyone else could see them. You wanted them exclusively for yourself. A couple of naughty Polaroids to keep around for whenever you were aching for him —which has been nearly every fucking night since your arrival—.

"It was a silly idea," you finally agree, shrugging. Joel stands to take his things to the sink. "Do you really have to leave for the weekend? You're like, my only friend here."

"Uh, about that..." she leans in towards you and you can practically smell a scheme on her. "Would you be mad if I gave your number to someone?"

You can quite literally feel the man standing behind you tense up. "Huh?"

"Yeah, like... To a guy." She moves in her place, but there's still no answer from you. "He's my English teacher. His name is Will and he's super smart, young, really funny and very handsome, I might add. I believe he can be your new male model." Sarah adds that last bit with a grin.

When you turn your head to see Joel, there was a deep scowl etching on his face, his body remaining still as a stone.

"I don't know... As friends, maybe." You weren't sure why, but the idea of meeting anyone new didn't really sound appealing.

She opened her mouth to say something but before she could actually do so, your dad walked in again. He appeared upset, gesturing nonsense and muttering impassively.

"What's wrong?" your tone comes out concerned.

"I have a meeting in Boston," he sighed, resting a hand on your shoulder apologetically. "Apparently it's urgent and I have to catch the next flight if I want to be there by nightfall."

"Oh, don't worry," you smile at him warmly. "I understand. Besides, I'm an adult. I can manage a weekend by myself."

He nods, still seemingly aloof. "I know but- I just wanted to spend some more time with you."

And of course you wanted that too, but saying it out loud could literally bring him to quit his job. He was always very extreme when it came down to you.

"What time d’you leave?" his friend asks him.

"Half past four. Why?"

"I can drop Sarah off at Ellie's and then drive you to the airport, if you'd like." Such a caring friend, Joel Miller. So selfless. Helping your dad out, attending his daughter's every special need...

"Yeah, thanks a lot, man. Take care of my little girl while I'm away."

You see his eyes gleam with a mix of unknown emotions, "Will do."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The last few days had been no less than torment for Joel. Each moment that went by in which he didn't get a chance to be near you had him losing his mind. Badly. And it wasn't necessarily a physical thing— not always, at least.

Every morning, he would wake up and go to work, knowing for certain that when he comes back home he'll find you hanging around with Sarah or sitting out on your porch with a sketching notebook on your lap.

He liked to guess what you'd be doing.

Would you be playing board games with his daughter? Watching a movie or baking desserts? Maybe you were thrift shopping with your dad or simply going to the mall. And later on, when he finally gets to see you again, you'd tell him all about it.

Joel also liked to imagine what kind of clothes you'd be wearing. One thing he noticed is that you never stick to one particular style or aesthetic. One day you could be wearing pastel sundresses with ribbons in your hair; the next one could be long, black skirts paired with basic tank tops and multiple necklaces, or even something more extravagant, depending on your mood.

Seeing you was an experience— one that he could never get tired of. It's like every time he sets his eyes on you there's a certain color palette that changes constantly, or the feeling of gathering all your favorite songs into one playlist and then hitting the shuffle button. He never knows what to expect. Hence why he had given up on trying to relate you to the silly things around; like seasons, animals, artists or foods. Instead, he started associating you with feelings.

You were creative, unique and incredibly fearless. In a way, you made him feel uneasy, excited, thrilled, confident and many more emotions at the same time. If he had to describe you in one word, he'd say evoking.

Oh, how you pestered his brain.

He hated how much he thought about you, and how little guilt he felt from it.

Right now he was sitting on the drivers seat of his truck, waiting at the airport's parking lot. You asked him if you could walk your dad to his corresponding gate and he agreed. The downside: it had started to rain, probably not too bad for your dad's flight to be delayed but enough for your clothes to get soaked on your way back.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you muttered, shutting the passenger's door behind you. “The seats are gonna get all wet..."

"Here," Joel takes off his jacket to place it over your shoulders.

It feels warm and it smells like him, "Thanks."

He starts the car without saying anything else, keeping his eyes glued to the road. You, on the other hand, could not stop staring at him. Now that no one else was around, there was no shame in admiring his side profile, the way his muscles flexed and his hands grasped the wheel. There was something inherently attractive about men driving, but- Jesus... This image had your mind roaming around dark places.

Suddenly, realization sinks in— you're alone.

Alone with him.

"I, uh..." he taps the wheel with his thumb, still avoiding your gaze. "I wanted to take you out for dinner. The weather kinda ruined it."

The corners of your mouth hitch up in a silly smile. "Too bad. I really didn't want to be alone tonight."

Joel hums, appearing somewhat distraught. In reality, he was fighting for his life. The clothes you chose to wear today were not fitted for the rain; denim mini-skirt, high pair of boots and a white top that complimented your upper body. He tried not to look at the raindrops rolling down your thighs or note how transparent your shirt has become, forcing himself to stare at your hands and the many rings that decorated your fingers, seeing there the one he gifted you.

"How about you come over to my place?" you suggest, trying to catch his attention. "I'll need a shower and a change of clothes but... Maybe we can do something afterwards."

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, still avoiding your gaze, "Like what?"

This time your voice goes lower, a smirk spreads across your face and something in your eyes flickers; a darker, sensual spark.

"Oh, you know..." your hand carefully comes to rest on his knee. His thigh tenses but he doesn't say or do anything to push you away. "Whatever you want."

He swallows hard, feeling the pads of your fingers run circles on his leg, your nails mildly scratching over the jeans in a way that raises goosebumps on his skin and eases his nerves.

"I've got a better idea," he says, keeping his tone calm —barely—. "Why don't you come to my house instead?"

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Sure, but- what about my clothes?"

And then he smiles cockily, as if this had been his plan all along, "Wear mine."

Well, there was absolutely no way you were going to turn him down. With a bit more boldness, you slide your hand a few inches up his inner thigh, still rubbing soothing patterns. His jaw clenched, but remained silent and apparently unbothered.

"Joel?" his name rolled off your tongue sweetly, in a way only you knew how to. He uttered a 'hm?' in retort. "Did you miss me?"

"I've seen you nearly every day," he answers playfully.

You laugh, stopping your movements and simply resting your palm there. "So... No?"

"Didn't say that, darlin'." The truck suddenly stops at a red light as he exhales heavily, giving in to you at last. "But I'll let you guess."

A push and pull game, like a cat chasing a mouse. Your smirk widens. "I don't think so. Not as much as I have."

His eyes scan your body from head to toe, the way you sit with your legs slightly parted, back laying flat against the seat and face turned towards him with heated cheeks and low gaze. Unexpectedly, your hand draws back from his lap as you start looking through your purse and a frown forms on his face, baffled by the loss of contact.

"Which is why..." you take the Polaroid camera out and see a whole shift in his eyes, like he's about to burst in laughter. "I brought this."

"No," despite his categorical denial, you still held the object up.

"You have a green light," he curses under his breath and you hold back a chuckle. "Just let me have one, please."

He sighs in defeat, "Why'd you want that?"

The rain had started to settle down but the air was still pretty cold, all that could be heard besides your own voices being the drops that crashed against the car.

"Cause you're handsome," he rolls his eyes sarcastically. "And I like you."

Hell, you were always so straightforward. It made his heart jump inside his chest, wondering if it was gonna burst out.

"You won't like me as much once you meet that Will dude," Joel prattles through gritted teeth, remembering his daughter's suggestion from earlier.

"The guy Sarah mentioned?" your brows furrow subtly. "Why? What's up with him?"

He yanks his head to the side, glancing over at you for a second, "Nothin'. Just thinkin' out loud." In spite of your puzzled expression, he decides to grant your wish. "I'll let ya' take it. But only if I get one in return."

Your lips purse in a smile, "As many as you like, Miller."

He doesn't say anything in response, but his grin doesn’t fade either and you managed to capture it on paper. The image slowly started to become visible and your first thought was how well it captured the whole 'Joel Miller' essence. It was a simple photo of him driving with one hand on the wheel and the other arm thrown lazily over the backseat. That denim shirt hugged his arms exquisitely, the rolled-up sleeves adding to his appeal. He was looking at you when it was taken, so you could see more than half his face— and the way he was grinning, you couldn't help but think he appeared so much younger when he did that. The entire thing felt so much like him: snuggly, blue, genuine and you absolutely loved it.

"There," you show it to him as he started to pull over. "Isn't it nice?"

"Just keep it to yourself, aight?" the man grumbles.

"F'course," with a spark of joy, you slide the photo inside your wallet. "Wouldn't want anyone else peeking at that gorgeous smile of yours. That's a treasure of my own."

"Shut up-" he rumbled, turning his face the other way and opening the door, seemingly flustered. And out of all the amazing things you've accomplished in your life, making this rugged looking man blush was probably your greatest pride.

When he helps you out of the car, holding your hand firmly and cleaving to your waist; you wanted nothing more than to kiss him under the pouring rain, wildly and unhinged, just like last time. But this particular spot possibly had too many curious eyes of which you were unaware of. He obviously doesn't need to guide you through his house, since you already know nearly every corner of it, except for one. His bedroom. And apparently, that's the precise location he's taking you to.

"Please excuse the mess," he says, placing one hand on the door handle, "I haven't had a woman in here for ages, so I'm afraid I probably won't live up to your expectations."

"Joel," you snort, "it's been a decade and a half since you last dated anyone. Trust me, my expectations are pretty low."

He scowls, squinting both eyes. "You didn't have to say it like that..."

It's honestly better than you thought. His bed is nicely done, brown bedsheets striking as warm and welcoming; the walls were painted a pretty, light shade of blue that matched the grayish curtains on the left. The drawers in front of his windows had a bunch of stuff scattered on top of them: a CD player along with a few music discs, some papers, a cap and a pair of reading glasses, batteries, one screwdriver and a framed picture of him and Sarah at the beach. Meanwhile, the nightstand simply had one lamp and an alarm-clock on it. Over the bed's headboard were one poster of a music festival, the image of a landscape and an advert of what you guessed must've been a club, that read 'tacos and beer" on it. The door to the bathroom was on the right.

Messy, yet tidy at the same time. Very Joel-like.

"No way..." you murmur, eyeing the guitar beside his bed. "All this time I thought it was a myth."

"What?" he asks from behind you.

"Dad told me you used to serenade girls back in college and that you wanted to become a singer." A giggle escapes your lips, unable to contain it. "I remember saying he was surely making it up, but..."

"I didn't- I mean..." he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck and feeling his chest swell with your laughter. "Oh, shut up!"

"Make me." The lingering, mischievous smile on your face made his heart pound and blood rush. "Come on, Miller. Shut me up, I dare you."

His eyes darken, but you don't falter for a second. He doesn't move a muscle, solely watching as you took off his jacket and threw it to the bed.

"You dare me?" his voice goes drops an octave, following your every move closely. "That's rather bold of you, sweetheart."

"Mhm," without breaking eye contact, you start taking off your boots. "And yet you're doing nothing about it."

Joel starts walking towards you slowly, holding your gaze intently. Your hair was damp and your clothes were still wet; it didn't really matter that the air was chilly cause you still felt warm all over. He soon invades your space, cupping your chin in his big hand and lifting your head upwards.

"Well, you're awfully quiet now, aren't ya'?" his hot breath fanned across your cheeks, the gap between your faces being basically invisible.

"I'm just waiting for you to start singing some random song by Alabama or Johnny Cash," you scoff. "Like a good ol' Texan ma-"

He doesn't let you finish the sentence, abruptly crashing his lips into your own. Joel isn't delicate about it and the fervor with which he kisses you makes your body stumble a few steps backwards. Your shoulders hit the wall and he pins you against it as your mouths find a way to mold perfectly, at a much nicer pace than last time. You throw your hands around his neck and let your fingers tangle in the curls around his nape, tasting the fresh mint on his lips. His hands rest on your hips, chests pressed together as the temperature kept rising with each second that went on.

You part your lips in order to grant him deeper access, feeling his tongue slide past your teeth and meeting your own in an ardent, heated way. It was perfect, until he broke apart, looking down at you with an asserted confidence.

"You really know nothing 'bout country music," he says in between shaky breaths, beaming. "S'that what you wanted?"

"Yes," you manage to say.

"Then say 'thank you'," Joel indicates petulantly, stroking your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Go on, don't be such a brat."

You blink twice, your brain still buzzing with the sensation of mouth on you, barely capable of processing anything else. "But I want more..."

"You'll take what I give you."

Shit, when he said it like that- "Thank you."

"That's my girl," he straightened his back, opening the door next to you. "Now, get your pretty ass in the shower before you catch a cold, 'kay?" You roll your eyes and hear him chuckle. "There's clean towers under the sink. You can take some clothes from my drawers, or Sarah's if you feel like it. I don't think she'll mind."

"Understood." He can tell you're annoyed, which he finds funny.

"Don't be mad at me, angel." Joel tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. "Promise I'll make it up to you."

You nod distractedly, lost in the cocky spark on his eyes. "I'm not mad. Just hoping you fuck me real good if you're making me wait for it."

Your words almost make him choke on his own saliva. "Sweetheart, you're making it real hard for me to be a gentleman."

It makes your ego boost, in a sense. "I'll be quick. Can you get something for dinner, though? I'm starving."

"Shit, darlin', pick a struggle," he mocks as you enter the bathroom, "are you horny or hungry?"

"Oh, you jerk!"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

6:15 pm.

You take a quick glance at Joel's alarm clock once you come out of the shower. It's been little more than an hour since your dad's plane took off. You hope the rain hadn’t made his flight any difficult, cause the weather turned out to be quite a blessing for you.

The cozy feeling of a nice, warm shower after being soaked under the rain was starting to settle in your bones, making your limbs relax. Then you realize, you smell like Joel. The scent of his soap, his shampoo, even his laundry detergent, is all over you. It's intoxicating in the most fantastic way possible, making your insides burn with a thrill of excitement. You took one on his flannels, —dark green with red stripes— and decided to wear it without anything besides your underwear. It was pretty big anyway, and covered just the necessary areas.

You slid your socks back on when all of the sudden you hear the faint sound of music from the floor beneath. Curious, you walk towards the noise, finding out Joel was in the kitchen, crouched down in front of the opened fridge. The CD player that you saw earlier on his room was now on the table, playing a melody that you recognized almost immediately.

"I like this song," you say, leaning against the wall. "That's Billy Idol, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he recalls, taking out a medium sized plastic box from the fridge. "Tommy made that mix. There's plenty of hits from past decades. I think you'll enjoy it."

The man finally turns around to face you and his face fails to hide his surprise. The way his prying eyes sweep your body in detail, taking his time particularly on your bare thighs, almost made you feel self-conscious if it weren't for that shadow of desire that crossed his eyes and the way his nostrils flared from a contained breath.

"How is he, by the way?" you ask, still on the subject. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Who?" he clearly forgot what he had just said.

"Your brother," you call to mind, "how is he?"

Joel sets the box down on the table and drifts his gaze back to your face. "Fine, I guess. Last time we spoke he said he'd go to Dallas." He takes two glasses from the pantry and what it looks like a bottle of wine. "I-uh... There isn't any real food in here besides those strawberries and chocolates that this guy brought for Sarah. Should I order something?"

You shake your head and walk over to him, "This will do. Won't she get mad if we eat them, though?"

"Don't think so," he replies, pouring the red liquid into the glasses. "I'll blame you if she does."

"Oh, okay-" you cock an eyebrow at him and hold back a giggle. "Thought you didn't like wine."

"It's a fancy drink," he explains, "s'only for special occasions."

"Oh?" you take a sip from it, eyes boring into his. "And what's tonight's?"

Joel smiles conceitedly, jutting his chin out. "I've got you all to myself."

You snort, feeling the heat soar across your cheeks. He takes the snack box and with a sly gesture asks you to follow him into the living room, the melodic sound of the eighties tune turning to background noise as you do. The only lights on are the ones in the kitchen and the lamps beside the couch, shining a perfect light on his features.

"Come here," he calls, the leather squealing under his weight when he sat down. You set the glass down on the coffee table in front of the tv, going to sit next to him. "No, sweetheart," he grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him. "I meant here."

His legs part slightly, making room for you to sit on his lap. Your smile broadened toward a soft chuckle, settling yourself on his thigh. Joel immediately gets his hands on you, one on your lower back and the other merely resting on your upper leg.

"So, who's this mystery man that's been giving gifts to your darling daughter?" he scoffs in response, reaching for a chocolate from the box.

"Honestly? No fuckin' clue." You hum in surprise, drinking from your wine. "She never involves with them, thank god, and once they meet me they never come by again."

"I see,” you muse, “you're the overprotective type," you bite on a strawberry next.

"I wouldn't say it like that..." he sees the sarcastic glimpse on your expression and holds back laughter. "It's a dad reflex, I can't control it."

"Right, sounds convincing."

You stretch your arm behind the couch, setting your elbow and laying the side of your face on your palm. His face is very close to yours but all you do is simply stare at each other; Joel's big brown eyes glimmer with infatuation. “Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?" he asks lowly. "Somethin' more serious."

You wince in confusion, but still nod, "Sure."

He inhales sharply, taking a couple of seconds to actually say what he meant to. “Why are you here?" your frown deepens at his words. "I mean- Texas. I know you said you wanted to make up for the lost time with your old man, but... I feel like there's something else you're not saying."

It takes a minute for you to really sink in on his question. You nearly gulp down the alcohol before setting the glass down, avoiding his ardent gaze.

"Honestly?" you sigh, "There's so much to unpack that I don't even know where to start."

"Try." Although he didn't sound harsh, the effort he was asking you to put in wasn't something of your liking.

"Well, first of all," you meditate, clearing your throat, "the city didn't feel like home since my mom passed. It made me realize how much I missed here." He nods comprehensively, caressing the exposed skin of your thigh in a reassuring manner. "And then there's this- fear. Yeah, I guess it is fear... I've managed to accomplish so much in such short time that it actually fucking scares me to go any further and see that-" you stop, sighing and shaking your head. "That I've reached my limit."

For a moment, there's just silence floating between you, all that could be heard were the rain and a song by tears for fears.

"Darlin', look at me," he asks softly but you can't bring yourself to do it, embarrassed by your confession. "Please, let me see those pretty eyes of yours."

And it's practically impossible for you to deny him anything. Specially when he asks so nicely, when his hand grabs the side of your face so gently— you give in, just like that.

"You're afraid to succeed because you don't know what to do with yourself afterwards. Is that it?" You nod faintly. "Can I speak frankly?"

"I have a feeling you will anyway-"

"Yeah. A bit of tough love, but you need’a hear it." Joel strokes your cheek sweetly and you get shivers from the affection in the action. "Sweetheart, I know what you're going through. Shit feels like it's either moving too fast or not moving at all. And I know how scary that is. Trust me, there's still plenty of time for you."

You square your eyes to his, "Sure, bet you were frightened when you were twenty four."

"Terrified," he spoke truthfully. "Everyone I knew was getting married, moving out or working their asses off."

"And you?" he grunts, taking a strawberry from the box. "What were you doing?" Joel eats the fruit patiently, simply staring at you silently. "Come ooon, don't play hard to get."

"Gotta promise you won't laugh."

It's a tricky business for someone who makes fun of everything, and yet you simply reply: "I swear."

"Fine," he rasps out in fake annoyance. "I used to make my own guitars and- sell 'em sometimes. I'd also teach guitar lessons and horseback riding."

Your eyes widen in surprise and something flutters in your stomach. "Shit, that's actually pretty cool!"

He groans, rolling his eyes at the same time, "I told you not to make fun of me."

"No, no- I mean it." You shuffle on his lap, resting a hand on his chest. "And you sound passionate about it... Why'd you stop?"

The man shrugs his shoulders, tightening his grip on your waist. "It went well for a couple years but I eventually had to get something more solid. More so after Sarah was born." He takes a deep breath in, the smell of his own shampoo on your hair hitting his nostrils and catching him off-guard.

"You should teach me," you suggest with a smug grin. "I always wanted to learn."

"What, guitar or horseback riding?" he wonders, suddenly nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

"Guitar. I'm pretty good at riding, if you must know." You feel him chuckle against your body, his facial hair scratching your sensitive skin.

"We'll see 'bout that," his voice comes out husky as he starts kissing along your jawline.

Joel's common sense jumped out the window long ago, but the string of self control that kept him sane all this time couldn't bear the weight of you wriggling on top of him, semi-naked and with his scent all over you. Something primal took over him, a glimpse of possessiveness that he didn't believe himself capable of feeling towards you specifically. He wanted you to wear that flannel around town so people would look at you and know who it belonged to; whose bed you've been visiting. He wanted you to smell of his cologne so other men would know that you weren't free for them.

Your fingers run through his soft curls, messing his hair while he grabs the back of your thighs and manhandles you onto straddling his lap. He nips and licks over all your vulnerable areas, making your breathing start to labour. How could he possibly know this well the easiest ways to have you so desperate this quick? Leaning into his touch, yearning for him even with the smallest action? He wasn't aware of the answer himself, he just knew.

Joel instinctively throws his head back when you tug at his hair and seize the opportunity to duck down and lay a sweet kiss on his forehead. His hands coast up your thighs, splaying his fingers on your ass to squeeze the flesh. You hold back a giggle, kissing the curve of his nose before catching his soft, soft lips on yours.

He slides an arm around your waist, pressing his palm between your shoulder blades to keep you as close as possible. You feel your nipples harden when his tongue ran along your bottom lip— tauntingly slow, until you allowed him full access to your mouth, letting him taste the sweet mixture of wine and strawberries on your tongue. But his vehemence didn't make you any less eager, kissing him back with just as much passion and vigor, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and mildly pulling at it with minor strength.

The action ignites a fire within him, seeing you on top, feeling your fingers roam around his cheekbones and along his jawline like you knew just how much fucking power you had over him... It was a new sensation, a new kind of desire he didn't recognize at first.

Joel's lips were swollen and his own excitement was starting to feel evident underneath you, which created a blunt ache between your legs. He usually appeared so big and mean, with those broad shoulders and permanent scowl on his face. Now, though... He seemed like he'd let you do just about anything with him, to him— it didn't really matter as long as you kept staring at him like that; through heavy lids, eyes sparkling with a profound, desperate need that spoke without words, saying 'only you get to see this side of me'.

You start grinding your hips against his, rubbing your clothed core above his growing boner in small, calculated circles as you shore yourself up with a hand to his chest. He merely admired you from his position, letting you have your way with him; all the while his gaze reflected patience, like he could take over the situation any second but enjoyed watching you lead.

"Joel," you call his name, leaning forward to kiss his chin, moving your lips all the way down his throat and feeling the nice scratch of his beard. Your hands grab the collar of his shirt as you come up to whisper in his ear: "Stay still."

Panting, he narrows his eyes in confusion, "What?" Though you don't give him enough time to figure out your words, getting back on your feet and parting his legs further with a light thump of your knee.

He observes your every move quietly, amused by your confidence and determination when you drop to your knees in front of him. Joel's cocky expression doesn't sway, not even when you drag your nails across his inner thigh, inching closer towards his very visible hard on. However, his body betrays him, selling a whole different story. His muscles tense, his jaw clenches and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"Stop being such a fucking tease," he hissed, refusing to place his hands on you.

"Or what?" you drawl, coming to rest your palm on his crotch. A simple, feathery touch that made his pulse accelerate.

"You'll regret it," he warns grimly.

"S'that so?" you start to unbuckle his belt, way too slow for his liking, tugging down the zipper of his jeans. "I think I can handle it."

He smirked, his hand slithers to the back of your scalp and forces you to lock eyes with him. "Don't test your luck, sweetheart."

You pout mockingly, doing exactly the opposite of what he was saying while dragging down the fabric just enough to free his cock. Your new found courage falters for a second, finally seeing him in all his size and girth. He was, by all means, a big one, the amount of precome oozing on the tip telling you just how much he loved being teased, despite whatever words came out of his mouth. The mere sight of it sent a new heated wave of slick between your thighs.

Joel mimicked your expression scornfully, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone, "Too big for ya'?"

"None of that," you wrap your hand around the base, not really applying any pressure; though the sole warmth of your touch was enough to give him goosebumps, "we'll make it fit."

"That's my girl."

With a chuckle, you lower your head to kiss the inside of his thigh, the pads of your fingers softly grazing the veins on his length. His whole body shudders, leaking onto your hand and letting out a subtle gasp as you spread kisses all along his shaft. Your eyes peer into his soul when you gently place your lips to the slit, tasting the salty precome as he calls your name in what resembles a desperate plea. In a swift move, you finally take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and deciding to put an end to his suffering. He mutters a gruff 'fuck' when you attempt to take him farther, pumping what you couldn't yet fit and snaking your free hand under the hem of his denim shirt to caress the soft skin of his belly.

"Shit, darlin'-" you feel the heaviness of his palm simply resting on the back of your head, not pushing or forcing you in any way, but allowing you to adapt to his size. "The only way to get ya' to stop talking is with a mouth full of cock, ain't it?"

You hum in response and the sensation is completely enrapturing for Joel, his callused fingers tangle in your hair to ground him as he releases a shaky breath. It's a huge challenge to focus on anything else but him; your mind whirring with a familiar dizziness while you bob your head up and down his shaft, intoxicated by the taste of him, the smell of him and every sound that escapes his lips, making your clit throb with need and your arousal pool in your panties, uncomfortably sticking to your skin.

For Joel, it's overwhelming.

He's never really been the noisy type during sex but heck— you were doing it for him. He's a panting mess above you, his hips buck ever so slightly in tandem with your mouth, trying not to lose it entirely. Your spit drools down his dick and the way your dark, dilated pupils sparkle with lust as you hollow your cheeks around him pulls a groan deep from his throat.

"That's it, you can take it," he coaxes when your nose nudges his pubic bone, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. "Good fuckin' girl, just like that..."

Enticed with the praise, you keep repeating the motion, sliding one hand to hold his hipbone for support and feeling his burning skin under your touch whilst the other plays with his balls to aid his pleasure. The obscene slick sounds mix in the air with his hoarse cursing, the rain and the faint music of kings of leon, sex on fire.

He looks so good from this angle, chest rising and falling with heavy, irregular breaths, head thrown back and both hands on you, keeping you angled for his cock. Drops of precum roll on your tongue as you keep changing the pace at which your head moves, tears welling in your eyes and jaw going slack. Shit, you're aching for him so bad that the only thing you can think of to relieve the need is squeeze your thighs together in order to create some friction. And it works, the action eliciting a moan from you that makes him fucking whimper your name.

"Bet your cunt's drippin' just from sucking my dick," he muffles a laugh that turns halfway into a sigh when you pay special attention to the ruddy, sensitive tip. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

You can tell he is by the way his cock twitches in your mouth; his spine straightens at the heat gathering between his legs and he tries to pull you off against your will, uttering a warning that you chose to ignore. Joel's lips part in a throaty groan when he reaches his high, feeling the outline of your fingers digging harshly on his hip, your hand rubbing his length and your tongue lapping at his slit, taking in every single drop of his release until he's spent, right before pressing a soft kiss to it that makes him shiver. And hell— contrary to others, he tasted good; warm and thick, coating your senses.

His heart beats aggressively against his ribs and he loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to get back on your feet while resting your hands on his waist. Although his eyes are barely open, he can quite literally feel your smile when you chastely kiss his lips. He chuckles breathlessly as you sit beside him, tugging himself back in his pants.

"We're not done yet," he says, grabbing the back of your knee and promptly engulfing your leg around his waist, maneuvering your body so that your back rests against the couch and he's crouched down, caged in the middle of your thighs. "I said I'd make it up to you and I will."

"Well, you've certainly got some stamina in you, old man," you poke fun at him, raising a hand to move those rebellious curls away from his eyes.

Joel smiles, caressing your cheek affectionately. "Always got somethin' to say, don't ya'?"

"Oh, Mr. Miller," you coo, enveloping your arms around his neck, "we both know just how much you love to hear me talk."

"Mhm," he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, "yes, I reckon you're right."

His big hand covers nearly half of your face as he holds you still, crashing your lips together. He kisses you deeply, vigorously, in a way that makes you wonder if you could possibly drown in a person's essence. His other palm slides between your bodies to start undoing the buttons of the flannel —his flannel— you were wearing. You can't help but whine when he draws back, watching you from above.

"Joel-" blood rushes through your ears and can feel your cheeks warm up as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers coasting down your throat and to the valley of your breasts, licking his lips when he sees your hardened nipples.

"You're fuckin' beautiful," he speaks freely, without holding back emotion, and it makes your heart skip a beat. "Such a sweet, sweet girl I can't get enough of."

"Then take a picture," you purr, "it'll last longer."

He stares at you through a measuring squint, a lighthearted smile forming on his face. "Since you insist." It takes a moment for you to realize what he means, until you finally recall that there's actually a camera inside your purse; one that he reaches for. "If I remember correctly... You said I could take as many as I like."

You lightly squeeze his waist with your thighs, feeling your whole body burn with anticipation. "I did say that..."

"Let's just pray your dad won't find these hanging around," he ponders, turning your face slightly to the side. "He'll have my head."

"And that would be terrible..."

He takes the Polaroid with one hand, the other coming to grope your breast as he backs off for a better angle, ultimately deciding to wrap his fingers loosely around your neck instead, purely holding you there. You glance at the lens, making your best "fuck me" eyes added to a cheeky smile, hearing him curse under his breath prior to snapping the picture.

"You've got the prettiest fucking tits I've even seen, sweetheart," he snarls, laying a palm flat over your lower abdomen while he waited for the photo.

"Has anyone ever told you you've got such a marvelous way with words?" he suppressed a laugh, safeguarding the picture on the back pocket of his jeans.

"Just a few women." Before you can even begin to act annoyed, he sets the camera aside and leans down to kiss your collarbones, the pad of his thumb kneading circles around your sensitive nipple. "Look at you, honey," he murmurs, "you're so easy to please... Or is it just because of me?"

You're panting, your back arching in response to his constant ministrations, every inch of your skin blushing under his attention. "I think it's-" you're cut off by the sudden need to swallow when he sucks a mark on the vulnerable skin between your breasts, "you."

His body vibrates with a laugh and you feel his hand palm your clothed sex, dragging his tongue over your delicate nipple, gently nibbling at it. You screw your eyes shut and let a single, fluttery moan slide past your lips when his thumb nudges your clit.

"So wet just from giving head?" Joel shakes his head in fake disapproval. "Who knew you were such a horny little thing?"

You are holding onto his bicep for dear life, fearing you might collapse into oblivion if you part from his body. His index glides across your slit over the drenched cotton fabric, making you squirm beneath him.

"You- you tasted good," you babble, mind all over the place.

"Yeah?" his chest swells with pride, "you should taste yourself, angel," his mouth travels across your abdomen, "sweetest thing I've ever had."

It's pointless trying to conjure a response, you're simply too far gone by now. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and buries his head between your thighs, flattening his tongue against the bundle of nerves. You whimper, running your fingers through his locks and bucking your hips to meet his face.

"Please," you blurt out, "Joel, please..."

"What, sweetheart?" he asks, moving the underwear aside to directly touch your clit, fondling it as he watched your slick coat his fingers. "What do you want?" But you can't conceive an answer, all that could come out of your mouth were those pathetic, desperate moans. "Use your words."

With his free hand he plays with your nipple, grabbing your breast with his entire hand. "I want you."

He tauntingly moves his fingers around your seam, refusing to go any further. "Say it again."

"I want you, Joel."

Cocky bastard.

He licks his fingers clean and starts getting off the couch, leaving you with a confused, dumbfounded expression that nearly makes him crack up.

"You didn't really believe I'd be fucking you on the couch, did ya'?" he teases, but all you can muster up is a barely audible 'oh'. "Come on, let's take this to my room. And don't forget to bring that camera of yours."

Mind still dazing, you obey his instructions, following him silently upstairs as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. For a second, he glances back at you, gifting a soft, reassuring grin before extending his arm to grab your fingers, holding your hand in a pure, intimate touch.

And just for that moment, you forget that he's actually your dad's oldest friend, that he's Sarah's father or any other thought of the sort. He's just Joel. Joel Miller, the only man that has managed to make you feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach, or that made you blush with merely a few compliments.

"Ask me to kiss you," he urges, taking the camera from your hands and carefully placing it on his bedside table, his eyesight fixed on you.

"Kiss me," you don't ask, you downright beg.

He does, though it's not like the previous times. He's tender, almost languid about it. His hands are on your bare hips while yours cup his cheeks; Joel's fingers reach to remove the flannel from your shoulders and moves his lips to the newly exposed skin, murmuring constant admirations. You feel your lungs clench and a tingly sensation on your lower belly.

"I'll take care of you, darlin'." You let the shirt slide down your arms and fall to the floor. "Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on by fooling around with those stupid boys." His words go straight to your core as he takes a step back to sit on the edge of his bed. "Take them off," he gestures to the last piece of clothing on your body.

You compel to his wish, stripping under his prying eyes while he lazily gets rid of his boots. His lips twitch in a smile when he sees the glistening mess he's made of you, promptly dragging you on top of him. Your hands lay flat on his exposed chest shortly before he switches positions, readjusting you on the middle of the bed.

"Joel, please just-" you whine when he keeps playing with your entrance, stretching you with his fingers. Your skin scorches with desire, knees weak from the growing heat on your lower body.

"Stop nagging, sweetheart," he grits through his own lust, his gaze impossibly dark. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Joel, I'm too worked up, I-" you gasp when he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that particular spot that made your toes curl. "Fuck..."

"Come on, baby." He ducks down to kiss the skin behind your ear and his beard tickles nicely. "It's just the two of us now, feel free to be as loud as you need to."

His pants are undone and hanging loosely on his hips, the image being so blatantly erotic that only managed to get you more aroused as you fumble to get rid of his shirt. He chuckles at your eagerness, shrugging it out of the way and haphazardly kicking off his jeans and underwear altogether, discarding them on the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You take a second to revel on his naked figure, his tanned skin, broad shoulders and sturdy chest, the marked collarbones and every noticeable mole. His hair is messy from your fingers, a thin layer of sweat sticks some curls to his temples as his wild, hungry eyes bask in the view of your sopping pussy when he parts your shaky legs further. But the moment of appreciation is brief, both of you being edged and spurred on.

He maneuvers a hand to your lower back and aligns your hips with his, watching the way your hole drips for him, wetting his bedsheets. You're a panting mess beneath him, lightly scratching his shoulder-blades and biting on your bottom lip, looking up at him doe-eyed and all splayed out for him to take. Joel wants to tell you just how badly he's longed for this— how he's been yearning to have you so achingly bad. But right now, feelings overrun his thoughts, especially after hearing his name spilling from your lips, begging for him to take you.

"Relax, darlin'." Joel teases your slit with the head of his cock, rubbing it along your sex and coating it with your slick. Your head tilts backwards, dipping on his pillows, small whines keep spilling from your mouth. "I won't go easy on you."

"Great, cause I don't want you to-" your slurred words get muffled by the sudden feeling of intrusion as he finally buries himself in your cunt, letting out a filthy, guttural groan.

You close your eyes, feeling lightheaded and staggered from the way he was filling you up so nicely, the stretch being a tad painful at first, but the kind of pain that could only ever feel good. Then your whole body quivers from head to toe.

"That's it, you can take it," he mutters, peppering kisses to your chin and collarbones as he bottoms out. "Fuck, you feel divine-" The tight, warm grip you welcome him with resembles nothing he's ever had before. This is new, this is you.

You bear down on his cock, enveloping your legs around his waist and lifting your hips to encourage him. He holds you down with a firm grip around your neck, starting to set a pace with his hips as he draws out and then back in slowly, roughly, making your back arch. Your erect nipples brush against his strong chest and create a delightful friction that has you moaning louder than you could've expected. You're amazed by the way he thrusts into you, somehow mindful to hit every right spot inside you —needless to say that it was something that others could hardly manage before—, his pubic hair tickles the skin below your belly button, sending shivers down your spine that prompt you to drag your nails down his back.

"Look," he indicates, despite your inability to even think straight. "Look," he repeats harshly, using the hand that was on your hips to tilt your head downwards, forcing you to stare at where your bodies connected. It was obscene, the wet noises of your pussy and skin clapping against skin sounding purely pornographic. "Look at the mess you're making."

"Joel, I-" you can't form sentences properly, all your attention being focused on how good he's making you feel. "I'm so close, for god's sake..."

"Lemme help with that," he speaks breathlessly, pining your leg over the crook of his elbow to make his thrusts deeper, more precise. You cry out in bliss, feeling the heat expanding from your stomach to your legs. "Yeah, you're close, I can fuckin' feel it- fuck..."

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his dick just right. He knows he's in too deep when you call out his name like it's the only word you can remember, when he wallows in the glorious view of your pretty face contorted in pleasure. He looses the grip on your neck and strokes your lower lip with his thumb, prodding you to keep eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. It's electrifying, a feverish kind of sensation that gratifies every nerve on your body.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, overcame by the intense feeling of euphoria that your body was providing. You realize in that moment that the reason why Joel could fill that void so easily was because he kept prioritizing you above him. Your pleasure was his, too.

"Jesus Christ, Joel-" you mewl when he abruptly pulls out, “… Worth the wait.”

He laughs shakily, kissing your lips shortly. "Turn around, sweetheart. I want to fuck you from behind."

With a buzzing dizziness, you follow his instruction. God, right now you'd do just about anything if he asked you to. You notice movement from his part and patiently wait with your butt up in the air for him to stuff you again; instead, you hear the familiar clicking sound of the Polaroid camera.

"You fucker," you chuckle, "did you just take a picture of my ass?"

"Couldn't help myself," he groans, caressing the soft flesh before lightly slapping it. "You look too damn gorgeous." The hit on your skin burns nicely and you can't hold back the gasp that escapes your lips.

"Shit- do that again..."

You can practically hear his smile when he talks, "You into that?" he repeats the action with a little more force and the pain sends a shock of pure pleasure between your legs, your own fluids dripping down your thighs. "F'course you are, I should've guessed with that attitude of yours."

He plays with your swollen pussy, enjoying your tiny moans and the way your legs tremble as you fist the sheets underneath you, burying your face on his pillow when he spanks you again— this time so hard that it probably left a mark. But before the sting washes away he takes the opportunity to enter you in one swift move, holding your hips steady and trailing his fingers along your spine.

"That's my sweet girl," he praises a midst, starting to grind his cock inside you. "Taking me like you were made for it."

This is way more intense, the angle allowing him to hit deeper, harsher. His gruff moans become more frequent as he speeds up his pace, letting you know just how good you were making him feel. The sensation was purely fantastic, melting every thought away and just leaving Joel Miller to fill you in every sense of the word. His hands are never still, roaming your responsive areas, caressing the most sensitive and always taking care of your aching clit.

You might cry from the overwhelming ecstasy— the way his tip constantly hits the depths of your cunt with each relentless thrust has you seeing stars. Joel gets a thrill from the way you can't seem to get enough of him either, throwing your hips back to meet his unwavering pace, clawing at the pillows and moaning helplessly, pushing him close to his climax.

"Joel, it's too much..." you mumble. "Please, I can't-"

He hunches over you, kissing your nape to ease the overpowering sensations, "Yes, you can. You're a big girl, you can take it." And then your vision goes blurry, all you're able to hear being his disjointed, lewd moans; all you can feel is his hard, hot body flushed to yours, his cock twitching inside you and the wetness of your own body. "That's it, give me another one, baby- fuuuck..."

The buildup is so strong you nearly collapse, feeling yourself tremble as he chases his orgasm, fucking you through yours. His fingers reach your bundle of nerves and apply barely any pressure, which has you coming undone in seconds, absolutely soaking his dick and the sheets beneath you, chanting his name like a prayer. A string of curses falls from his lips as he pulls out and quickly manhandles your fucked out self to lay on your back. He exhales sharply through his nose, spilling his load all over your stomach without even touching himself.

You both stay there for a while, catching your breath and looking intently at each other’s eyes before he rolls over, going limp beside you. You stare blankly at de ceiling, suddenly feeling aggressively aware of your sticky skin covered in sweat and cum, the numbness on your lower body that will surely feel sore in the morning and all the marks he's left dispersed on you. You feel satisfied, fulfilled even. Joy bubbles up your chest and comes out in form of a giggle, one you're unable to hold back.

"What?" he asks, turning his face towards you with a half-smile.

"I don't know, I just..." you shake your head, still laughing. "I don't know."

He chortles in disbelief, holding out a hand to take some tissues from the bedside drawer and going to swipe his mess off your tummy and inner thighs. "Shit, I think I might’ve just fucked the sense out of ya'."

Joel sets himself between your parted legs, laying the weight of his upper body on top of you, resting his chin on your chest, eyes boring into yours. He looks so young like this, despite the greying hair and the small wrinkles, his beautiful brown orbs sparkle ever so brightly under your attentive gaze.

"What will your dad say when he returns and finds out his only daughter has completely lost her mind?" he jokes, cradling you in his big arms.

"Come on," you roll your eyes playfully, "we both know that if I had been in my right mind since the beginning, I probably wouldn't be in your bed right now." He doesn't reply, but his smile doesn't fade either. Joel nuzzles his face on the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse zone briefly before closing his eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, softly massaging his scalp in utter silence.

The wind was howling outside, rustling the tree branches, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. You can feel Joel's heart beating against your ribs, his deep breaths fanning across your shoulder and his unique scent all around you, on you. In spite of the cold air, your naked bodies are warm enough to stay comfortably in this position, at least for a while— however, there's something deep inside you that doesn't want this moment to end.

"Hey," you call him lowly and he hums in response, "can we order pizza?"

He nods faintly, "Anything you want, honey."

Anything.

If only.

"I'll call," you say. "Any specific requests?"

"As long as there isn't any pineapple on it, we're fine." You glance down at him, almost appalled.

"You don't like pineapple on pizza?"

"No. That's disgusting, come on."

"Oh, grow up!" he opens his mouth to retort, but when he sees your dismayed expression he can merely bark a laugh that you get infected with.

"Order whatever you want," he whispers in your ear. "But you'll have to promise something."

"What's that?" you raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Say you'll stay," he murmurs, slightly hesitant. "Stay here and spend the night with me."

The proposal takes you by surprise, so much that you actually stopped breathing. You ponder wether if you could or you should; because, at the end, what would a night really mean? What could possibly change?

Nothing, right?

Besides, no one had to know.

(...)

A few moments later you're downstairs looking for your phone, wearing nothing other than his green flannel. Joel decided to take a shower while you ordered the food and you chose to walk around the house, paying attention to the little details you hadn't quite noticed before.

Now that you see it, there are plenty of horse images here and there. Very Texan of Joel, you can't deny. Lots of pictures of Sarah growing up, some of him and Tommy and a good deal with your dad. None of his ex-wife. In fact, there's no proof that she even existed. You decide not too think too hard about it, since it was none of your business after all.

You pour yourself a glass of water and wander your eyes across the amount of pills he usually takes. Anxiety pills, painkillers, vitamins. What could possibly be troubling this middle-aged man so bad? Again, you decide to turn a blind eye and simply pick up the phone, expecting a message from your dad to tell you he arrived in Boston well and safe. Instead, you find that your direct messages in social media have new requests. Curious, you open them to see what the fuzz was about.

Hi!

This is Will

I don't know if Sarah mentioned me...

I'm her English teacher, haha

I hope you don't find this creepy, your profile popped up in my 'people you may know' section and since Sarah said she wanted to introduce us, I thought I might just say hi 😉

Honestly, with everything that went down you had nearly forgotten about Sarah's 'you should hang out with people your age' speech. And now that you were stalking his profile, he appeared to be maybe a couple years older than you— handsome in a boyish, intelectual way, if that made sense. Apparently, he studied in New York too, and lived in Queens.

Hi!

Yeah, I reckon she did

What's up, Queens? :)

You don't really expect a reply, not giving much thought to anything in the moment. Though, an involuntary smile twitches your lips when there's a quick message that reads "Not much, Brooklyn" and the writing bubble underneath.

After all, having a friend in Austin wouldn't hurt.

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