#jersey blouse

[chicinsilk]

Marc Bohan for Christian Dior Haute Couture Collection Fall/Winter 1967-68. A model wears an ultramarine wool suit, over a matching ribbed jersey blouse.

Marc Bohan pour Christian Dior Collection Haute Couture Automne/ Hiver 1967-68. Un modèle porte un tailleur en lainage bleu-outremer, sur une blouse en jersey côtelé assorti.

Photo Roland Bianchini

[korvessa]

Bojan and his suspiciously loose and oversized black t-shirt he kept wearing for two days after tavastia 2.0

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That��s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[alnilaem]

so true @altissiia. neighbour/butcher simon is but a matted cat that would charitably leave mice at your door if that wasn’t so off-putting

-

It’s eight in the morning, and there’s coffee all over your work blouse. Burning through the canopy of your shirt, sticking your skin. 

You had loudly cursed as your foot got caught behind an innominate object, propelling you face first—and coffee first—into the corridor. Surely, the whole flat heard it. The tight yelp you released, the thunder of your nose colliding with the floor. 

You don’t care about the coffee blotches congealing in the hallway. The carpet has enough cryptic stains, ones that management isn’t bothered to fix, so you look away and throw a cursory glance over your shoulder—to see the cause of your fall—and grimace without conscious control.

It’s a bag of meat on your doormat. 

Wrapped in a plastic, sitting in a puddle of fresh blood. 

A few drops of dew glaze the bag by means of moisture. It hides its contents, hindering you from recognising anything inside. You poke it with your shoe, cringing at the cartilage and meat and marrow beneath the sole of your foot. It tumbles over in the clear film, revealing its gory underbelly and a sticky-note. 

The note is dog-eared, crumpled, and damp. Covered in writing written by a slap-happy hand. Sorry for being too loud last night with my mates. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Here’s some meat please accept, is what it reads. The tail-end features a poorly-drawn smiley face and a signature. Simon.  

He was being noisy last night. You were just too skittish to slap the drywall dividing you, or to knock on his door and ask him to keep it down. There was an overlap of voices, an undercurrent of accents, and the charm of beer cans persistently snapped open.

As you peel the note off the bag, the door beside you swings open. Simon stumbles out, sweatpants low on his hips, medical mask obscuring the lower shell of his face. By the looks of it, he just floundered out of the shower. His curls are still dripping with opalescent water drops. He’s shirtless, his chest hairs so blonde they’re almost glass-like. Tousled and wispy.

A few scars distort the skin of his ribcage and makes you wince. He’s breathing heavily, distending them, puffing out his chest.

“You alright?” He asks. “Heard you fall.” 

You realise you’re still on the floor. Simon looks cosmic from this angle—colossal—hauling with him disciplined muscles eclipsed by a soft belly. 

You meekly nod, rising to your feet. “‘m fine.”

Simon’s eyes flutter down to your chest. A hot-flash pools under your skin, sticky, messy, leaving you preening under his gaze, until, of course, you belatedly remember your spilled coffee. How your shirt sticks to your skin, revealing the barest hint of your breasts. You don’t cross your arms.

“You’ve something there,” Simon sniffs. He gestures to your chest.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

A whisper of discomfort marinates between you. Discomfort that Simon doesn’t seem to notice—or doesn’t seem to care about—as he keeps staring at you. 

He grunts. “I got you meat.”

“Thank you!” You chuckle. “It was a… sweet gift.” 

It takes you by surprise when Simon tucks his chin into his chest, grumbling. His crows feet crimp together like knife-edges as if he’s barely smiling. 

“Wait here,” he mumbles, then spins on his heel. You assume he’s going to put on some clothes, or bring you some more meat, but when Simon returns, he outstretches towards you a threadbare jersey, waiting expectantly.

“Stained your blouse,” he snorts. “Wear this.”

Owlishly, you blink. It’s your work blouse that’s stained. You can’t go in a Manchester United shirt.

“Um. I wouldn’t–”

Simon shoves it in your chest. At this point, he reminds you of a wet dog. Dripping wet, gratified of his gift-giving. Leaving raw meat that stinks of ammonia at your doorstep, handing you a shirt too-many-sizes too big for you. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

His hand is still extended. Above his mask, Simon’s eyebrows pucker as if he’s pouting. Like a kicked mutt, confused, and a little ratty. You feel awkward indebtedness eddying through you, so you snatch the jersey from him and slip it on jointly. It smells heavily of nicotine and pomade, slightly impairing you.

Satisfied, he nods. You think he’s going to say something else—there’s a little stifle between the flicker of his eyes and his jaw—but he doesn’t. Simon turns around and slams his door shut in your face. 

[ktsumu]

18+ NSFT MDNI. SHOWER ACTION.

You already know that Atsumu's in the shower before you hear him in it, nudging the front door shut behind you, heels falling off of your groaning feet. The first matchup of the pre-season has ensured that.

Muscle memory makes you step over the routine dufflebag he drops in the very middle of the entryway, shaking the strap off of your ankle when it catches. His sweater's on the back of the couch.

You'd take it down the hallway with you, but you follow the clothes like a roadmap instead. Toeing along, kicking his track pants out of the way with a scoff, rolling your eyes and wondering how he completely missed the hamper.

An athlete, he calls himself.

The shower turns your bedroom hot, steaming up the windows from the open ensuite door, the mirror dripping with water. You can feel the humidity ruining the hair you worked so hard to keep tidy this morning.

"Atsumu?" You sigh, tugging it loose and glancing at him through the mirror.

It's more so what you can see of him— the frosted glass of the shower punishes you mostly, keeps you to watching his blurry body turn, his head twist to your voice. You can see him turn to face the water again.

"Hey baby. How's work?"

"I'm gonna guess better than the game today?" You pick up his sweaty jersey with your foot, taking in the distinct yet familiar smell of sharp pines and locker room. "Judging by the state of our home."

Atsumu breathes out sheepishly, but it sounds like a grin. "I'll clean it all up, don't worry."

"I know you will."

"Yeah, for sure." He hesitates, humming when he rubs at the crook of his neck. "Maybe tomorrow morning? Swear."

You don't care when he cleans it up, really. Your eyes haven't left the shower.

Quietly, you start to undo your blouse, shrugging it off of your shoulders and peeling it off of your sticky skin. You toss it near Atsumu's abandoned shorts.

"Been in there a while?" you huff, blindly turning on the fan. "Hot as hell in here."

"Everything hurts," he groans. "Fuckin' hate coming off the off-season— not used to it."

You purse your lips. "Gonna stay in for a little while longer?"

It's quiet, aside from the shower running. His shadow moves, leans closer to the glass before standing upright again. His hands tease you over the top, combing through his hair.

"If someone wants to keep me company, can't really say no."

(He must sense your eyes rolling, because he chuckles and slips the door open a crack.)

You shimmy your tight skirt down your legs, stepping out of everything embarrassingly fast. Your cami ends up hanging off the sink and your pantyhose are in a ball, but Atsumu's waiting hand has you getting inside the shower as fast as you can manage.

Where he isn't drenched in water, he's painted by a thin sheen of heat, the steam of the shower dripping down his temple. His hand welcomes you first, guiding you closer so his lips can greet you next.

Atsumu rests a hand on the side of your face, droplets of water swarming down your chest like snakes. He kisses you sloppily, tongue trying at yours the second you let him, teeth grazing your lip when you pull away like he's begging you to stay.

"Sore, huh?"

His eyes travel down— over your chest, sternum, hips. His hands follow in the same order like a drill— tits, chest, beautiful, beautiful hips. "Forget I said anything 'bout that,"

"You should rest, really,"

"Stop teasin' me, it's just cruel," he frowns, "need you to give me a cure tonight,"

"Yeah? It's called eight hours of sleep and Voltaren."

He rolls his eyes, lidded with said sleep— the hand holding yours that pulls you closer and his half-hard cock between you say something entirely different.

Atsumu's hand gropes your ass, fingertips dinging into fat until you get impossibly closer, until he's basically against your stomach and you're basically just looking at his lips.

"You should—"

"Should," he emphasizes, murmured against your mouth as he kisses you again, chaste but lingering, "but this is what I'm actually gonna do."

"What?"

"You," he hums, tucking a strand of your half-wet hair behind your ear, blocking the water and hoarding you to himself. "Gonna be my cleanse."

You snort, fingers smoothing over his abs and down to the base of his cock, nails gently running over the dark trail of hair. "That right?"

"Mmmyeah," he says through a groan, yawning before he slots a hand in between your legs, trailing it up your inner thigh as you finally get him in your hand. It's the only place he's wanted to be all night, besides your bed. "Feel so fuckin' good, fuck,"

You sigh against his chest, tilting your head up to taste him again. Like spearmint, like the gum he must've chewed on the drive home just knowing you'd end up here.

"Shit, alright," he sighs, hips lazily rolling into your palm as you look up at him with eyes that make him wanna pass out.

"Gotta choose now— you wanna be on your knees first or do ya want 'em over my shoulders?"

You breathe out a laugh, sliding your hands over his slippery arms, over every muscled ridge as you lower yourself to the tile floor, kissing his hip when you get there. "Romantic, really."

Atsumu's body tilts your way, chasing your lips down, leaning into your touch as he brushes a thumb over your cheek. The kiss you place on his flushed tip is greatly appreciated— he lets you know it.

"Yeah, honey, I try," he breathes. He smiles so warmly down at you that it's almost like you're not about to suck him off. "Just wait until I get you to bed, yeah?"

"We both know you're falling asleep."

"Well, after we get outta here you will be, too."

"Mm, we'll see."

Atsumu barks a laugh, delicately running his hand up your nape before taking a stronger hold on the base of your hair.

"Oh, you're so on."

[misshoneyimhome]

Can i please ask a small scenario of luke hughes finishing first and he is so embarrassed and cute and hides his face in readers face and neck. Reader is so calm and sweet to him. Thanks love 🥰

Okay okay, so this was very brief! And also my first time writing about Luke Hughes... and I know I said no players born after 2001, but what can I say, I do like a challenge 🙈 Though I do feel like I violated him...

Hope it's alright love 😉🤍

Warnings; 18+ smut; protected sex (p in v);

Word count; 1.5K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Practice makes perfect | Luke Hughes 🖋️⚡️

"What a game, huh?" you exclaimed with excitement as you greeted Luke, who was coming out of the locker room after the New Jersey game against the Blackhawks.

"It was alright," the young defensemen simply smiled in response.

"Alright? Luke, you played amazingly tonight," you embraced him in a hug, smiling up at your tall boyfriend, feeling he deserved more praise.

"Thanks," he flashed you a sweet, humble smile, wrapping his long arms around your body. Tucking you into him before letting you go and admiring your beautiful face. "So, what's the plan now?"

You could sense a slight hint of nervousness in his question, considering that you and Luke had only recently started seeing each other.

You had gotten to know him platonically during the summer, and as the regular season progressed, you slowly grew closer. However, your relationship was still fairly new.

"Coming over to your place?" you timidly suggested in a sweet voice, and Luke couldn’t help but return your joy. You always had a way of making him weak in the knees, from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, where he mentally had to kick himself multiple times for taking so long to ask you out.

"Definitely!"

And there you were, entwined on his sofa, celebrating the night's victory, with his 6'2" frame leaning over you. Your fingers intertwined in his brown curls as his lips caressed yours, his tongue gently seeking entrance, meeting yours with hunger.

The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm ambiance. The celebration continued with the faint sound of the TV playing highlights of the game in the background. The scent of victory lingered in the air, mixed with the comforting aroma of the takeout you both had enjoyed earlier.

"Easy, Luke," you chuckled lightly into the kiss, feeling his desire growing, along with impatience and almost neediness. "Slow down, we've got time."

"Sorry, babe," he breathed out with a light smile. "I'm just so..."

"Turned on?" you asked, your eyes glancing downwards to his very hard member, concealed in his sweats.

"Yeah," he softly admitted before once again pressing his mouth onto yours. Although he did try to slow down a little, it was rather difficult for him.

You were one of the most gorgeous and sweet girls he'd ever met. His hockey career always making it difficult to date like a regular teenager, and as a young adult having to take life seriously now, it hadn't gotten any easier.

But then you came around. And though he wasn't exactly a virgin when the two of you met, he might still have been on the less experienced side. Again, his hard work to reach the same level of career as his brothers had limited his social life. Which also meant his intimate time with girls.

And as you felt his rather sizeable length, firm against your inner thigh, you knew he was too worked up to slow down any further.

"Bedroom, Luke..." you breathed in between his sloppy kisses, and before long, he guided you to his room, where he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his toned hockey torso, while you discarded your own blouse. Trousers went next, and not many seconds passed before you were back in the same position, your legs on each side of Luke as he hovered over you, lips connected, bodies growing warmer with every touch, creating friction, and sweat.

Yet, despite his deep need to feel himself reaching the much-anticipated climax, Luke was still trying his best to focus on you.

So, as you shared the passionate kiss, his fingers found the edge of your knickers, gently sneaking a finger inside as he located your entrance, poking and teasing before sliding it in.

Soft moans escaped your lips as you felt the pleasure he was causing, and you slowly developed an impatient need for more, which was given to you with a second finger.

And as Luke skilfully fingered you, something he'd, of course, learned from his older brothers, he too felt the impending surge of pleasure within him. The room filled with the heady mix of desire and intimacy, creating a space where time seemed to stand still, solely dedicated to the symphony of your shared sensations.

His cock was already dripping with pre-cum, creating a small damp patch in his boxers as he felt it throbbing, almost pulsating, craving to be touched.

"Yes, Luke," you moaned softly as you felt his fingers massaging your walls.

But with every pump, he felt himself in more need to feel those walls around his length instead. So, as impatience took over, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling a void as he shifted his position, pulled off his boxers, and then returned to tuck down your underwear.

His facial expression was so serious, much like when he was playing hockey - focused and determined. Yet, this time, he also seemed desperate to be touched and in need to reach his peak.

Reaching over to the nightstand where Jack had been kind enough to place a few condoms as a joke, he took out the little packaging. However, as he seemed to fumble with it, you offered him a helping hand.

"Here, let me," you smiled up at him as you took out the latex and gently wrapped his length, causing little squirms from the boy above you, as your touch made him feel the sense of pleasure he was craving.

And then swiftly, he returned to missionary once more and let the tip of his member gently touch and tease your tight entrance.

"Slowly, love," you tried with a soft whisper. However, as Luke eased himself into your depth, your whisper quickly turned into a moan instead, feeling his long shaft filling your warmth.

"Shit..." he breathed out, slowly beginning to rock his hips, letting his cock glide in and out of you as he stimulated your walls. The room echoed with the sounds of your shared passion, a harmony of gasps, moans, and the rhythmic dance of bodies entwined in the heat of the moment. The intensity grew, the connection deepening with every thrust, creating a heated atmosphere. 

"That's it, Luke..." you moaned in between breaths as he found a solid pace, thrusting and hitting the very end of your depth. Your hands finding his locks that you could pull on as you felt the building of an orgasm once again within.

However, the more Luke felt stimulated, the more he increased his speed. His thrusts slowly grew eager and more forceful as he got closer to his climax, still feeling the rush of a win from the match as he pounded into you.

And you felt him getting sloppier. His eyes shutting close as he desperately fought not to reach the peak, trying his best to have you come with him. Carefully he listened to your moans as you were about to let yourself give in to an orgasm as well.

"Yes, baby... I'm close... please come with me..." Luke almost cried out.

And you were almost there with him.

But as you were about to announce your climax, the tightening of your core around Luke's shaft had him involuntarily come a little too close to his peak. And with a deep, uncontrollable grunt, he let himself go, spilling his release into the latex as he felt the rush take over.

"Fuck..." Luke shouted, letting go of the last drops, his body trembling as he almost collapsed and fell with his face into the crook of your neck. The room was filled with the aftermath of passion, both of you catching your breath in the shared intimacy of the moment. The echoes of pleasure lingered in the air, creating a sense of vulnerability.

You let the silence fill the room as Luke slowly gained control of his heavy breaths, his body lying on top of you as he let out a deep sigh.

"I'm so sorry, babe..." he timidly mumbled into your skin, and you couldn't help but form a soft smile on your lips.

"It's okay, Luke," you tried to comfort him with a soft tone of voice, gently stroking your fingers through his hair before he lifted his head to look at you.

"No, it's not okay... you didn't get to come first, baby... you know I always want that," he whispered softly, his eyes darting from side to side as he kept apologising.

But you merely offered him another light chuckle and caressed his cheek. "Hey, it was your night tonight... after the thrill from the game, and how eager we both were, it makes sense it didn't take long."

“Still… I feel bad about not making you come…”

Once more, you just flashed him a soft smile.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to do it again – you know what they say: practice makes perfect.”

And your words seemed to slowly reassure him as you both remained in the relaxed position, comforting each other while keeping your eyes locked onto his. Eventually, he accepted your words and withdrew himself from your embrace.

Though you had to admit feeling a little disappointed, having been so close to your peak, you were also okay with how Luke came to his release. He had made you feel good after all, and it truly brought you joy to please him.

[vikuo-kuma]

Forgotten Memories:[This might be a series]

Kenji Sato x amnesia! Reader

Summary: An accident occurred in a Kaiju attack, where you were injured quite badly leading to your loss of memories. Memories with Sato

A/N: idk feel things 🤷‍♀️

———•

“Alright, bye Mom”, you waved your mother off, seeing the car driving away. Being dropped off at place you weren’t familiar, yet there was some sense of comfort in the air. Standing in front of the apartment building, you started to walk into the lobby. “My childhood house?” You looked around, feeling some sort of strange feeling. It wasn’t a bad feeling, you just couldn’t understand it.

“[Apartment #]..”

Holding the key out to unlock the door, it was that feeling again. “If this feeling continues any longer, I might throw up”, you covered your mouth from trying to throw up the breakfast you had.

“Maybe I’ll feel better when I walk around the neighborhood…” closing the door back while slowly exiting the apartment, you ended up leaving the building to get some fresh air. Maybe hoping that the feeling would go away. The breeze hit against your skin, fresh air entered your nose.

“Definitely much better..” sighing a breath of relief, it was almost suffocating in that building. To think you’d have to be living there for a while, hoping for more memories to reappear. Starting to walk around, you see convenience stores, restaurants, and supermarkets around, giving it a homey feel. It was nice at first, before a random person had walked up to you.

She looked elderly, however she still had some color in her hair. “My, my, welcome back [___]”, she sounded kind, maybe a family friend? “Ah, hello Ms….” you tried to indicate that you forgotten who she was. “Oops, right. I was your family nanny, you can call me Gran Gran”, fixing her slight mistake, she helped fix your blouse you have on currently. Dusting away the little dust that hanged around your shoulder.

“Uh, ok… Gran Gran”, you felt really awkward in that situation, but also a strange relaxing moment. “Don’t worry about it, if you are in need of something, don’t hesitate to ask, you should have my phone number”, she reassured, patting your head gently. Nodding in response, you also tried to fight back the tears that were going to drop.

———•

That was strange… you continue your walk with a lollipop in your mouth. Walking until you by accidentally bumped into something, wait no someone.

“Hey! Watch where you’re—” the stranger’s voice seemed to cut off, as he got a better look at you. He looked like he had seen a ghost, tilting your head in confusion. You even looked behind you to check for actual ghosts. “I—” the stranger tried to speak again, it was like something had clogged his throat. Looking back at him, he was wearing some sort of jersey with a pair of jeans to go along with it.

“Sorry, I’ll be on my way”, you didn’t want to stay in a staring contest forever, you were weirded out by his constant gaze. “Wait. Do you know me?”, he grabbed on to your arm before you could walk away.

“I’m sorry, am I supposed to know who you are?”

[iwashieonhiatus]

“𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮…” (𝟏𝟔+) | BLLK

📌  michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, barou shoei, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, eita otoya

︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶ synopsis: telling some of the bllk men you need them

･ﾟﾟ･｡　warnings- mdni, nsfw content, established relationship, pro player(20+), f!reader.

𑄹 kaiser. You two were on the street, strolling somewhere in Italy, that he insisted on taking you. When he finally stopped walking, interested in the things they sold at the market stall, you approached him, resting your head on his shoulder, “I need you.” He mumbled something, still interested in the object, “Kaiser, I need you!” you whimpered and he looked at you, an eyebrow raised, “like...?” he made that look and you agreed, whispering in his ear “now”. He shivered, running an arm around your waist. “why didn’t you say it before?” he grumbled, pulling you down the street, returning as quickly as possible to the hotel.

𑄹 isagi. You two were lying on the couch watching a movie, him lying on top of you, getting strokes in his hair. “Yoichi, I need you,” you said, hoping he would understand. “how so?” he asked, still focused on the movie. “I need you” you repeated, changing your tone and yet he didn’t understand, leaning on his elbows to face you with a raised eyebrow, “Isagi Yoichi. I. Need. You. Now.” You said, holding his face and pointing down with your gaze. It took a while, but he understood- widening his eyes, his mouth on an “o” and the tip of his ears red. “Like that…?” he leaned in, lips almost glued to his, “yes, now!” you pulled him in, feeling his hand slide down your waist into the blouse, saying, “Yoichi to the rescue.”

𑄹barou. You were home alone. He had gone shopping and there was nothing for you to do. Empty head is the devil’s workshop and soon you felt a heat spreading through your body, gathering in the middle of your legs. Damn, you need your boyfriend. Squeezing your legs, you had the brilliant idea to put on his jersey and take a picture. ‘I need you’ ‘shopping’ ‘but I need you, now...’ ‘You’ll have to wait, baby’ you smiled mischievously as you read the message, ‘Barou shoei, I need you, now!’ sending the photo right after. The answer is a simple ‘5 min’. Soon you heard the front door slamming and his heavy footsteps into the bedroom, it didn’t take long for him to be in the middle of your legs, kissing you hard as one hand squeezed your thigh and the other lifted the jersey, “I want to keep it,” his eyes sparkled, kissing you again.

𑄹tabito. He was about to hang out with his friends, it had been a while since he’d seen the Blue Lock guys, but it was almost impossible not to have other plans when you saw him getting dressed, the jeans grabbing his thick thighs, his round ass... Oh, you needed him. He turned as he felt what you threw at him, eyes sliding from you lying in the middle of the bed to the piece of clothing on the floor. He raised an eyebrow, lifting the red panties you threw at him. “I need you.” You opened a crack between your legs, showing that you were without the piece of clothing that was in his hand. He smiled sheepishly, looking at you and your panties, meandering to the edge of the bed, “if you need me that badly...” in a matter of minutes, the clothes he wore were on the floor.

𑄹nagi. It had been hours since he’d been lying on the couch, eyes glued to his phone screen, fingers moving nimbly and the sounds of gunfire coming out of the phone. It was inevitable to miss your boyfriend after so long apart, but he paid no attention to you. “Nagi, I need you...” The answer was a humming, and you snorted, annoyed. Extreme situations require extreme measures. You removed your blouse and threw it in his face. “But- What was-” the question died in his throat as he looked at you. His eyes alternating between the screen of the phone and you standing with your arms akimbo, showing your breasts. “I need you, Nagi Seishiro.” He knew he was serious because of the full name. Nagi looked again at the phone screen and, to your luck and his misfortune, he lost the game. He sighed, putting his phone aside, “I lost... could you comfort me?” he tapped his thighs as you reached over and sat on his thick thighs.

𑄹reo. You had the night all planned, but your boyfriend had other plans, or rather, his family had other plans. “But, Reo, I need you.” he held your face, kissing your forehead. “I really need to go, love.” You stared at him, arms crossed below your chests, “I promise to come back soon,” he turned around, putting on his shoes. “Are you sure you want to go?” you removed your robe, showing that you were wearing his favorite nightgown, which also meant that the night would be long. He swallowed dryly, his eyes glued to you, until he grunted, removing his shoes and pushing you around the house. “They can wait for another day,” he said against your neck and you smiled victoriously, guiding him into the bedroom.

𑄹rin. He was busy on the phone, probably someone from work or family, but you didn’t care, your needs came first. You cleared your throat, drawing his attention, who raised his eyes to you, stopping speaking immediately, mouth open and eyes wide. You bit the smile and made a slow turn, showing that you were wearing the lingerie he had chosen, and whispered a ‘I need you now’ and pointed with your head to the bedroom, just leaving the room. He followed you with his gaze, still quiet, the person on the other end asking if he was okay, “a matter came up and I need to resolve urgently,” he hung up, tossing his phone aside and heading into the bedroom, finding you sitting on the bed, legs crossed and a sly smile on your face.

𑄹otoya. When he wasn’t busy with football, he was busy with his hobby—music production. You nudged his shoulder three times before he pulled the headset away and looked at you. “I need you”. He pointed to the computer screen, saying, “I’m still busy,” “No. You didn’t get it.” you turned the chair to you, showing that you were wearing his jersey and tiny panties. “I need you.” His eyes sparkled as he took off his phone, soon pulling you into his lap. “That sounds urgent, sweetie.”

[pedrisbanana]

pedri and joao threesome pls 🙏🏻💕 absolutely love everything u write

Their cum as lipgloss >...

Enjoy 🍌

Twice The Fun

You were squealing like a little school girl, when you opened your package. After removing the wrapping paper, the royal blue fabric greeted you. The polyester was soft between your fingers, when you took the shirt from the box. 

You smiled.

Another piece for your collection. Immediately after seeing the transfer announcement on his instagram, you went to the FC Chelsea website and placed your order. 

Scrunching your nose at the chemical smell, you cut the labels and put it in the washing machine. 20 Minutes and it will smell fresh as ever.

His jerseys held a special place in your closet, right behind your dresses and blouses. All of them neatly hung up on black coat hangers, sorted by club and season. You started collecting them long before meeting Pedri, who wasn't exactly fond of your little obsession with Chelsea's new striker starlet.

So when you sat on the couch two days later, watching Chelsea's Champions League match and Pedri came home from practice, he gave you a cold stare instead of the usual kiss. All because of that damn name on the back of the jersey.

"So you're a Chelsea fan now ?" Your boyfriend asked mockingly, sitting down next to you. 

You smirked. "Only until the end of the season, then I can watch him beat your ass in LaLiga again" 

"I should bend you over and give your ass a little beating for talking to me like that" Pedri replied, obviously pissed off.

"I really don't get why you're so jealous. I'm just a fan" you poked his chest playfully. 

"I'm not jealous! João Felix is a fucking arrogant asshole, who thinks he's the next Ronaldo just bc he scored a few goals. You shouldn't sit here, wearing his jersey." Pedri crossed his arms.

You decided to push his buttons a little more. "and yet he's there playing Champions League and you sit here, exhausted from extra training, because you disqualified from Europa League"

The midfielder rolled his eyes. "If he's so great then why aren't you there with him ? I bet you'd let him fuck you after the match, the way you're jumping up and down just because he hit the crossbar. Any 4th grader would've scored that." 

"If you had asked me in 2019 I'd tell you yes. I thought his braces were really hot" you admitted, focus back on the TV. 

Pedri laughed. "His braces ?" You joined in, glad he lightened his mood.

"What can I say I am obsessed" 

He looked at you, raising a brow. "So you're telling me you didn't think about it recently"

"If I say I did, will you get a pissed again ?" you nudged his shoulder.

You leaned close to his ear, not waiting for a reply. "Because I did, but don't worry, only when Barcelona played against Atletico. Twice the fun, right ?" 

-

Teasing Pedri with João wasn't your best choice. You boyfriend had been acting annoyed all week and ignored your affectionate tries to lighten him up. You decided to surprise and apologize to him. 

Pedri had a new campaign photoshoot with Adidas today, meaning he would probably come home late. 

You dimmed the light in your shared bedroom and lit a few tea lights to set the mood. Pedri loved it when you wore lingerie and you had just found the right set on your shopping trip today. It came with a matching robe which wouldn't make you feel too naked. The color was a soft red, powdery and not to bright, complimenting your skin tone.

The thought of Pedri's lips teasing your skin as he slowly took the lace of your body made you shiver in delight. He wouldn't be able to resist you.

Putting on some light makeup, you heard the lock turning. You quickly applied some last layers of mascara and went to the hallway. 

You jumped into your boyfriends arms, pulling him into a heated kiss. His hands caught your waist under the robe caressing your hips. Your fingers caressed his cheek as you broke the kiss, staring into his deep brown eyes. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you. I'm more obsessed with you than with João." you said, hoping he'd accept it. 

"Didn't sound like that when Pedri told me about it." a voice with familiar accent stated. You know that voice.

You let go of your boyfriend to see if your guess was right, but it couldn't be. You must be hallucinating. 

João Félix was standing in your hallway. He wore a beige oversized t-shirt with the logo of some designer brand and light ripped jeans. You looked back and forth between the Portuguese and Pedri. 

So many questions ran through your mind. 

"I wanted to apologize for being an asshole and Félix and I did the photoshoot together so I invited him to meet you since you love him so much." Pedri explained, pushing you a little towards João. 

"I- ummm. Hey." the blush that decorated your face and neck must make you look like a beet.

"Hey." João smiled at you and checked out your outfit. Realizing you were still only wearing the rather revealing set of underwear, you wrapped the robe around yourself. 

"I'll umm go change." The presence of João made you forget how to think properly.

"No need to. Red is my favourite color, but I'm sure you know that." João said teasingly, a smirk curling on his lips. His hand caught your arm, holding you from leaving.

You stopped in your tracks and you were sure you forgot how to breathe for a second. Did he just flirt with you ? 

His grip on your arm was firm but soft. It made your whole body shiver. You turned your head to see Pedri's reaction. He must be fuming. 

To your surprise you're easily provoked sweetheart was watching the scenery without a hint of anger or annoyance. 

"You do look irresistible. What a nice surprise-" Pedri looked at João and winked. "- for both of us." 

You shot a confused look towards Pedri, about to ask what he was up to when he walked towards you. Trapped between the two footballers, you swallowed. 

"Isn't this what you dreamed about, princesa ? Twice the fun. Remember ?" His voice went straight to your core, soaking your panties. 

Of course you remembered. The thought of both Pedri and João touching you helped you fall asleep many nights, but that was it. Just a fantasy. 

João moved his hand to undo your robe. He slightly towered over you due to his height, lips almost touching your temple. You leaned into him, inviting him to go further. 

Pedri slipped his hand inside your panties. The pads of his fingers finding you wet and needy. 

If you thought about what was happening right now, you'd probably laugh, but you couldn't rationally think right now. João's and Pedri's hands on your body was all you could think about. 

João discarded your robe and opened your bra with a flick of his fingers. 

"You're so pretty." he whispered. His voice was drowned in arousal. 

You wanted to speak up, but he cupped your breasts and massaged them, which had you moaning instead. Your boyfriend started to kiss your neck. 

Somewhere between João teasing your now hardened nipples and Pedri having two fingers pumping in and out of you, the three of you ended up in the bedroom. 

You were sitting on the edge of the bed and watched as João took his shirt off. His skin was tan and his muscles defined. He sat next to you on the duvet and Pedri encouraged you to be more confident. 

João caressed your hair as you opened the fly of his jeans. His long fingers combed through the strands and he leaned back a little. His dark brown eyes watched you intensely. Your hand reached inside his boxers. 

He was hard and warm in your hand. The other found leverage on his knee. João let out a breathy moan when you started to move your hand up and down, spreading the precum leaking at the tip. His hand wrapped around yours to tighten your grip around him, teaching you how he'd like it. 

You moved your sitting position to kneel beside him on the bed. The wetness between your thighs felt sticky and you rotated your hips slightly to create some friction. 

"Put me inside your mouth, amor." The striker whispered, hand wrapped around the back of your neck. 

Strong hands pulled at your hips as you leaned down. Pedri's hand sneaked inside your panties again, finding your pulsing clit. 

You let spit run over João's tip, covering his shaft, before taking him. Teasing the head by tracing the small furrow on the underside with your tongue made him call out your name. You clenched your thighs. 

Your boyfriend pulled your legs apart with one hand, keeping them apart with one knee. Pedri kneeled behind you. His hips flush with your ass. He must've taken his pants off, because you felt his hot skin on yours.

João's other hand started to play with your hair again as he watched you take more of his cock. 

"That's perfect, take all of me." he praised you, slightly pushing your head down by the neck. He added just enough pressure to make you press yourself against Pedri's erection. The midfilder let go of your hip to play with one of your nipples. Pulling and twisting it, making it harder not to grind against him. 

Removing your hand from João's shaft, you grasped his shoulder. The hand on his knee moved to play with his balls. They were full and heavy and João thrust his hips up, making you gag. 

Tears formed in your eyes from the burning sensation in your throat. João found a fast pace with his hips, hitting the back off your throat repeatedly. You were on the edge with Pedri rubbing your sensitive spot. 

You came with tears and spit running from your face, still swallowing João's cock. 

Pedri pulled you up and João wiped your tears with his thumbs. Pedri held you to him and kissed your flushed cheek. 

"That was so hot, princesa. Can't wait to be inside of you." he said, lips warm against your face. 

João's warmth disappeared as he got up to take his pants off, but you stopped him. Reaching forward you pulled his jeans and briefs now all the way down. 

His thighs looked strong as he walked towards you. He turned to Pedri, asking him something in Portuguese which you didn't understand. Pedri laughed and nodded, replying. 

João went over to one of your drawers but before you could see what he did, Pedri pulled you into a kiss. His tongue massaged yours and his hand intertwined with yours. You reached under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his six pack. 

The midfielder broke the kiss to take his shirt off, only his boxers covering him now. You wanted to please him. He shouldn't have to watch you have fun with João, even though Pedri had encouraged all of this. 

"Lay down." he whispered and grabbed some pillows from the headboard. 

As you were getting comfortable, Pedri positioned one pillow beneath your head and one beneath your ass. His hands explored your body doing so, touches lingering longer than needed. It got you excited all over again. 

The bed dipped beside you as Joao came back. His hands travelled from your knees to the dip of your waist, spreading them in the motion. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slid them off you. His hand immediately cupped your exposed pussy and you bucked into him. 

He watched you squirm, lips slightly parted and moved to lay beside you. His lips left butterfly kisses on your shoulder, goosebumps erupting on your skin. Two of his long fingers entered you, making you arch into the pillows. 

After discarding his briefs, Pedri appeared on your other side. He whispered declarations of love into your neck. You felt something cold on your wet folds and hissed. João pulled his fingers out, spreading the cold liquid over your sensitive pussy, before moving them back inside. 

At least you thought so, but his digits only teased your entrance before guiding them lower. His middle finger teased the little ring of muscles, making you shriek in shock. He stopped.

Pedri caressed your cheek and pressed his forehead against yours. 

"I'll be careful. You'll like it if you relax." João mumbled against your shoulder. 

Your boyfriend moved his hands down your lower stomach to find you're prepared and dripping. He easily slid his fingers inside. 

"I'm here, mi vida. I've got you." Pedri said, curling his fingers. You cuddled into him. "We've got you." 

Pedri made you feel safe. 

João moved slightly atop of you. His free hand exploring your chest and his lips followed. When he teased your nipple with his tongue, he continued to massage your back entrance. 

This time you relaxed, enjoying the new sensations. The tip of his finger slipped inside as Pedri found your sweet spot inside of you. 

You felt your orgasm building up and Joao pressed further inside. He slowly started to move in and out, reaching hidden spots. 

The name on your lips was now his. He chuckled against your breast. "I told you you'll like it." 

Pedri circled your clit, wanting you to reach your peak. He had you clenching uncontrollably around him in seconds. João took the opportunity to slip a second finger inside of you. You barely even noticed it, being focused on the electricity making your body spasm. He bit down on your nipple. 

Now focusing on your other breast, he increased the pace of his fingers and Pedri, too, continued the play of his fingers. 

"Hermosa, you're a sight." Pedri moaned against your lips. His sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed. He looked so sexy when he was aroused, you almost started drooling.

João looked up at you from your chest, releasing your abused bud with a pop. "I think you're ready to take my cock now, amor." 

He cocked his eyebrow and smirked. Removing his fingers, he crawled next to you. Pedri guided you to lay on your side, facing him. Your boyfriend handed João the lube again. 

Your heart thumbed in your chest. You had never experienced this much pleasure. Pedri hooked your leg over his waist, pulling you closer. 

Finally you could feel his cock against you. You were impossibly wet, his tip immediately slipping inside, being pressed flush. 

Pedri fucked you in a static pace, enough to make you moan, but not enough to make you come. His face pressed into your chest, hands spreading your cheeks for João.

You clawed at Pedri's back, surely leaving bruises. Arching your back into him, he increased the speed of his hips. You barely even noticed João entering your backside. He felt big, too big to make this pleasurable, but these two had proved you wrong before. 

Guiding his cock further, he moaned your name into your neck. His hands held your hips in a vice grip. He filled you out completely, waiting for you to get used to the feeling. 

Your hand found his and he slightly intertwined your fingers, resting them on your hip. 

"You're doing so well, amor. Taking two cocks at the same time." João kissed your shoulder. 

You couldn't quite register what he said, your thoughts and feelings overwhelmed by the intense pleasure. Your face felt sticky as you pressed it into the pillow. You didn't know if it was from the tears or the sweat. 

Pedri groaned into your chest as João started to move. They must feel each other pleasuring you. After a few thrusts the two synchronized each other. The sounds coming from your mouth were pure and raw desire. 

"This feels so good, makes me think we should invite him more often. What do you think, cariño ?" Pedri toyed with your nipple between his teeth, making you nod and scream out in pleasure. He never had a better idea.

João grinned against your neck and moved your joined hands to your middle. He let go of your fingers, but you trapped his hand in a vice grip. His fingers found your clit, drawing figure eights. 

The third orgasm of the night crashed over you in waves. It felt even better than the first two. 

Expecting the boys to come inside of you, you tried to move your hips, riding out your orgasm. 

They had other plans, as João carefully pulled out and detached himself from his hugging position against you. Pedri followed and slid up to the headboard. 

His crotch was now at level with your face, cock glistening with your juices. You felt João's hands guide you on all fours above Pedri, repositioning the pillow under your pelvis. 

João slipped inside your pussy with ease, filling you to the brim. You clenched around him greedily accepting his hard thrusts. His balls slapped against your throbbing clit. 

Pedri jerked his cock, guiding your head onto him by holding your hair in his hand at the back of your skull. Taking him fully, he moved the hand from his manhood to rest comfortably on the pillows behind his neck. 

Before you got to enjoy to blow your boyfriend, João released himself inside you. He pulled out, spilling some of his cum on your pussy and ass. 

This didn't bother you enough to stop sucking Pedri off. His cock was familiar between your lips and you knew exactly how to move to get him to lose control. 

João didn't let go of your hips. His fingers spread his cum over your core and found your clit again. The striker soon had you coming for a fourth time. 

The vibrating moans at the back of your throat, brought Pedri over the edge. He thrust his hips into your mouth until he was spent. His cum tasted salty, but nice. You liked swallowing him. 

Climbing off him, you laid on your back exhausted. Pedri turned to pull you into him. João left into the small attached bathroom. 

After getting a washcloth he kneeled between your thighs, softly cleaning you up. 

"If Pedri doesn't mind, I'd like to hear more about your little obsession with me, amor."

A/N: Finally I built up the confidence to post this!

Special love and thanks go to @pedrisgatorade & @simpingmyassoff who were so kind to read this over! You're the best!

I really hope you enjoy this and leave me a comment 💕🫣

Love you❤️

[cailins-posts]

nico hischier x rangers media!girl

Hello thank you so much for the request I actually had a daft for the thing your asking for lol I when ahead and finished it. I hope you like it 🤍🤍🤍

Unexpected Encounter- Nico hischier x reader

Nico Hischier, the talented center for the New Jersey Devils, found himself with an unexpected afternoon off in the heart of New York City. It was a rare moment of calm amidst a busy hockey season, and he decided to take advantage of it by exploring the bustling streets of Manhattan.

Meanwhile, Y/N, a dedicated media coordinator for the New York Rangers, was rushing to grab a quick coffee between press briefings and interviews at a nearby café. Dressed in her usual professional attire, she darted through the crowded streets, her mind preoccupied with the upcoming game against their rivals, the Devils.

Their paths collided in a small local store—a quaint bookstore that Y/N often frequented to escape the chaos of her job. She rounded a corner with her coffee cup in hand just as Nico turned, both of them failing to notice each other until it was too late. The collision was inevitable, and in a split second, hot coffee splattered across Y/N's blouse.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Nico exclaimed, his Swiss accent tinting his words with sincerity. He immediately reached for napkins on the nearby shelf, flustered and apologetic.

Y/N blinked in surprise, the initial shock of being drenched in coffee giving way to amusement as she realized who had inadvertently caused the mishap. "It's okay, really," she assured him, accepting the napkins with a smile. "These things happen."

Nico's cheeks colored slightly with embarrassment. "I'm really sorry. Let me buy you another coffee."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, no need. Accidents happen, right?"

Relieved that she wasn't upset, Nico took a breath, his blue eyes earnest as he offered, "Well, let me at least give you my number. In case you need anything... like dry cleaning expenses."

Y/N chuckled, charmed by his genuine concern. "Sure, that works."

She took his phone and tapped in her number, exchanging a brief smile with Nico before they went their separate ways. As he walked back to his hotel, Nico couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to see Y/N again, to make amends for the clumsy encounter.

---

Weeks passed, and the day finally arrived when the New Jersey Devils were scheduled to play against the New York Rangers at Madison Square Garden. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation as fans filled the arena, eager for the rivalry game to unfold.

In a quieter corner of the arena, away from the cheering crowds and flashing cameras, Nico spotted Y/N. She was busy coordinating media access and ensuring everything ran smoothly for the game. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, remembering their chance meeting weeks ago.

He approached her tentatively, hoping she would remember him amidst the chaos of game day. "Hey," he greeted, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

Y/N looked up from her clipboard, surprise lighting up her face as she recognized him. "Hey! Nico, right?"

He nodded, relief flooding through him that she remembered. "Yeah, that's me. How have you been?"

"Busy, as always," she replied with a grin, gesturing to the flurry of activity around them. "Game days are always a bit hectic."

"I can imagine," Nico agreed, glancing around. "Listen, after the game... would you like to grab dinner? As a thank you for not being too mad about the coffee incident?"

Y/N chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "I think I can forgive you for that."

---

After the thrilling game that ended with a narrow victory for the Devils, Nico and Y/N found themselves seated at a cozy restaurant nearby. They talked effortlessly, swapping stories about their lives beyond the hockey rink and media spotlight. Nico was fascinated by Y/N's passion for her job and her witty sense of humor. Y/N, in turn, admired Nico's dedication to hockey and his down-to-earth personality.

As the evening wore on, their initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. They laughed over shared interests and debated good-naturedly about hockey strategies, finding common ground in unexpected places.

By the time dessert arrived, Nico realized he didn't want the night to end. He hesitated for a moment, then gathered his courage to ask, "Would you maybe want to do this again sometime?"

Y/N smiled, her eyes warm with affection. "I'd like that."

And so began a connection that started with a clumsy encounter in a bookstore and blossomed into something neither of them expected—a shared journey of laughter, support, and the beautiful unpredictability of falling for someone unexpected.

[chicinsilk]

Marc Bohan for Christian Dior Haute Couture Collection Fall/Winter 1967-68. A model wears a beige and yellow tweed suit over a yellow jersey blouse.

Marc Bohan pour Christian Dior Collection Haute Couture Automne/ Hiver 1967-68. Un modèle porte un tailleur en tweed beige et jaune sur une blouse en jersey jaune.

Photo Séeeberger Frères

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[abilouwrites]

MATCHA

Lil meet-cute w Luke Hughes :))

Mornings have never been my strength; but I still make it to the office every morning. I’m barely making it on time before some jackass slams into me knocking my drink into me and onto the ground, “ugh you prick!” I grunt in annoyance staring at the guy. Beanie over his hair and a ‘New Jersey devils’ crewneck with the number 43 on it. He looks a little apologetic, “the fuck is wrong with you; don’t look where you’re going or something” I question; there’s a slight accent to my voice. Even if I’ve been living in Jersey for three years the south still follows me around.

“Ah shit— Look im so sorry” he apologizes, “did you get burnt are you alright?” He asks, “can I repay you? Or oh let me take you out to coffee! And I’ll try not to spill it over you” he tries to make a joke but I stare him down. Lips pursed and he looks intimidated. I puff a sigh and nod slowly.

“Uh ya ya ok lemme give you my number” I nod and take a pen out of my purse and write my name and number onto his forearm, “Just text me. Don’t call that’s weird”

He nods— slightly then takes his hoodie off and hands it to me, “uh if you want it— your blouse is-“ he stutters a little, “it’s ruined I’m sorry again” he apologizes. I give him half a smile and take the hoodie.

“Thank you.. uh you owe me a coffee don’t forget”

“I couldn’t forget you.. even if I tried” He smiles and I nod slowly.

[k-atsukibakugou]

tw: fem!reader (called girlie/has hair longer than shoulders/wearing a blouse) w/c: 0.4k

the sound of the game-ending buzzer is drowned out by the overwhelming cheering of the crowd; screams, whistles, chants and the occasional boo from supports of the opposing team making it nearly impossible for you to announce the season champions. there’s a wide smile on your lips, the atmosphere infectious as the captain of the team skates to the middle of the ice to join in the celebrations with his team, his red hair plastered to his face after the overtime, the same said for his goalkeeper who’s brow had finally relaxed. well, as much as bakugou had been known to relax.

your crew had moved down the hallway leading to the locker rooms, preparing for the shots of cheering fans and players alike, you remained behind, reaching behind you to flick off your microphone.

you shout the captains name, waving at him when you caught his eye. you’d been the sportscaster at every one of his games since being captain, always taking your time to get his comment every time, even if it was just an excuse to talk to him, and as he glided over to you, you hoped he thought of you as more than his teams journalist at this point.

“hey, lucky, you want the champ’s comments?” eijiro leans over the edge of the partition separating where you stood from the ice, leaning down onto his elbows to speak to you, warmth emanating from him the closer he got to you. his grin is infectious, bringing one to your lips as you stepped as close as you could to him with the partition still separating you, everything about him magnetic since you’d met him.

“nah, off the record, how much for a signed winning jersey? i’m sure it’ll get me a pretty penny in a couple years” you lean your back against the wall, your hair and makeup done to perfection for the cameras, about to be jostled by all the action through the hallways after the game.

“jersey isn’t for sale, girlie.” the red heads barking laughter cuts through the cheering easily, the point of his teeth catching in the light as he put his hockey stick back, his cherry red eyes twinkling as he stared back down at you, studying each of your features before landing on your pretty lips.

his laugh is infectious, pulling a giggle out of you as you brush your hair back over your shoulder, his gaze following your every move, especially as your hand trailed over the collar of your shirt, reaching to undo just the top button of your blouse, his cheeks flushing as hot as his hair.

"that's a shame, maybe i'll get you out of your clothes another time."

[pablitogavii]

#30

Summary: After rumors that you were Pedri's new girlfriend, Gavi made sure everyone knows what's your favorite number! ;)

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Reader

Warnings: smut! smut! smut!

All the gossip magazines were writing about your "new boyfriend" from the Barça first team which wouldn't have been such a big deal if they didn't name the wrong guy.../

Since you and Pablo both have such public lives, him as a young Barça player and you as a young Victoria Secret model, you decided to keep your relationship low-key for as long as it is possible.

"We recently found out that the young Victoria Secret model despite all the male attention she received since her very first runaway show, settled in a relationship with Pedri González, young Barça star." Pablo was reading to you with gritted teeth and you felt your stomach flip at this whole situation.

"They took that image out of context...I was there waiting for you and Pedri just came to say hi" you said hoping that Pablo wasn't actually considering that something was going on between you and his best friend. You would never cheat on your Pablito! Never!

"I know, amor...but everyone keeps saying what a great couple you make" Pablo started reading the comments but you were quick to take his phone away and give him a tight hug he quickly returned.

"I choose you because I love you, Pablo Gavira!" you say hoping he heard you knowing it couldn't be easy when your girlfriend is being paired with your best friend.

Pablo played it off cool and pretended like it didn't bother him at all but deep down he wanted to scream on top of his lungs that you were only his!

Night before, you were prepping for one of Pablo's games against Atlético Madrid searching for a jersey to wear. He came into your shared bedroom smirking a little at you bent over the bed reaching for a jersey that was on the floor.

"Nice view princesa!" he startled you making you quickly get up blushing a little at your boyfriend's hungry eyes. You showed him the jersey you chose, with only your name and no number in the back and unlike usual, his face was grim.

"Something wrong, amor?" you said touching his face that was still unsatisfied but still softened under your touch as his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you closer.

"Wear my jersey..." he sighed taking you a little by surprise and you knew very well what this was about. He was jealous! He wanted people to know you were only his!

Truthfully, you kinda wanted the same thing being annoyed to be paired up with everyone all the time. And now with Pedri was definitely the last straw for Gavi.

"Help me put it on then..." your answer took Pablo by surprise now and he smirked taking his old jersey from the closet before taking off your blouse and putting it over your much smaller body.

"Better?" you ask while he played with the hem of his jersey absolutely in awe at how gorgeous it looked on your body...he didn't know why he didn't ask you to wear it earlier.

"Perfecta..." he smirked before kissing the side of your neck making your knees get weak as he grabbed your thighs raising you up and pinning you against the wall.

"I want to fuck you in my jersey princesa...make sure you know who you belong to!" he growled taking a skin on your neck between his teeth marking his territory like a started animal while you moaned running your hands through his messy hair.

"Ah..Pablo..please" your whining words were enough to make Pablo smirk and move to sit on the bed with you straddling his lap and the long mirror behind you giving him a perfect view of his name and number #30 on your back...nothing can stroke footballer's ego more.

"Say cheese, princesa" Pablo said and you turned to look at the mirror while laying your head on his broad shoulders and smiling as he took the infamous picture.

You really didn't care...if anything it turned you on that he might post it on his story and make the whole world see you proudly wearing his number #30.

"Mierda! I couldn't play right since reading that stupid magazine! The thought of Pedri seeing you underneath him like this makes me go crazy princesa!" Pablo was hovering above you raising his jersey just enough to reveal your breast to his hungry eyes not wasting any time to start sucking and touching then in the ways that make you go crazy in pleasure.

You were so lost in pleasure he was giving you that you didn't notice him taking off your panties along with the rest of his clothes before starting to tease your entrance with his red tip not giving you what you want to easily.

"Tell me you're mine!" his voice was low and dangerous and you smiled touching his arm that was holding your legs spread wigging in desperation.

"I'm yours Pablo...please" you said and he didn't waste any moment to fill you up completely in one swift motion making you unable to scream from the pain mixed with unimaginable amount of pleasure.

He pulled all the way out leaving you empty and craving before slamming right back in making your thighs shake and your voice break as it was screaming his name.

"They keep pairing you up with other guys but they have no idea who fucks you up this good every night! Those gossips piss me off so bad!" he kept repeating his pleasurable assaults on your core starting to touch your clit and send your mind into overdrive as your eyes rolled tot he back of your skull.

"Show me how pissed you are.." you menage to moan feeling fucked out already and on the verge of your first orgasm of the night knowing there will be many more when Pablo was in such hot headed mood.

He started moving rough and fast pounding into you with no mercy while his hands kept your legs open and his mouth kisses on your neck and breasts.

Just as you were about to finish, he pulled out completely stroking his sensitive smirking down at your whining state begging him to out it back in...it was sound for his ears.

"Turn around! I want to see my name on you as I fuck you into oblivion preciosa" Pablo's words sounded like a clear order and you nodded going on all fours quickly and he smirked teasing your hole once again before roughly pounding all the way inside and stopping enjoying your groans.

"You're so beautiful..with my name on your back and my cock stuffed into your tight pussy..tan preciosa" Pablo smirked taking in the sight before him that satisfied his ego some more before started to pound mercilessly into you once more.

"I'm close! Ah! Please..please..don't stop Pablo!" you were a moaning mess while he put your hair in the makeshift ponytail pulling you back so that your back was glued to his strong abs while continually pounding into you making an orgasm wash over you in ecstasy.

"You came for me so perfectly amor...made such a mess on my cock" Pablo's sinful words made your pussy clench around his cock earning you a groan before he pulled out turning you both around so that he was laid on the bed and you were on top of his lap.

You didn't waste a second as you started to kiss from his lips to his jaw, neck down those strong defined abs all the way to his v-line licking a few strands around his tall and needy shaft earning a groan.

"Don't be shy, suck me off like a good little slut you are for my cock...only for my cock!" he growled the last part and you felt your pussy clench around nothing as you took him in your mouth massaging his balls with your hands as he groaned.

"Ahh yes princesa..just like that..uhh..tan buena" Pablo groaned holding your hair once more in a ponytail guiding your head as he please until his cock twitched and you and swallowed all of him proudly while Pablo watched the whole thing in awe...there is no doubt in his mind anymore that you were only truly his.

You caught your breath before kissing back up all the way to his lips letting him taste himself before laying on top of his chest comeptlely exhausted.

"Te amo Gavinho..." you say tiredly and he kisses the top of your head sliding a hand underneath his jersey and giving you some back scratched that always lulled you to sleep easily.

"Yo tambien, mi amor" Pablo smiled down at his name still shinning on your back while your face was nuzzled in the crook of his neck as small snores filled the room.

The next day on the match, you were spotted by a group of paparazzi while entering the stadium with the bright #30 shinning on your back and GAVI catching everyone's attention.

"Por favor, Y/n! There have been rumors that you were in a relationship with Pedri, or is it Gavi actually?" they pushed past one another asking the same question and you smiled kissing your jersey (like Pablo does as his celebration) before entering the stands.

During the second half, Pablo scored with an assist from Ansu making the whole Camp Nou get on its feet, yourself included, while camera's were more focused on the little action done by Gavi as he rushed towards your stands sending you a kiss that made you blush seeing your face on the big screen(gif).

"Famosa modelo española está en la gran pantalla. Ha habido falsas especulaciones de que estaba saliendo con Pedri, otro gran jugador del Barça, pero Gavi demostró claramente quién es el dueño de su corazón. ¡Hermosa relación joven!" [Famous spanish model is on the big screen. There have been false speculations that she was dating Pedri, another amazing Barça player, but Gavi clearly showed who owns her heart. Beautiful young relationship!] commentator spoke catchign Gavi's smirking face before the game continued.

@pablogavi

¡¡victoria!! @fcbarcelona

liked by 100K other

@fcbarcelona: golden boy! liked by pablogavi

@pedri: campeón!! liked by pablogavi

@gavipedrifans: everyone knows whose girl she is now hahah

@pablitofans boy knows how to show what's his!!

@pablogavirafan okay but that kiss was hot!

@gaviii we love this duo! stop pairing pedri with gavi's girl :///

@ansufati: visca hermano!! liked by pablogavi

@y.n.bebe: my favorite #30 ;)

@pablogavi mía!!! <33

@gavirafanclub jealous Pablo is hot!!

@paezgavira: call me yours too!!!

Hope you liked :)

[aliaology]

NOW THAT WE DONT TALK;

Y/N ‘BELLS’ MARNER

ABOUT; y/n marner!

she met jack via cole caulfied, whom she was long distance friends with for years on end. they ended up visiting toronto, meaning y/n was able to see cole and from there, jack and y/ns love ‘bloomed.’

her n jack were long distance for a year, until a few months after her 19th birthday, she moved to new jersey with him. she was often with him at the michigan house when he went.

he ended up cheating on her for four months, she found out on her 20th birthday during a surprise party. will do a chap on that!

her n auston are really close because of mitch!! they have a sibling bond, so no romance will happen.

trevor n bells had a really big falling out because she hooked up with someone else when she was still trying to get over jack. he called her a slut because he knew jack was still hooked on her even if he cheated and it just caused a whole fight. will have its own chap!

y/n is friends with gracie abrams, madelyn cline, zendaya, etc. and shes a girls girl.

the guy she hooked up with is the ‘guy’ in is it over now who ‘unbuttoned her blouse.’ fiona (jacks current gf) is the ‘laid down on your couch’ girl xx

y/ns birthday is august 3rd. she was born in 2002, so a year and a few months younger than jack!

shes really into producing her own music, like taylor, but she gets help every once in awhile. her brother helps sometimes too.

she can be such a sap sometimes, big ass crybaby. like her brother wins a game? tears bc shes so proud of him. cole gets a goal? tears.

y/n can be such a bitch tho, in a good way! aka ntwdt part six. she does snap back a lil

her nickname “bells” came from her bringing cowbells to every hockey game whether it was for her brother or her friends or jack. she would shake it hard, while cheering. therefore, they called her bells.

she had a really good friendship with john marino and nico hischier. they were some of her best friends when she lived with jack.

shes already working on her second album!!

thats all for now ♡

thought bells deserved her own origin type of thing

tags; @honethatty12 , @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @lovinbarzal , @outrunangelss , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot , @shadowsndaisies , @lxnceclercs , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @Robloxlover2007

guys if tags dont work im sorry 😞 my phones bugging