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lumosflairr · 2 days ago

Note

Since you're absolutely brilliant with long, detailed Harry James Potter fics, I've got a long request here (only if it's cool with you):

After the war, Harry and the reader reconnect as adults (after Harry & Ginny break up). The reader always had feelings for Harry during their Hogwarts years but the time was never right for them. Eventually the reader met someone else and tried to move on but is not 100% happy with the relationship. Harry eventually admits his feelings for the reader, but she rebuffs him saying she feels like she's second to Ginny (or Cho) and thinks he's settling for her. That night, Harry and the reader are visited by James and Lily respectively in their dreams, telling them that true love is worth fighting for. The reader realizes she's the one who's settling, so she leaves her current boyfriend and gives Harry a chance.

All This Time - Harry j. Potter

warnings: 18+ smut! fem!reader, angst, fluff, mentions of violence, mature themes and languages, unprotected p in v.

as always, thank you for your request! I fell in love with this idea and I apologize it took so long🥲!

The war didn’t end in a single moment — it bled out slowly, painfully, leaving behind more ghosts than survivors.

The final battle may have marked victory on paper, but the cost echoed far beyond the walls of Hogwarts. Rubble was cleared, bodies buried, names carved into marble, but no spell existed that could stitch back the parts of you the war had carved out.

It took months to clear the Forbidden Forest of dark magic. Years for families to recover — if they ever did. And longer still for the silence to return to Godric’s Hollow, where grief had made a permanent home in the walls.

You could still hear the screams if you let your mind go quiet long enough.

Sometimes, you did. Just to remind yourself it was real.

You weren’t a war hero. Not like Harry, not like the names people whispered with reverence now — Neville Longbottom, Kingsley Shacklebolt, even Ginny Weasley. But you fought. You survived. And that, somehow, had to be enough.

Every morning, you still walked past the wall of the fallen in the Ministry atrium — names etched in charmed stone, always glowing faint gold. Some days you read them. Most days you couldn’t bear to look. Too many friends. Too many if-onlys.

You worked in the Department of Magical Cooperation now. Diplomatic, polished, quiet. The kind of work that made your mother proud and let your father sleep at night knowing you weren’t in danger anymore. You were good at it — pleasant, reliable, untouchable. People liked you. They always had.

You kept your robes ironed, your reports punctual, and your grief tucked away behind a polished smile. In a world desperate for normalcy, you were the poster child of moving on.

Samuel helped with that.

He was kind, thoughtful, charming in a quiet, dependable sort of way. The kind of man who brewed your tea the way you liked it and remembered your meeting schedules without being asked. His family had money, his flat was in a good part of London, and his laugh never reminded you of someone you’d lost.

You didn’t love him.

But it was easier to pretend you might than to admit you probably never would. You told yourself that after everything — after blood and fire and watching friends die with wands still clutched in their hands — comfort was enough.That love was for people who hadn’t already used up all their heart.

And once, you had.

Years ago — back when you were just a girl with ink-stained fingers and too much hope folded between your class notes — you’d been head over heels for Harry Potter.

It had never been loud or obvious. Not like the girls who giggled behind their hands when he passed in the corridor. You kept your feelings tucked beneath quiet smiles and shared looks across the common room, in moments when he laughed too hard at something Ron said, or when he’d catch your eye after practice and nod like you did well, I saw you — even if you hadn’t been trying to impress him.

He made you feel like you mattered — not because you were extraordinary, but because he noticed even the ordinary things. Like how you bit your lip when you were thinking. Or how you always brought an extra quill to class in case someone forgot theirs. Or how you never backed down when Snape tried to humiliate someone just because he could.

He had a way of making the chaos around him feel quieter when you were close. And in the little stolen moments — between DA meetings, library study sessions, and late-night conversations by the fire — you started to believe maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.

Then one day, he walked into breakfast hand-in-hand with Ginny Weasley.

And just like that, every hope you’d carefully tended over the years crumbled with a smile on his face that wasn’t meant for you.

You remembered sitting two seats down from them at the Gryffindor table, trying not to stare, trying to swallow the burn behind your eyes. Telling yourself you were happy for him. That Ginny was brave and bright and right for someone like him.

After that, you avoided him.

Not out of bitterness — you could never hate Harry — but because looking at him felt like staring directly into the sun. Too warm. Too much. Too painful.

You stopped sitting near him in the common room. Stopped volunteering for DA meetings where you’d be paired up. You even stopped going to Quidditch matches, though you used to love them, just so you wouldn’t have to see him flying high and grinning down at her in the stands.

You smiled when he passed you in the corridors. Spoke when spoken to. Kept your distance with the precision of someone trying not to bleed.

And no one noticed, not even him.

That was the part that hurt the most.

He didn’t even seem to notice you were pulling away. As if the quiet girl who had once stood by his side, who had carried feelings for him like secret spells whispered to herself in the dark, had never really mattered.

You carried on like that for months. Holding yourself together with threadbare strength and pretending that the hollow feeling in your chest was normal — that the ache would pass. That you’d wake up one day and find it had melted away like frost on the window.

But it didn’t.

It sat there. Quiet. Heavy. Constant.

Like something inside you had been stolen without permission.

So, when the war came — when everything you knew crumbled beneath fire and fear — a part of you welcomed it. At least then, the ache had company. At least then, everyone was broken.

Afterward, when the dust settled and people began picking up the pieces of their lives, you tried too. You went where it was safe. You chose the path that didn’t hurt. You let go of what could have been.

You told yourself Harry was your past, and Samuel could be your future. But even now, years later — surrounded by peace and normalcy and a man who never raised his voice or forgot your birthday — you still woke some mornings with that same old hollow ache.

The kind of emptiness that didn’t ask to be filled.

Just endured.

You saw Harry sometimes. Not often. Just quick glances across the atrium or in a lift he stepped out of as you stepped in. Always brief. Always distant. He looked different now. Broader. Older. But his eyes were the same — still too green, still too honest.

You told Samuel you were staying late at work, but really, you just needed air — real air. The kind that didn’t smell like paper or ink or polite conversation.

You ended up at a little wizarding pub tucked between two record shops in Camden — a place you used to frequent in the months right after the war, when forgetting felt easier than remembering. It was dim and smoky, with charm-tarnished sconces and cheap pints. No one cared who you were. No one asked you to smile.

You slipped onto a barstool in the corner and ordered something stronger than wine. You weren’t sure what you were trying to feel — or forget.

The fire crackled lazily behind the bar, casting flickering shadows across the scuffed floorboards. A few witches laughed in the far corner, their voices softened by the haze of cigarette smoke and old enchantments. Somewhere near the back, a Muggle record played quietly — something slow and aching. You took another sip.

And then you felt it.

That prickling awareness, like being watched. Like some invisible thread tugged tight through the thick of the room and stitched itself to you. You turned your head — slowly, cautiously, like maybe you already knew what you’d see.

And there he was.

Harry.

Sitting alone in a booth, a few tables across the pub. His hand rested around a glass of something amber and untouched, eyes downcast until, like some quiet inevitability, he looked up.

The world didn’t stop — the pub still buzzed, music still played, your drink still sat half-full in your hand — but something in you did. Froze. Caved inward.

For a second, he just stared. Like he couldn’t believe it was really you. And you — you couldn’t believe how much he still looked the same.

Tired, yes. Worn down in ways the war never stopped demanding. But still Harry. The curve of his jaw, the crease between his brows, the unmistakable way he carried his silence like a second skin. You wondered where Ginny was. You wondered why he looked so alone.

He blinked once. Then, slowly, deliberately, he stood.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. Instinct screamed to look away — to pretend you hadn’t seen him, to protect whatever fragile thread of peace you’d built inside yourself. But you didn’t.

You held his gaze, even as he crossed the room with hesitant steps — like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

When he reached you, he didn’t sit. He didn’t speak right away either.

Just looked at you like he hadn’t seen you in years.

Which, really, he hadn’t.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice low, rough-edged in a way it hadn’t been back then.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

You looked down at your drink. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, voice gentler now.

You nodded, unsure why your heart was thudding so loudly in your chest. He slid into the seat next to you, just close enough for you to feel the warmth of him — the same warmth that had once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with you in battles and libraries and corridors that now only existed in memory.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, eyes scanning the room like it might explain something. “Thought you didn’t come to places like this anymore.”

“Neither did I,” you replied, a slight smile tugging at your mouth. “But apparently, I lied to myself today.”

That made him smile too. Small, tired, real.

“How have you been?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Busy. Work’s been… steady. Long days. Paperwork. Peace treaties.”

“Sounds thrilling,” he said with a smirk.

You glanced sideways at him. “Didn’t know you kept tabs.”

“I don’t,” he said honestly. “Hermione mentions you sometimes. Says you’re one of the only competent people left in your department.”

“That’s dangerously flattering coming from her,” you muttered, raising your glass to your lips.

“She also says you look tired. Worn thin,” he added, quieter now.

That made you pause.

“Well,” you said, setting your glass down. “Peace takes more out of you than war sometimes. At least in war, the pain is obvious.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just watched you with that same quiet focus he used to wear when he thought no one noticed. Like he was trying to see beneath the skin of your words.

“You still with—Samuel, right?” he asked, eyes flickering to the ringless hand resting on the bar.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Is it… good?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question — by the way he asked it. Not like he was prying. More like it hurt him to know but hurt him more not to.

“It’s… safe,” you said finally.

He nodded like he understood. But he didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, softly: “You used to laugh more.”

The words hung between you like breath on a windowpane — fragile, fading. You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. So you just looked at him. And for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. Like you were seventeen again, and the world hadn’t ended yet.

And then, just as quickly, the moment cracked.

“What about you?” you asked, clearing your throat. “How’s Ginny?”

He looked down at his drink.

“We’re not together anymore,” he said. “Split up a while ago.”

you sat in silence, somewhat stunned.

“Sorry,” you said softly.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. Some things… just end.”

“Still,” he added, looking at you again. “Some things don’t.”

That was too much.

Too close.

Your throat tightened around something unnamed, and suddenly the room felt too warm — the walls too close, his eyes too familiar.

You pushed your chair back, slow and careful. “I should probably head out,” you said, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Long day tomorrow.”

He blinked, like maybe he hadn’t expected the conversation to end there. But he nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

A pause settled between you, heavier than it should have been. You both stood, and the rhythm of conversation shifted — the way it always does when the moment is over but no one really wants it to be.

“I’ll grab the bill,” he offered, reaching into his coat.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you replied. “We’re not at Hogwarts anymore — I make my own money now.”

That earned the faintest laugh from him. “Right. Sorry. Forgot you’re a responsible adult.”

“Someone has to be,” you said lightly, though your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You paid your tabs, standing side by side at the counter like nothing had just cracked open between you. The bartender gave Harry a nod of vague recognition. You didn’t look at him again until you were back outside. The air had cooled. The night wrapped around you like a quiet excuse to end this.

“It was… really good to see you,” Harry said, his voice softer now, almost careful. “I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m glad it happened.”

You nodded, arms folded loosely in front of you. “Yeah. It was nice.”

Another silence — not awkward, just fragile. He hesitated like he might say more. But he didn’t. Instead, he just gave you a small, tentative smile.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

And then he was gone — Disapparated with a quiet crack — leaving you standing under the dull streetlamp, feeling like a version of yourself you hadn’t let surface in years.

The flat was warm when you walked in. Samuel always kept it that way — said the cold made the place feel lifeless.

“Hey, love,” he called from the kitchen, voice easy and content. “I thought you were working late.”

You forced a smile, setting your coat on the hook. “Finished earlier than I thought.”

He was plating dinner. Something creamy and rich, smelling of herbs and comfort. Two glasses of wine already poured. A lit candle flickered gently in the center of the table, like he’d tried to make the night special without asking for anything in return.

He was always like that.

Thoughtful. Steady. Good.

He crossed the kitchen and kissed your cheek, his hand resting warmly against your back. “Missed you today,” he murmured. “You look beautiful.” You smiled again, the motion mechanical now. “Thanks.”

You let him guide you to the table. Sat across from him. Talked about small things — work reports, one of his coworkers getting promoted, the weather — all while feeling like your ribs were a cage too small for the ache growing inside. You laughed when he said something funny. You touched his hand when he reached for yours.

You pretended.

And when dinner ended and the dishes were done, you let him hold you on the couch while some Muggle show droned on in the background. His hand brushed your hair, his thumb sweeping soft, rhythmic circles over your shoulder.

You’re quiet tonight,” he said against your temple.

You shook your head gently. “Just tired.”

He kissed the top of your head and pulled you closer. You didn’t move, but you didn’t relax either. When he finally fell asleep beside you— breathing slow, arm still wrapped around your waist, you slipped free and padded quietly down the hall to the bathroom.

The light was harsh when you flicked it on.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror like it belonged to someone else. Like the girl in the glass should be happy with this life. Shouldn’t still be haunted by green eyes and words that came too late.

You sat on the edge of the tub and let yourself cry.

Not loud, not messy — just silent, helpless tears that trailed down your cheeks without permission.

You hated this.

Hated that you couldn’t love Samuel the way he deserved. That no matter how good he was, your heart still ached for someone who hadn’t payed you any mind since sixth year of school.

You hated that one conversation with Harry had unraveled you. That his voice still echoed in your chest.

That part of you wanted to believe he meant it — that it wasn’t just loneliness, or nostalgia, or regret.

But the other part… the part still bruised from the day he forgot you existed the moment Ginny touched his hand… that part wasn’t ready to forgive. And yet… you still loved him.Through all of it. Quietly. Desperately. And it was killing you.

You didn’t sleep much that night.

By the time the sun rose, your eyes were dry, but your chest still felt heavy — like someone had carved out space behind your ribs and left nothing in its place. You didn’t mention the tears. Not to Samuel. Not to yourself.

Instead, you went through the motions — you got dressed, combed your hair, kissed him goodbye. Told him you’d be late again, even though you weren’t sure if you were lying this time.

Work passed in a blur. Paperwork. Meetings. Smiles you didn’t mean. Your hands shook slightly when you poured yourself a cup of tea, and you almost spilled it. But no one noticed. They never did.It was nearly 7 p.m. when you left the Ministry. The rain had started sometime after dusk, drizzling softly at first, then opening up into a steady downpour. You hadn’t brought a cloak — hadn’t checked the forecast — so you stood under the nearest enchanted awning just outside the Ministry, arms folded, watching the streetlamps smear across the wet pavement.

You didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

Maybe not at all.

You watched people rush past you — cloaks pulled over their heads, hoods charmed against the rain. Everyone moving. Everyone with somewhere to be.

And you just… stood there. Alone in the crowd.

Until a voice, low and unmistakable, spoke behind you.

“You always hated the rain.”

You turned.

Harry stood a few feet away, water dripping from his hair, his glasses slightly fogged. He looked soaked — like he hadn’t cared enough to shield himself. Like the storm didn’t bother him anymore.

Your heart skipped in your chest — painful and sudden.

“I didn’t hear you,” you said quietly.

“I saw you from across the square.” He nodded to the awning. “Didn’t want you standing here freezing.”

You looked away. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped closer and extended a small, half-charmed umbrella — one of those awkward, flickering ones Muggle-borns favored. It was barely working, but the gesture was kind.

“I can walk you home,” he offered. “If you want.”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

You walked in silence for a while. The only sound was rain tapping against stone, the splash of puddles under your shoes. His umbrella barely covered both of you, which meant his arm brushed yours occasionally — enough to make you feel every inch of space and every unspoken word between you.

“I used to imagine this,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Just… walking with you. Somewhere normal. Somewhere safe.”

You didn’t respond.

He looked down. “That night in the pub. I wasn’t expecting to see you. But it… it meant something.”

You clenched your jaw. “Harry…”

He slowed. “I just— I need you to know I didn’t come to you because Ginny and I ended.”

Your footsteps faltered.

He stopped walking, looking at you now — in the half-light, rain dripping from the edge of his umbrella, green eyes clearer than they had been in years.

“I should’ve said something a long time ago,” he went on. “But I didn’t. I was scared. Of everything. Of losing more. And I was stupid enough to think burying what I felt for you would make it go away.”

You blinked, breath catching.

He stepped closer. “But it didn’t. It never did.”

You shook your head. Not angrily — just tired. Tired in your bones.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” you said softly. “Not like this.”

His face fell, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m not going to be your rebound,” you continued. “You didn’t talk to me for years. You chose Ginny. You abandoned me. And now that it’s over, you show up, and—” your voice cracked despite you “—and you say these things like it didn’t wreck me when you forgot I existed.”

“I didn’t forget,” he said quickly, stepping closer again. “I couldn’t forget.”

“But you did,” you whispered. “When she walked in, I disappeared.”

He was silent.

You looked away, rain blurring your vision. You couldn’t tell if it was tears again or just the storm.

“I’m still trying to be okay with that,” you said. “Still trying to love someone else. Still trying to stop hoping you’d come back.”

A long pause.

And then Harry — voice barely audible — said, “I don’t want you to be someone I come back to. I want you to be where I belong.”

That nearly broke you.

But instead, you took a step back, gently out from under the umbrella. “I need time,” you said. “Please.”

Harry didn’t argue.

He just nodded, jaw tight, eyes dim.

“Okay.”

And with a soft crack, he was gone.The rain fell harder now. And for the first time that night, you let it soak you through. Because at least it covered the sound of your heart breaking all over again.

⸻

That night, sleep came only after exhaustion did. You didn’t remember lying down. Only the feeling of rain still clinging to your skin, and the ache in your chest like something had finally split open.

Then — somewhere between midnight and dawn — you found yourself standing in the middle of the old Hogwarts courtyard. But it wasn’t ruined. It was how it used to be.

The stone was warm under your feet. The air smelled of damp earth and ancient magic. The sky above was soft, painted in shades of twilight.

You turned slowly, disoriented by the stillness.

And that’s when you saw them. Two figures sitting on the low stone wall beneath the archway, bathed in gentle light. You knew who they were before you could speak.

Lily Potter smiled first — her eyes unmistakably green, her presence like warmth from a fire you hadn’t felt in years. James stood beside her, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he already understood everything you were feeling.

“Hi,” Lily said gently.

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

“It’s alright,” James added. “You don’t need to say anything yet.”

You blinked at them, heart pounding — not in fear, but in something like awe. “Is this real?”

“As much as it needs to be,” Lily said with a soft laugh. “Dreams are just another kind of magic, after all.”

You stepped forward slowly, like the moment might vanish if you moved too fast.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you said. “Why now?”

Lily tilted her head. “Because you’re hurting. And sometimes, the people we’ve lost — and the ones we’re meant for — can feel that, even from far away.”

James nodded. “Harry’s hurting too.”

Your breath caught. “I don’t want to be something he runs to because he’s broken,” you said. “I don’t want to be a second choice.”

“You’re not,” James said quietly, stepping toward you. “You never were.”

“But he forgot me,” you said. “He found someone else. He moved on, but I never did. I never could.”

Lily’s eyes softened, glowing in that impossible, dreamlike way. “He tried. People move in the wrong direction all the time when they’re scared. That doesn’t mean their heart wasn’t always facing the right way.”

You looked down, shame curling in your chest.

“I still love him,” you whispered. “And I hate that I do.”

“That’s not hate,” Lily said. “That’s fear.”

James gave a soft smile. “And you’re allowed to be afraid. But don’t confuse fear with truth.”

For a moment, you just stood there in the courtyard — surrounded by the ghosts of your own heart.

Then Lily reached forward and took your hand.

“Real love doesn’t show up only when it’s convenient,” she said. “It returns. It fights. It chooses. And Harry—he’s choosing you. Not because you’re left. But because you’re right.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” James added. “But don’t shut the door just because it hurts to open it.”

The world began to blur around the edges — colors softening, sound falling away.

You looked at them one last time. “Tell him…” your voice cracked. “Tell him I’m scared.”

Lily smiled. “He already knows.”

And just before the dream faded completely, she whispered:

“Be brave, sweetheart. You always were.”

⸻

You woke with damp cheeks and a weightless feeling in your chest — like something had lifted.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel stuck.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, warm and golden, casting soft light on the countertop where Samuel stood making coffee.

You watched him from the doorway, your coat still on, hands clenched around the strap of your bag.

You hadn’t touched your tea. You hadn’t said much since waking up.

But you’d made your decision.

And now it was time.

He turned to you with that familiar, gentle smile — the one that never reached deep enough to stir your heart, though you always wished it had.

“You’re quiet again,” he said softly. “Everything alright?”

You inhaled slowly. “Samuel… can we talk?”

He paused, the smile fading. He set the mug down. The quiet clink of porcelain was louder than it should have been. “Of course,” he said carefully. “What is it?”

Your throat tightened. You looked down at your hands — then back up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you began, voice already shaking. “I should’ve said this sooner. I’ve tried to convince myself I could keep pretending, but I can’t. I’m not being fair to you.”

His eyes searched yours. “What are you talking about?”

You stepped closer, but not too close. “I care about you,” you said. “You’re kind. You’ve been good to me. And I wanted so badly for that to be enough. But it’s not.”

He stared at you, hurt flashing across his features. “Is this about him?”

You didn’t have to ask who he meant. You nodded once. “It’s always been about him.”

Samuel exhaled, looking away for a moment like the truth physically stung. “You told me it was over.”

“I thought it was,” you said. “For years, I thought I had let him go. But I didn’t. I just buried it. And now that it’s surfaced again… I can’t lie to you. Not anymore.”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “Do you love him?”

“Yes,” you said, because you owed him honesty now more than ever. “I think I always have.”

A long silence passed. One that ached with finality.

“And what am I, then?” he asked, not accusing — just tired. “Was I just… filling the space?”

“No,” you said quickly. “You were the first person who made me feel safe again. But safety isn’t the same as love. You deserve more than what I’ve been able to give you.”

He looked down, jaw tight. “So that’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to.”

He nodded slowly. Then, with a quiet, broken smile: “I know.”

You took a shaky breath. “I’m going to go. I’ve already packed some things. I’ll come back for the rest later, when it’s easier.”

Samuel didn’t stop you. He just stood there, heartbroken and still, as you opened the door. And before you left, you turned back one last time.

“Thank you,” you said. “For everything you gave me. I hope one day you find someone who gives that back to you. Fully.”

He didn’t say anything.

But he nodded.

And you walked away — into the morning light, with your heart heavy, but your future finally clear.

⸻

The cab stopped just outside the quiet lane in Godric’s Hollow. His house sat at the end of the street — modest, ivy-covered, familiar in a way that made your heart lurch.

You hadn’t told him you were coming. You hadn’t given yourself time to overthink it. You just knew.

It had always been him.

The sky was soft and gray above, a breeze brushing your skin as you stepped out of the car, barely hearing the door shut behind you.

And then — the front door opened. Harry stepped out onto the porch and froze.

He stared at you like he wasn’t sure you were real. His hair was messy, his shirt rumpled, like he hadn’t planned on anyone seeing him today — but his eyes… those eyes were lit with something you hadn’t seen in years.

Hope.

You didn’t say a word. Neither did he. You just ran. Feet hit gravel, breath caught in your throat — and then he was moving too, meeting you halfway down the path like a storm finally breaking.

And when you reached each other, everything else vanished.

His hands cupped your face as your mouth crashed into his — desperate, deep, like he needed to memorize the taste of you all over again. Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself in the heat of him.

The kiss wasn’t slow. It was hungry. All the years you’d spent apart, the silence, the heartbreak, the aching what-ifs — it all poured into that kiss like magic finally unleashed.

Harry groaned against your lips, his thumbs brushing your jaw, your cheeks, as if he couldn’t stop touching you — couldn’t believe you were really here. You gasped when his lips parted yours only to kiss you deeper, hotter, tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to undo the years with his mouth alone.

Your hands found his chest, gripping fistfuls of fabric as he backed you gently against the porch railing, his body pressing into yours like he needed to feel every inch — like being close still wasn’t close enough.

His breath was ragged when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You came,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours, his voice rough and thick with emotion.

“I left him,” you said. “Because I couldn’t lie anymore. Not to him. Not to myself.”

Harry’s eyes searched yours — burning, open, undeniably full of love. “I wanted to wait,” he said. “To give you space. But I’ve been hoping every day since that night you’d walk through that door.”

You smiled softly through the sting in your eyes. “So I used the front gate instead.” That made him laugh, shaky and breathless. And then he kissed you again, His lips moved against yours like he was trying to relearn you. Like he’d never forgotten. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently, and the low sound that rumbled in his throat made something flutter between your legs.

His hands, large and warm, skimmed down your sides, stopping at your waist — but the grip there tightened, like he was holding back.

“Harry…” you breathed, your voice unsteady.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, lips red, eyes darker now — stormy with want. “Tell me to stop. If you want me to—”

“I don’t,” you said quickly, eyes searching his. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His jaw clenched. “If we go inside…”

“Take me upstairs,” you whispered. “Please.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you again — rougher this time, messier — all tongue and teeth and groaned breaths as he pulled you against him fully. You could feel just how much he wanted you, hard and pressing through his jeans, and the friction sent a sharp jolt straight through your core.

Then suddenly you were moving — his hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together as he led you inside. The door slammed behind you with a thud, and he didn’t waste a second.

His mouth was on yours again before you reached the stairs, pushing you gently against the wall near the banister. You gasped as his hands found your thighs, lifting you effortlessly so your legs wrapped around his waist. He carried you like you weighed nothing, like letting go even for a second wasn’t an option.

“God,” he murmured into your neck, “I’ve thought about this. So many times. What it’d be like to feel you again. To have you.”

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, arching into him. “I want this, Harry. I want you.”

That was it — the last thread of restraint snapped.

He carried you up the stairs with a kind of urgency that made your heart race, your back brushing against the wall at every landing until you finally reached his room. The second he kicked the door shut, his lips were back on yours. His hands tugged at your coat, then your shirt, moving like he couldn’t decide whether to strip you slow or tear everything off in one go.

You helped him decide — pulling your top over your head and tossing it aside, your bra gone with one flick of his fingers like he’d never forgotten how to undress you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, staring down at you. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You pulled him in again, kissed him like you were starved for him — because you were. And when he groaned into your mouth and ground his hips into yours, you felt exactly how much he needed this too.

You pulled him in again, kissed him like you were starved for him — because you were.

And when he groaned into your mouth and ground his hips into yours, you felt exactly how much he needed this too.

He broke the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “Lie back.”

The rasp in his voice sent a tremble through you.

You obeyed, settling against the pillows, chest rising and falling with every breath. He moved slowly — not out of hesitation, but reverence — hands trailing down your sides as he kissed his way down your neck, your collarbone, lower.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmured, lips brushing over your skin. “More times than I can admit.”

You shivered as his hands slid down your stomach, thumbs teasing along the waist of your trousers. Then, with slow, skilled fingers, he peeled them down — along with your knickers — and tossed them aside.

He knelt between your legs, eyes dark and hungry.

“Open for me.”

The second you did, his mouth was on you.

Warm. Wet. Unrelenting.

Your back arched as his tongue moved with sinful precision — slow circles that had your breath catching, then fast flicks that made your thighs tremble. He moaned against you, like you were the one driving him mad, and the vibrations sent sparks pulsing through every nerve.

You grabbed the sheets, gasping his name as his hands held your hips down — like he knew you’d try to lift off the bed. Like he wanted to take his time unraveling you.

“Harry—oh, God—please…”

He didn’t stop. He just grinned into you, then sucked — slow, deep pressure that sent you spiraling. The tension coiled fast, tight, and your cries broke into broken syllables as the wave crashed over you.

Your release hit like fire. And he didn’t let up — not until you were spent and shaking beneath him, panting like your lungs couldn’t keep up. Then he kissed his way back up your body, slow and adoring, like he was savoring every inch.

His mouth crashed into yours again, messier this time, all tongue and teeth and hot breath. You felt him — hard and heavy against your thigh — and reached down to free him, your hand wrapping around him with a touch that made him groan deep in his throat.

He grabbed your leg and hitched it over his hip, lining himself up — but didn’t move yet.

Instead, he looked down at you like this was everything he’d ever wanted.

“I love you,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “I always have.”

“I know,” you whispered, pulling him in. “Show me.”

And then he pressed inside.

The stretch, the heat, the feeling of him filling you completely — it stole the breath from your lungs. He moved slow at first, burying himself deep, groaning at the feel of you wrapped around him.

You clung to him, nails in his back, moaning softly as he began to thrust — slow, deep rolls of his hips that made you see stars.

Every movement was a confession. Every moan a promise.

He kissed your lips, your neck, your shoulder, whispering your name like a prayer as your bodies moved together — faster now, harder — until nothing else existed but this.

Until the only thing that mattered was the way you both came apart together.

⸻

The room was quiet now. The storm outside had passed, leaving only the hush of wind rustling the trees beyond the window. The moonlight spilled in through the curtains, pale and silvery, casting soft shadows across the sheets — across him. Harry layed beside you, one arm tucked beneath your head, the other wrapped securely around your waist. His skin was warm against yours. His breath slow, steady. Grounding.

You turned toward him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the soft, rhythmic thump of his heart.

“I almost didn’t come,” you whispered.

His fingers traced lazy circles along your back. “I know.”

You looked up at him. “I was scared.”

“So was I.”

You both went quiet again, not because there was nothing to say, but because for the first time… there was no pressure to fill the silence.

Then Harry tilted your chin gently, making you meet his eyes. “I need you to know,” he said softly, “that it was never about Ginny. Or Cho. Or timing. It was always you.”

Your eyes stung again, but not with pain — with the ache of finally being seen. Being chosen. “I used to think you forgot about me,” you admitted, voice cracking. “That I was easy to leave behind.”

His expression shattered with tenderness. “I never forgot you. I just… didn’t believe I deserved you. You were always this light — and after the war, I was so lost in the dark.”

“You don’t have to do that anymore,” you said. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He kissed your forehead — slow and reverent. “And neither do you.”

You smiled, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck.

It was quiet again for a moment. Then he whispered, “I love you.” Your heart fluttered.

“I’ve loved you since the train ride to fifth year,” he continued, his voice thick. “You had ink on your cheek and you were defending Neville in front of a seventh year like it was nothing. I was gone from that moment on.”

You laughed, breathless, overwhelmed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was fifteen. Stupid. And terrified of messing it up.”

You shook your head, brushing your nose against his jaw. “Well… we still took the long way.”

He smiled, holding you tighter. “But we made it.”

You nodded against his chest, closing your eyes.

“We made it.”

And for the first time in a very long time… you believed it. Not because he said the right words. Not because the kiss was perfect. Not even because of Lily and James in your dreams.

But because you were here.

With him.

With nothing left to prove, and everything left to build.

And as Harry’s fingers threaded through yours beneath the sheets, you knew this wasn’t just an ending.It was the beginning of something real.

Something worth fighting for.

#harry potter #wizarding world #fluff #smut #lumosflair #hogwarts #mature theme #harry x reader #x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter x reader smut #harry potter x reader fluff #harry potter x reader angst #harry james potter #post war

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madam-whim · 1 day ago

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WIP Wednesday

tagged by @labskeever and @silly-little-diary - thank you, my dears!

no-pressure-tagging: @illumiera, @pinessydr, @lilarus, @graveofcalaxes, @pyre-of-pages, @elavoria, @yansurnummu, @sulphuricgrin, @dirty-bosmer, @moriche and @umbracirrus, and of course anyone else who wishes to share! feel free to tag me as well, I want to behold your work!

I want to apologize for the missed tags last week - my mental health is doing funny things right now, and it has essentially banned me from writing. It's still doing that, kind of, but I've at least managed to make some progress with my beloved Drake of Blades. It's not much, but hey, it counts!

Or, well, that wasn’t entirely accurate, she decided upon taking a closer look. With how rotten the wooden bar that blocked the door was, the door could have been broken down a while ago. It rather seemed like nobody had shown any interest in doing that, however, and so she began removing it herself. She considered, of course, that there might have been danger on the other side, and that was why the door was barred from this side. But even if that was the case, it had been done a long time ago, and if something really did go wrong, she much preferred to go out fighting over inevitable starvation. Once she’d fully removed the bar, which had taken her quite a while with it practically falling apart as soon as one attempted to move it, she carefully pulled the door open and risked a tentative look outside. The difference was impossible to miss. She was still very obviously in the Imperial City sewer system, but this section was newer, and clearly well-maintained, judging from the lack of rubble and various old items in all possible states of decay. Instead, it even looked to her as if there was a flicker of light some distance away, down the tunnel to her right. A torch, perhaps. That was promising – not without danger, but promising, for it meant that someone had lit a flame here not too long ago. Ever so careful, she stepped out of the section of the sewers she’d already begun to call ‘hers’ in her mind. Even in disrepair, there had been a certain familiarity to them, after all, and the area she stepped into now seemed entirely alien to her, even if the architecture remained mostly the same. Idly, she wondered if that was what time did to a place not deliberately placed outside of it, like the Cathedral had been. A subtle change as the years passed, until it felt like a different space altogether, even if most of it remained the same… Or perhaps it was her, she who’d been trapped in time, who no longer fit into a world that had moved on without her? How much time had really passed since she’d entered into her pact with Akatosh? And – wasn’t that the question – why was she still alive, without the divine to sustain her? She supposed there was only one way of finding out. So she picked up her near-useless blades, and followed the light.

#my writing #wip wednesday #eso #drake of blades #oblivion

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facethemusicdean · 2 days ago

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dean speaks to a priest or whatever (idk how to title it)

If Dean was to breathe too loud, he'd probably hear it echoing across these walls. The ceiling is painted beautifully, and he lets himself be distracted by that for a second, before returning to his task. He's looking for a locket. Or something like that. He walks carefully and holds the gun with salt bullets as tight in his hands as he can. He can't screw this up. Dad gave him this case. His first solo. He's going to go and kill these nuns, it can't be that hard, right?

He swallows thickly and closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the thump on his chest. The lights are on, but there's no one sitting or kneeling, for that matter. He puts the gun in between his pants and his back, covering it with his jacket. He carefully walks toward the altar, in between the side aisles. Head up, eyes on the statue hung up in the wall. He looks at it for a moment, and then takes a seat, hands folded on his lap.

He isn't catholic, per se. And he never goes to church, either. But sometimes, he needs to hold on to something and hunting doesn't always work. So, he looks for something to believe in.

“Is there anything I can help you with, son?” A deep, older voice interrupts the silence.

The boy turns his head, his green eyes catching sight of a fortyish year-old man, wearing a black shirt and a white collar around the neck of it. His lips are turned slightly upward and he's waiting on a response.

“I don't think so, Father.”

“The Lord is always listening. I'm his ears. Whatever you need to get out of your chest, I can help with it." He gently insists, sitting beside him. "Or I can just make you company. So that you aren't lonely.”

Dean doesn't answer. So that you aren't lonely. For some sad reason, that makes his heart warm.

“You're quite young to be sitting asking Him for something. I'm sure there's a reason you're here.”

“I just wanted somewhere quiet. Wasn't expecting a priest.”

“You're used to loud places, is it?”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, you could say that. Sometimes I just need… Some peace, I guess.”

“And you think the church provides that for you?”

The thoughts are loud. Even here. Even right now. Even in his dreams. Sometimes he wishes he could burn them. Even if it means he'd die. He parts his mouth, looking down at his hands as he licks his lower lip and his fingers play with each other, as if making time for him to answer. Because he doesn't know.

“I'm not sure. Maybe.”

“If for you being here is better than at home, then you don't really enjoy it back there.”

He takes a deep, deep breath. He feels his throat closing up. “Let's say there isn't much of home to come back to. Whatever I have left, I make sure to hold on to it tight. But I have no idea if that's what's good for me, you know?”

“Sometimes the ashes of something we lost isn't enough to keep us together. You may need to let go what's holding you back.”

Dean pauses. As if he's never been told that before. But it's only for a second. “Yeah, that's not happening.”

The priest nods, mulling the words for a moment. “Well, then. You'll have to think how you can make it whole again. It probably won't be the same. Maybe even what you lost has left what made it so special behind.” He shrugs. “It's something you'll figure out. But don't spend your time thinking about what it was or wasn't. It isn't good.”

He rubs his eye, then bites the inside of his cheek as he rolls the ring on his finger. “It's all I can do. It's all I've spent my whole time doing.”

“Then let's make sure you do something else.”

Dean looks at Jesus again. Is it worth it to be put on a cross for something you don't even know if it'll work? Is it worth it to sacrifice his life for a vengeance he doesn't know if it'll bring him closure? How long can he let his mother's ashes chase him? He wonders what his family is doing right now. John— Dad said that he’d probably take Sammy out bowling, or something like that.

He feels his eyes prickle, the air slowly leaving his lungs. He shakes his head, closing his eyelids as he feels the priest’s eyes on him. Swallowing the lump growing inside his throat, he looks back at the man.

He snorts. “It’s actually not that easy.” He looks down sheepishly, knowing his green eyes are filled with tears waiting to escape his eyes.

“Well, no one said it was, son. I mean, honestly, what in this life is?”

Yeah, he doesn’t get it. Dean isn’t surprised. He’s trying to open his eyes, or whatever. That’s not truly the problem here. The thing is he doesn’t want to let go. He knows it’s holding him back, it’s just— he can’t let Sam be alone. He’s got to have someone that’s there for him, in some way. His little brother. His duty is to protect him, no matter what. Especially when their father isn’t around, they don’t have anyone else.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

uh, hi? so this is sort of a draft that's been sitting on my computer for a while, getting edited but i can never get past this point of the scene. it'd be cool for it to be longer. by the way, english isn't my first language, so if u see any misspelling, please let me know so i take it into account! and if u liked it, please let me know, too :) i'm open to any suggestions ! have a good day, night or whatever

#dean winchester #religious trauma #i guess?#mary winchester #she's mentioned #john winchester #i hate him #supernatural #castiel #team free will #jack kline #deancas #writers #my fic #pls give me credit if you repost #tag me please #idk what else to tag #dean winchester drabble

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localwebslingers · 3 days ago

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Even exhausted they could still both tease each other and Peter had to tell himself that didn't both relieve him and sting a little. That they could still be just them enough for it all to feel familiar, and normal, and the same way it had been for a while now, even in spite of the glass between them. In spite of the memory loss and the uncertainty. It was a glimpse he was grateful for, it just hurt that it felt so close and yet was so far off. He wondered if that's how it felt for Harry with his memories, right there but still unable to be actually grasped and held onto, "Coffee along with the new reading material when you're ready for it, it's a deal. Just don't tell everyone else that I'm bringing good coffee, I can't take that many orders." and he hoped the drink Harry usually got would still be the one he liked.

They said smell was one of the strongest triggers to memory, and while Peter wouldn't dare try that with his own scent right now past what rubbed off on the things he brought, maybe the coffee would help with something. Even if it was just the long nights spent working, and if not at least he could rely on Coffee Bean to taste good.

Peter smiled at the suggestion and nodded, "Sure, I'm okay with that. It sounds like we're starting our own book club between just the two of us. I like it." he gestured over to the pile that was already there with Harry, wondering if they were just going to be kept or traded out when he brought new ones later, "We can talk about the fiction ones and the science ones too if you want. If I've read both or can get a hold of another copy to look over." they had worked together several times now. Had been working together actively before all of this happened, there was some crossing over of information and teaching each other one subject or another as needed. It might not be the same as Harry talking with Dr. Conners but it was another option they had, "Did you pick one already to start with?"

|| @inhcritance ||

He would need a break from trying to rebuild his knowledge of science at some point, Harry was well aware of it. It still didn't change how frustrating it was, and how he was learning and remembering more and more through the shattered patchwork that were his own missing memories.

"I'm yet to get too tired of science, but I will keep that in mind." He replied, his tone easy. Almost teasing, trying it out, and also glancing at the books he'd already sorted and was getting through. He had indeed singled one of the fiction ones already.

Moreover, this felt like a safer topic, even despite everything that came with science and the frustration of feeling as helpless as he felt there, inside a cage for everyone else's safety. Even when he knew it was the smartest, safest thing.

"And I don't think I could ever refuse good coffee." He admitted. "So please, bring both?"

New books, and coffee, and conversation, and someone he couldn't feel the sharp tells of fear and disquiet on. Someone he had loved once, and knew in his heart as safety and fondness, but who couldn't remember loving. And that was the worst of it.

Still, Harry knew he was much better, than he'd been, in some ways. That he was no longer so unsteady, so lost. So frustrated. And so he pushed himself away from those thoughts.

"If you bring more things you've read, or you recommend," Harry suggested instead, "we can then talk about them, when I've read them."

@localwebslingers

#muse | peter parker(tasm)#inhcritance #[v: down at street level]

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dewwshi · 4 months ago

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i liked the sparring scene from the start of siege of darkness a normal amount

#ugh i've been working on this for like several days #it's been so long since i fully shaded and rendered something so the perfectionist in me is tempted to just keep adjusting shading opacitie #but no i'm posting it now and then i'm never going to look at it again #lest i notice a mistake #artist things. you understand #these two... they are sooo good to me i love them they're adorable #i love them and their stupid personality flaws and their stupid will they won't they romance and their stupid mutual pining <3 #ordinarily a male mc ogling at their love interest might come off as creepy but 1. drizzt has emotional issues so it's ok and 2. he's a gir #i almost put a lesbian flag behind him in the doodle of him staring at catti but i reeled it in #but for real transfem drizzt anyone? i've been thinking of this nonstop am i the only person to ever have thought of that?#i actually legit am shocked i've not seen anyone else in the fandom make that observation yet cuz he's SO transfem coded to me #it makes sooo much sense and catti-brie's relationship with wulfgar is like TEXTBOOK comphet too BUT WHATEVER WHATEVER it's fine it's fine #don't even worry about it #one day i'll rant about it #The Cattidrizzt Yuri Rant #it's on the horizon #but the point is they're cute & i like them #starless night and siege of darkness are def my favourite books so far #ESPECIALLY STARLESS NIGHT LITERALLY SUUUCH A GOOD BOOK #you know how long it's been since i got so obsessed with something that i drew this much fanart of it??? YEARS #it began SO SUDDENLY but these books have me in a CHOKEHOLD #legend of drizzt #drizzt do'urden #catti-brie battlehammer #catti-brie #putting 2 tags for her cuz realistically who is searching her name with the clan name on this site.#lod #forgotten realms #dnd #i feel like because of lighting my drizzt design's skintone looks comically different in every drawing i do of him

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jjrousseausconspiracy · 2 months ago

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So like if my brain craves dopamine but I'm actively trying to get my diet under control (Thus cant shovel the amounts of sugar and junk food into my body that I desire) and deal with my credit card debt (Thus I have no money), do I just like Idk dig a hole in the ground and crawl in it?

#does anyone else get boredom headaches #like if you go without stimulation for too long you get a headache?#I think thats what's happening to me around 4 pm when I've been understimulated at work for too long #I'll get these really unpleasant tension headaches and they only really happen when I'm really bored or understimulated #I think they're caused by this in part because I almost always stat craving a snack around this time regardless of the time I've actually #eaten anything like I eat a late-ish lunch usually #its been like three hours since I ate I am not ACTUALLY HUNGRY #But I have to assume its my brain chems looking for a hit of something to keep me going #ugh

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microwavetoaster-selfships · 4 months ago

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Little drabble for today, since technically today(or perhaps yesterday?) Was the day I had my little...moment of. Wow it would be so funny if I got engaged with Finn and of course it happens to be cliche a few days before Valentine's Day. Anniversary. I know I don't really post my writing a lot and keep it more private but that's mostly just cause it's harder for me to write things that aren't very emotionally incorporated, if that makes any sense? With drawing I can do a little cute doodle, draw some hearts around it, and that's it, a nice simple little thingy. But with my writing it is normally a lot more extensive, even if whatever I'm writing is just fluffy stuff. And. Not to mention. A lot of people normally brush over drawings after like five reasonable seconds, but with writing it isn't entirely something that can be consumed so quickly. But! I yap a lot on here anyway.

I don't thinkkkkkk this needs any content warnings? I tried to not go into detail about the actual extent of the woes I experienced and just said enough to get it out of my system, but everything else is true and accurate😉 it gets super sappy fluffy at the end because it is me we are talking about here, so of course it does. I did a shorter Speedrun version of my proofreading, so hopefully it has a nice flow to it!

--------

"Yes, but I want to actually do SOMETHING for today, I mean, something nice at least. It is a special day, we should do something.. special for it!" Kane reasoned, still in bed and curled up to a pillow. He cautiously rolled over onto his back, and his expression twitched like he had winced. He kept the pillow in his arms and loosely hugged it against himself.

"Kane, I'm pretty sure I just watched you die, I'm not going to let you expend what little energy you have left that needs to go to resting." Finn sighed, upset, sitting carefully at the edge of the bed. He certainly wasn't upset at Kane, more so the situation; and perhaps what little he could do- or have done- to remedy it, to no fault of his own, of course. Or anyone's, really.

Considering that Kane wasn't always that keen on bigger events anyway, his prying for one was a bit ironic. But just because he didn't like going out to restaurants or typical romantic events that involved eating out in public or resulted in lots of noises going on like at restaurants, it didn't mean that Finn didn't like those things. And, perhaps, Kane felt a little guilty inside, because he had been out of commission for most of the day, so anything that they could've done couldn't happen.

"It's not like I didn't know this might happen." Finn said gently, turning a little so he could look at Kane when he said it.

Kane sighed a little, almost in a pouting manner, and glanced at Finn to meet his gaze for a moment, "I mean, I know that we both knew it was going to happen, cause the prediction and all- and I could feel it- but..."

"But I'm feeling better now and-"

"Rest." Finn interrupted firmly.

Kane groaned in response, why must he need rest and recovery. Why must he be aware of how truthfully exhausted and sore he felt. "Okay, well I wasn't dying, I was just-"

"You were withering in pain, and trying to tug out your own hair so you could feel something else, you-"

"Okay, okay, but worse case scenario you could've just- I mean we live in England, all the houses and buildings are brick- you could've just bonked me out on the head and then drivin me off to the ER or like, urgent care or something."

Ah, and Kane was met with the look of a man who sometimes forgot what country people grow up to be. A look laced with concern because it was his partner he was looking at, but there was still a slight hint of "Fuck? No!" Whether Kane's country roots lying in America added to this was a different story.

"Er- euhm- Whatever the uh. Thing is called the-..." Kane looks around the room as he racks his brain for it, "The NHS! Yes! Whatever those.. they have like those walk-in urgent rooms, right? Like buildings?"

Finn looked like he wanted to respond with several things like "The NHS wait time isn't worth it" and "The day I put you out of your misery like some animal even if it is to temporarily knock you unconscious is the day I [redacted]" but with as ruffled and exhausted as Kane still appeared, he wasn't going to have the man waste his breath on discussing the complexities of the NHS and every other healthcare system, or whatever else was going through his mind. Instead, he ever so gently nudged Kane over closer to the middle of the bed so he could lay down next to him. He understood that going from forever sleeping on a bed that was hardly bigger than him to the luxuries of a bed that was probably a bit bigger than your dining table was something for Kane to adjust to, but it still drove him mad that Kane, for some reason, slept right at the edge of the bed. Even if he has yet to actually fall off of it.

And Kane couldn't help but crack out a grin over it, he spent a lot of time in bed so there was hardly a moment where Finn wasn't wordlessly gently shuffling him closer to the center of the bed.

"But we aught to do at least something, right? Today isn't just any other day today- not to me at least- I want to at least mark it like that by doing something special. Even if it is something small."

As Finn stretched out and laid down net to Kane, he let out a long exhale, "And you call me foolish?" Finn mused, and with as much little movement as possible he rolled over so he could face Kane and gingerly wrap an arm around the other man, tucking it under the pillow that Kane was still holding closely to himself. He was sure Kane was still feeling sore, so he treated every movement and touch he did like he was trying to do a waltz in a minefield.

Kane cocked an eyebrow, "I do call you foolish. Not that I'm any less foolish- if not more." "You certainly are," Finn's voice turned to a mumble as he tried to nuzzle himself infinitely and impossibly closer to Kane.

"And would you like to elaborate on that?" Kane asked, with a faint grin. He was feeling far more amused that he was able to express himself at the moment.

"The whole point of the day is just to spend it however we'd like, and I don't care how we spend it, I just want to spend it with you."

This was one of the moments were Kane was glad that Finn had his face buried up against him, because even if Finn could feel Kane hold his breath, it at least still spared Kane a little dignity because Finn would miss seeing his eyebrows furrow and the corners of his mouth twist and maybe his eyes watered up just a little as well. "Yeah, but you spent the day like a medieval doctor watching a patient and not being able to do anything about it but sedate them."

Finn frowned a little, but he would've frowned regardless of what day it happened on because it was still something that happened in the first place.

Kane let go of the pillow with one of his arms, and then decided to forfeit the pillow entirely altogether and shift his position so he was laying more towards Finn now. He didn't really have much left to say.

"I just want to enjoy the day with you, Kane." Finn murmured, the weight of affection in his voice was undoubtable.

Kane was quiet for a moment, his eyebrows were still furrowed, "I just want you to know that you are special," he responded, and if his sentence had been any longer his voice might've croaked.

Finn smiled, and tried to be as gentle as he could as he softly tugged Kane ever so slightly more closer to him, "I know that you think I'm special." Again, Kane took a moment before he responded. His mind was having trouble arguing with someone who seemed to radiate their love out of their body.

"You do?" Kane asked. Of course he would want Finn to feel special.

"This is where I get to use one of your own sayings against you," Finn said, starting to grin, "You always say that actions speak louder than words, don't you?"

As much as Kane loved that saying and thought it to be true, it bugged him a little that it sounded like something you would find spelled out as the lesson in the back of a book or TV show for children. Which perhaps was exactly where he had gotten it from.

"I do say that. And at least in my experience I've found it to be relatively true, give or take some case scenario exceptions; as with anything there's exceptions."

"Well I think it is plenty special that I get to do this with you," Finn gave Kane the lightest squeeze possible in his arms, "And you tell me in plenty of different ways all of the time how you feel about me." Kane knew that he did that, but part of him almost wanted to respond with "I do?" because it wasn't the usual for someone to be able to understand the funny language that he seemed to speak.

Kane looked at the ceiling for a little while, soaking in the words and the moment. Finn seemed quite content and peaceful with things right now- which is what Kane wanted. Truthfully, in an ideal scenario Kane would've spent the day treating Finn like he was some royalty- not that he didn't have tomorrow to do that, anyway.

"I like you, Finn," Kane said.

"I like you too, Kane." Just for a few moments Finn had closed his eyes. Then again, no one ever goes to close their eyes for just a few moments and it turns out that way.

No, maybe today wasn't and couldn't be spent as a day for a big grand gesture and display of love and affection, perhaps that was something that was going to be saved for another time, but there was still just as much love to be felt in getting consumed by the peaceful tranquility that came with not having anything but a nice warm and safe home, and being willingly boxed up in a room with someone literally, and figuratively, wrapped up around you.

#I think I did a small drabble ageeessss ago involving Axlerod #and there was one I did from a writing ask game prompt a superrr long time ago as well involving me and Finn and Leland.#And on one of my old sideblogs I posted a thing between me and Jedediah but that might've been before I revealed my dirty secret of having-#-that blog in the first place so Idk if anyone even saw that at all.#I mean. I do have an ao3 where I dump a lot of my selfshipping writing so there's that.#don't know why I haven't shared it to be honest.#I'm a right amount confident in my writing honestly. Maybe I should throw it in my pinned.#Then again. Because my writing is so emotionally charged there is also a right amount of Lore stuff on occasion.#I didn't directly mention the ThingTM I'm writing about here in this drabble but I wasn't trying too hard to be vague about it.#I just get desecrate about it typically unless it's a case where it is better if I mention it cause. wah.#Dysphoria and me me big boy(I'm sorry).#I feel a little silly making this post and all the things I've said here but I think it Is just simply that. me being silly.#Uhm. yeah! Reminder that I also write things teehee.#I would like to do something tomorrow for Valentines Day but we shall see.#It might end up a little late since I do have work tomorrow and sometimes afterr 8 hours I just like to flop down and do nothing.#do I have anything else to add. euhm. I think that's it!#hope everyone is looking forward to Valentines Day or at least that it wont be a rough day for them.#kaneart

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doctorweebmd · 5 months ago

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accidentally* brainstormed a very complete outline for chapters 4-8 for eih, which should theoretically take us through Part 1. which is. you know. a godsend or whatever.

*accidentally meaning i was just eating delicious pancakes and the thoughts happened. usually its me crying screaming and shitting myself in front of an empty word document where ideas manifest. this is notably much more pleasant.

#that alone makes this weekend a good one #i also bought (leased) a new car yesterday!!!#which is exciting for me because i've been driving my first car for 16 years #even though its a base model its still SO much more advanced #hello how did i live without a backup camera of this long #also like. carplay. and auto windshield wipers. and keyless entry/start. and adjustable steering wheel #AND its electric! kinda. (a plug-in hybrid so has both engines but can run on only electric)#i've finally joined the 21st century #although tbh i thought my first car of my adult life may be something bougie. a BMW or some shit #alas i grew up to be too practical. so i bought a prius. because of course.#listen i live in california and wanted to go electric for forever #alas elon shat the bed by being elon so a tesla was an absolute no go #its funny like... you know that most of your customers for these cars were well-off environment-conscious liberals right #i've seen a tesla with a bumper that says 'i bought this before i knew elon was crazy'#which. like. yeah. fair #other fun events from last week. there was a fire super close to our house and we were in the evacuation zone #which is like. wow. i know its been dry and windy but i never thought it would actually happen HERE #everything is okay and we're safe and it was put out really fast #but definitely gave us a pause and made us think about whats important (our cat. everything else is replaceable.)#but another reason this weekend is good: it RAINED. last night and today.#listen i've been... extremely extremely extremely sad the past week #because of everything. because of 'allowance' of ice agents hospitals and thinking about what i would do and risk because FUCK THEM #suffering isn't moral and doesn't help anyone. just trying to find a way to help my community #and three nice things happening AND just hearing the border fire is under control...#its going to be okay. it really is.#anyway this post is about FANFICTIOn #fun fact i started looking into numerology that has to do with ying-yang #which is helping me decide on how many chapters per 'part'#its clever and unnecessary but makes me happy so whatever #chapter 4 of eih is ~2k works now as a mostly-outline

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onrainynights · 9 months ago

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I'm about to be so annoying btw

#by this I mean I'm going to talk about my job until it's no longer new and exciting sorry guys #but this is literally the first good thing to happen to me in MONTHS #shit has been so bad like SO unbelievably bad for a WHILE #like. not only do I have a job (!!!!!!) but it actually seems like a really good fit for me and what I need #like. the hours aren't horrible and in fact I could stand to have more of them #the pay isn't *good* but it's not the worst I've ever made for sure #the work environment though... that's where it gets me. because I get to just be one guy in a store interacting with customers and literally #nobody else #for most of my workday #like. no small talk except for with customers. no learning about my coworker's stupid life. no trying to get along with someone for the sake #of work #like. I just get to be alone and sell shit and when it's slow I get to organize shit like. hello??? yes please #I don't have to be micromanaged because I'm literally alone. like. god I'm so excited #plus it's similar to work I've done before. so. yay #I do really like the coworker I've met before though. he's very sedate and has excellent customer service.#which I know bc every time my mom shops there and he's the one working he's very genial and nice #definitely good at his job. but I wouldn't be surprised if he was getting high in the back or something lmao #he's just so calm ive never met a dude more chill like. he seems like the exact opposite of anxious #and then my other coworker I haven't met yet but I'm sure she's fine.#I do like my boss though! and she's only my boss until they get another manager bc she's actually the manager at another location too #she's just filling in here while they look for another manager #but I like her she was extremely up-front and no-nonsense and plainly stated exactly what she needs from an employer #employee*#which is honestly such a relief like my last job I felt like I had no clue what people wanted from me and it was horrible #but this seems better so far #also I know for a fact I beat out two other people who had interviews the same day and I was so much the preferred choice #that she didn't even wait to decide or anything #she called me like a few hours after my interview ended like. that 3rd person left and she immediately hired me instead lol #which I have to admit does feel good after so long feeling inadequate and unhirable.#I am more hirable than at least two people. so THERE

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humanjarvis · 4 months ago

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lonely millionaire

synopsis: sylus likes when you spend his money.

tags: suggestive (mdni), sylus sits you on his lap while you drain his bank account, it's for a cute reason though, dry humping, size difference, teasing, sylus is a scoundrel, use of "kitten" and "sweetie" cause we stick to the canon over here pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mc word count: 640

a/n: i don't really have anything to sa—omg this is my first non-caleb post! but yeah i've been thinking of this for a while. this is the most explicitly sexual thing i've written with worse to come

“Why don’t you get that one, too?” Sylus rumbles into your neck, pointing to a luxurious dress on your screen.

You’re seated on his lap in the bed you share, his legs caging your smaller frame while he peeks over your shoulder at the laptop in front of you. For the last 40 minutes, you’d been browsing the website of the most exclusive boutique in Linkon. It’d been Sylus’s idea—To get you something nice for being such a good hunter, he’d said—but as he urges you to keep adding opulent pieces to your cart—dresses, skirts, shoes, you name it—you start to suspect an ulterior motive.

Restless, you turn around to face him. But before you can speak, he steals your lips in a lewd, wet kiss, his thumb holding your chin in place while he swipes his tongue through your mouth.

“Hmm?” he hums when he releases you, expectantly peering into your eyes.

Dumbfounded, you stare up at him before his slow smirk jolts you back into your right state of mind. “Sylus! Stop distracting me. You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” you accuse with a glare.

“I don’t particularly enjoy being your distraction, kitten. I’d rather have all your attention in the first place,” he replies, wearing an infuriating look of triumph.

“You know what I mean,” you whine, thwacking his shoulder in exasperation. “You have me in your lap while I spend enough to buy a house on things I don’t need. I don’t get it—are you enjoying this?”

Sylus blinks lazily. Slowly, he chuckles before rolling his hips into the plush of your backside. “You’re well aware of how much I'm enjoying it, sweetie.”

Startled, you jerk your hands to his thighs, the laptop landing onto the bed with a soft thud. “Sylus,” you breathe, a whimper escaping you as he grinds upwards again. “I-Is this really okay? You’ve been so tired lately, you can’t hide it from me. What if I spend too much and you have to work harder?”

Sighing, Sylus snakes one thick arm around your waist, pulling you further back into his chest. As he splays his large hand across your belly, you feel his body warming yours, making your core clench with need.

“Kitten,” he drawls, nuzzling your shoulder. “When I’m out there making Onychinus deals, putting my life on the line just to come home coated in someone else’s blood—it gets…tedious, sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if I should give it all up so we can start fresh somewhere new,” he confesses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “But having you here with me, knowing I'm putting my life on the line for you? So you can spend what I earn for you, so I can give you all the pretty little things you could possibly ask for? It makes it worth it, kitten. It brings me…peace. Satisfaction.”

Throughout his musings, he’s been rubbing you harder and harder against his rigid length. Feeling it pulse beneath you, you moan softly and reach your arm back, threading your fingers in his hair. “As long as…as long as you like it,” you pant. “Want you to be happy.”

His deep chuckle hits your neck, sending shockwaves down your spine. “Won’t you help me relax, then? After all, I've been so tired lately,” he mocks, nipping your ear.

“Now,” he starts again. “How about you look at the accessories page next, hmm? Let’s see the handbags.”

It’s an hour later when Sylus is finally satisfied with the subtotal of your shopping cart.

He holds his card out in front of you while you type in the information, and once the order goes through, he captures your lips in a kiss, tender but claiming.

“What’s your schedule for tomorrow look like, sweetie?” he rumbles, pressing you close. “I think I’d like to look at some jewelry.”

#iris writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #sylus qin #lnds #lnds sylus #lnds smut #lnds x reader

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leclerc-hs · 2 months ago

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romantic chocolates? - op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader summary: in which you and your best friends brother accidentally eat aphrodisiac chocolate OR you and oscar get so fucking horny while on a yacht in the Maldives. warnings: smut smut smut, all smut basically. oral, p in v, dirty talk, language, marking kink, slight voyeruism, exhibitionism??, not sure what else...NOT PROOFREAD! (might be some typos) word count: ~3.9k author's note: SURPRISEEEE ITS OUT EARLY (I worked hard over the weekend lol) hope you guys enjoy!! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR OSCAR EVERRRR (aside from a one shot i've had sitting in my drafts for months lol) comment and let me know what you think!!! xoxo

ln4 cl16 mv1 op81 cs55

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You’ve always had a sweet tooth.

Everyone knew it. Oscar especially. He used to tease you over it when you were younger. Would point out when your fingers were sticky with something sugary.

He never said it unkindly. Just amused. Soft. Something like you’ve got chocolate on your face and then passed you a napkin you didn’t ask for.

He’s always been like that. Gentle. Kind. The boy who was never loud. More of a listener than a speaker.

And he never made you feel silly. Not when you cried after falling off your bike and scraped your knee. Not when your towel slipped. Not even when you accidentally spilled juice all over your shirt on a long flight. He just handed you a new one from his backpack like he knew it’d happen.

You’d grown up like that.

And now here you were, years later. Sunburned and salty on a private yacht in the Maldives, still with a sweet tooth and one of his old McLaren shirts he gave you when he first got signed. Pulled over your bikini.

His sister, your best friend, left on in the morning for a tour with the rest of the group. Something about history and snorkeling. You’d both waved your hands declining. Something about being too burned and too sleepy for it.

“She’s going to get bored halfway through,” You sip on your drink. “Probably will call us in two hours.”

Oscar gives you a shrug. “I give her one.”

“She said it was a once in a lifetime experience.” You throw up your hands while repeating her words. Mocking her almost. Smiling.

“So is sitting here.”

And you laugh.

He’s sitting across from you, towel slung around the back of his neck, sun catching his shoulders. His hair is damp. Skin flushed from the sun. No shirt. Just a pair of swim shorts and bare feet.

You shift slightly where you are. Curled up in the shade. Bare legs stretched out. The oversized shirt clinging to you just a little too much where your bikini top was wet.

He glances at you when you move. Doesn’t speak. Just tracks it with his eyes. And looks away again.

His hand reaches for the table. “What’s this?”

You look over.

A little box. Dark. Red ribbon wrapped around it.

“Some welcome thing, I think.” You shrug. “Dropped it off yesterday.”

Oscar pulls the lid open, brows lifting. He picks up a wrapped square, amused.

“Well, well.” He says, looking at you. “Your kryptonite.”

You grin. “Shut up.”

“You gonna pretend you didn’t spot this the second we sat down?”

“I did not.”

He tilts his head, giving you a look.

“Mm, you’ve got that look.” He says.

“What look?”

“The one you used to get before stealing cupcakes at birthday parties.”

You roll your eyes, but blush. Cheeks reddening. “I did not steal…”

“You did.” He cuts you off. Already unwrapping one of the chocolates. “Always had sugar on your hands. Icing on the corner of your lips.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he tosses a piece toward you.

You catch it.

You watch him bring the chocolate to his mouth, tongue darting over his lip without thinking.

Peel open your piece and press it to your tongue. It melts fast. Rich.

You hum, licking a smear of it off your finger. “That’s actually really good.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

You glance up and catch him mid-swipe across his bottom lip. Looking dazed. Distracted.

Then he blinks, clears his throat. And nods. “Yeah, pretty good.”

He closes the lid of the box, slides it to the side. Then leans back, looking at the water.

And you sit there with him. Across from him on the cushioned benches. Chewing slowly. Feeling that heat bloom beneath your skin.

It’s soft at first.

Then deeper.

A warmth in your chest. A pulse between your thighs.

The wind sweeps your skin. And the fabric of your bikini suddenly feels too damp. Too thin. Too tight.

You swallow. Trying not to fidget.

Oscar hasn’t moved much. His gaze is still on the ocean, but it isn’t really. And you watch the way his jaw flexes. The way his foot shifts on the deck. Like he was grounding himself.

He doesn’t look at you.

And he always looks at you.

You shift again. Cross your ankles. Press your thighs together.

You glance at Oscar again.

And his lips are parted. Just a little bit. And his brow is slightly furrowed.

You sit up slightly. “You okay?”

He shifts. Then clears his throat, blinking. “Yeah. Just…hot.”

You nod slowly. “Same.”

He leans forward, breathes out. But his fingers twitch. And you notice as his back muscles roll slightly as he drops his head down, towel slipping down.

He stays like that for a few seconds. Then rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

His voice is quiet. Flat. “What was in that chocolate?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you’re fucking throbbing now. And your bikini is definitely soaked.

“Do you feel…” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Strange?”

You nod. And then remember he isn’t even looking at you. “Yeah.”

His jaw clenches.

He shifts again. Still not looking at you. And that’s how you know something is wrong.

Because he never acts like this.

You’ve seen him flustered, sure. After a race, dealing with the media, around too many people. But never like this. Not this tense. As if he’s afraid.

“I didn’t think chocolate could….fuck.” His voice cracks. And he laughs under his breath.

He grips the bench. Looking like he’s in pain.

“I think I need to go inside.”

And he stands too fast. Towel falling down. Hands clenched at his sides as he turns on bare feet and walks toward the main cabin.

You stare at his back. His shoulders. And he disappears down the stairs.

You’re so hot that you could cry. Unbearable.

You press your palm flat to your stomach. Like it’ll help.

But it doesn’t.

Because it’s not just the chocolate.

It’s him. Oscar.

Gone for less than a minute and his voice is the only thing in your head. The way his mouth looked when he licked the chocolate off his thumb. His hands. The muscles of his back straining as he leaned forward

The silence stretches heavy.

You make a quiet sound in your throat. Barely audible. And you can’t sit still. Can barely think. Can’t stop seeing him.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re hesitant at first. But then trail your fingers to the center of your ache.

And your hips lift off the cushion. A heavy breath escaping.

Your other hand grips the bench as you rock slowly against your own fingers. Over the bikini. Slow circles. Each one, pressing harder.

You let your head fall back. And the sky above is almost blinding.

“Oscar…”

You don’t even realize you said it out loud. It just slips.

And a few moments later, you don’t even hear him come back. Your fingers still at your bikini. Rubbing.

You lift your head. He’s there.

Flushed. Hair ruffled like he ran his fingers through it a million times. Eyes fixed between your legs like he’s in some sort of trance.

He just stares. Doesn’t even speak.

“I can’t stop,” You whisper. Honest.

“You’re…” He blinks. Voice low. Stunned. Like he just walked into his favorite fantasy and doesn’t know what to do. “You’re fucking touching yourself?”

You nod. And he groans.

“To me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” You whisper.

“Jesus.” His hands twitch at his sides.

You shift, spreading your legs a little wider without meaning to. Unable to stop rubbing the tight circles.

“You look so pretty like that,” He mutters.

You tremble. “I need help.”

And his eyes widen.

“Please,” you whisper. “I can’t…Osc, please.”

He groans. Hands dropping to the front of his swim shorts, palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.

“Come closer.” You plead.

And he stares at you with wide eyes. Flushed. He doesn’t move. At least, he doesn’t at first.

But then his gaze drops back down to your legs. Spread open. Your fingers rubbing slow, desperate circles. And his hands twitch.

“I…” He says, but he’s already squeezing himself. “I shouldn’t.”

“Oscar…”

“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” his mutters. “And I shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”

Your eyes fall to where his hand squeezes against his cock. Like he’s trying to fight the ache between his legs.

And you whimper. Hips jerking. “I can’t. I need….I need help.”

His hand squeezes himself tighter.

“Fuck.” A pause. A few silent moments of heated stares. “Do you know how many times I used to think about this?”

His voice has gone rough. And you blink at him. Heart stuttering.

“I used to jerk off in my room and feel sick after,” He whispers. “Because it was you. My sister’s best friend. Always walking around in those tiny shorts. That blue bikini. Always so fucking sweet.”

Your fingers slow. Jaw falls slack.

“I’ve thought about it,” His voice shakes. “Fuck. I’ve thought about this. When we were younger.”

Your breath hitches.

“Thought about your pussy more than I should’ve.” He mutters. “Wondered how soft you’d feel. How tight. If you’d let me take my time or if you’d beg me to fuck you rough.”

Your back arches.

“Wondered what you’d sound like when you come.” He continues. “If it’s all breathy. Or if you’d cry. If you’d say my name.”

“I’d press the pillow over my face after so no one would hear me,” He admits. “Every time.”

You gasp.

“I would.” You gasp.

His hand pushes harder into his cock. Groaning. “I’ve thought about fucking you with my tongue. Holding your legs and licking you for hours.”

You press your fingers even harder.

You whimper, other hand reading for a pillow or something to grab onto. “Osc, please.”

“You want my fingers?” He whispers. “Right here? Want me to fuck you with my hand?”

You nod. Repeatedly. Fast. Almost pathetic.

Oscar lets out a whimper. And then he’s kneeling in front of you before you can blink. Hand still pressing into his cock. The other trembling as his fingers brush your thigh.

“You’re so warm.”

Your hand falls away and he replaces it instantly. Pressing two fingers against the soaked fabric. Groans loudly when he feels it.

“Fuck, pretty…” He groans. “You’re soaked. Fuckin’ dripping.”

And then he pushes the fabric aside, stares. Pupils blown. “God, look at you…"

You shake your head. “Please.”

“I’ve thought about sliding my fingers into you since I was seventeen,” He pushes them in. Half-laughing. “Thought about curling them deep and slow….hearing you moan just like that.”

Oscar swears under his breath, leaning closer. Jaw locked tight. “I’d keep you like this for hours if I could. Legs spread and needy….mine to play with.”

You cry out. Rocking your hips.

And he curls his fingers. Watching your face.

“Yeah?” His thumb circles your clit now. Slow. “Right there? Knew I’d find it.”

And you careen forward. Hands flying to grab his shoulders.

“Come for me,” He mutters. “Right here. In my fucking shirt. On my yacht. On my fingers.”

And you do.

Hard.

And he watches every second. His lips parted. Cock throbbing.

And then he drags his fingers out of you slow.

Brings them to his mouth.

Licks them clean. Eyes locked on yours.

“Taste better than I ever dreamed,” He says softly.

And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck. Pulling your lips to his. Kissing you like he’s starving.

His tongue licks your mouth like its his. Like he already knows how to pull those sounds out of you and wants to hear every single one.

And his hands slip down your body. Down your shoulders, over your ribs. Brushing the dip of your waist. Until he’s gripping your thighs.

“Wanna see bruises here,” He says. “Want people to see bruises and know.”

He stays kneeling between you, chest heaving.

“You’re soaking, baby.” His voice cracks.

He leans forward. Kissing your inner thigh. And then opens his mouth, sucking hard. Pulling a moan from you.

You feel the bruise forming as he licks over it. Sucks it again. Fingers pressing into your skin, gripping it.

“That’s one,” He mutters.

He leaves another one. Higher.

Then a third on the other leg. Right by your cunt. So close that it makes your hips jerk into his mouth.

And then he’s standing. Grabbing you under your thighs. And lifts you.

Laying you down on the table. The welcome basket crashes onto the deck with a thud, but neither of you acknowledge it. The box of chocolates dangling on the edge.

He grabs it.

“What are you doing?” You ask. Breathless.

He doesn’t answer. Opens the box, takes out a single piece and holds it up. Gaze dropping down to your cunt spread open for him.

“Need to taste you with this,” He mutters.

He leans over you. Pressing the chocolate between your lips. “Bite.”

You do.

The sun’s hot against your skin.

And then he kisses you hard. Tongue lapping against yours, sharing the chocolate. You both moan and groan into each other before he’s dropping back to his knees.

“Look at you,” He breathes. “All messy. Want my mouth, baby?”

You nod.

And he leans in. Licks you.

One long drag up your slit.

You cry out. And he groans into your cunt. Licking you. Tasting you.

“Fuckin heaven.” He drags a hand to your leg. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

“Oscar…”

He doesn’t stop. Just hooks his arm under your thigh, and pulls you closer to the edge. Legs over his shoulder.

And buries his face in your pussy.

You grind into him instantly. Chasing every flick of his tongue.

Your hands fist into his hair, dragging his face closer against you. And he moans. Wrecked.

“Fuck,” you yell. “Oscar…oh my…fuck.”

He drags his tongue through you. Flicking your clit over and over.

“Keep fucking my face,” his voice is hot.

“You sound…my God..Oscar, you sound obsessed..”

“I am.” He grunts. Fingers curling in you as he nudges your clit with his nose.

And then he pulls one arm away. You barely notice it. Until you hear it and look down.

He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it fast. Leaking.

He jerks his cock faster. Hips twitching into his own fist as his mouth works harder against you.

“Gonna come,” he confesses. “Gonna come from tasting you.”

You cry out.

“C’mon…” He urges. “Let me taste it, yeah?”

And it breaks you.

You moan into the open sky. Grinding against his face. Jaw slack. Eyes squeezed shut.

And then he groans, standing up and comes hard onto your cunt.

Hot, messy ropes of it. Spilling over you.

And then he’s dragging you off the table without a word. Not giving you time to even breathe. Panting.

His hands tight around you, and then he’s spinning you. Forcing you to face the ocean. Chest hitting the metal railing.

And he’s behind you. Silent.

You start to turn your head, “Oscar…?”

“No.” He says. Voice rough. “Stay just like that.”

His hands drag your shirt up. Slow.

His name in bold letters stretched across your back.

He groans. Violently.

“I should’ve fucked you in this years ago.”

Your breath falters.

“Fucking knew it,” He grabs a fistful of the shirt, twisting his hand in it. “Knew one day you’d bend over in this and I’d lose my fucking mind.”

You feel the heat of his body behind you, shoving your bottoms down with one swift flick of his hand. Cock thick and heavy. Dragging through your folds, collecting his come and your wetness.

He groans. You shake.

He presses forward, hips rocking against you. Grinding into your thighs.

“You’ve no idea what you look like.” His breath is heavy behind you. “Bent over. My name on your back. Come still dropping down your cunt.”

And you bite your lip. Arching into him harder.

One hand grips your hip, the other fisted around the shirt.

“You wore this shirt for years like it meant nothing,” His voice quieter. Mean. “Didn’t think about what it did to me every time you wore it.”

“Osc…” You attempt to say his name, but he shifts his hips into you harder and your voice cracks.

He laughs.

“Now look at you. Dripping all over me. Wearing my name like you belong to me.”

He sinks in slow. So slow that you feel every pulse. Every ridge.

And you whimper. He groans behind you. Like he’s in pain. Like he’s trying so hard to not ravish you.

But when his hips meet you, and he’s bottomed out. He just….stops.

Breathes in heavily.

“Fuck.” He says soft. “You’re so fucking tight around me.”

His fingers dig into your hip even harder. Bruising. Marking.

“You’ve ruined me,” He laughs. “Y’know that?”

And you don’t even get a chance to answer.

Because he pulls back and slams into you. Hard.

You cry out, hands gripping the railing that your knuckles turn white.

His pace isn’t gentle at all. It’s feral.

“Fucking ruined me,” He says again. “You in this shirt….you in my fucking name..do you even know what that does to me?”

You moan. So loud. And his hips smack into you. Over and over.

“You’ve been walkin’ around in it for years.” He spits. “Like it’s nothing.”

He thrusts deep, angling his hips at a better angle. “Like I haven’t been dreaming of fucking you in it since I gave it to you all those years ago.”

You’re babbling now. Unable to breathe properly. Your entire body trembling.

His hand slips from your hip and slides up your spine. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down. Just a little bit harder. Forces you to arch even more.

And fuck, he nearly collapses when he feels you clench tighter around him.

“You should see yourself,” He grunts. “Squeezing around me like you’re desperate to never let me go.”

And he’s lost all rhythm. He’s just slamming into you. Cock so deep.

“Can’t believe this is real.” He’s panting. “Can’t believe I get to fuck you in my shirt. Pussy covered in me.”

Your orgasm is close. And you’re shouting. Moaning.

"Bet she'd lose her mind if she knew what a slut you were f'me..."

You cry out. He feels you teetering on the edge.

“Don’t.” He snaps.

And you cry, “Oscar…please.”

“You’re gonna wait.” He demands, fucking into you more rapidly.

And he’s losing his mind. It’s sooo good.

“Say who’s inside you.” His hands squeeze the back of your neck. “Say it.”

You gasp. Jaw falling slack. Chest pressed harsh into the metal railing. “You…Osc..fuck, it’s so good..”

You sob out his name and Oscar fucking snaps.

“That’s it, baby.”

His hips hit you faster. Deeper. The filthy sound of it heard over the waves lapping the hull.

You sob into the railing.

He leans into you, head falling forward.

“Gonna come,” He chokes out. “Gonna come right inside you. Stuff you full. Let it leak out.”

And you break.

Orgasm ripping through you. Violent and hot. Back arching so hard into him. You sob out his name. Your walls clenching around him in a tight grip.

And he crashes with you. Body shuddering. Cock throbbing. Spilling into you.

He’s still panting against you when he pulls out. And it’s a fucking mess in between your thighs.

But before you can say anything, he’s dragging you upright. And you’re stumbling as he drags you across the hot deck. Hand across your stomach. Keeping you close.

And then he’s shoving you into the rinse off shower.

He reaches up. Turns the handle. And the water is so cold that you gasp from it.

Oscar laughs behind you. “Too cold?”

Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Asshole.”

And then he turns the temperature warmer, and then it’s all steam and heat again.

You expect him to rinse you off gently.

Instead, he grabs the shower head. Detaches it from the hook. And pulls your back against his chest.

“Gonna clean you up.”

You’re about to ask what exactly he means. But then he;;s nudging your legs apart. Brings the shower head straight to your cunt.

And you jolt forward with a sharp cry.

The heat. The pressure.

“Oh my god…Osc,” You’re mumbling.

And he watches you. Holding one leg to keep them apart.

“Stay open,” his voice is soft. “Wanna see you come again.”

And you whimper. Begging. “Too much…fuck.”

But he doesn’t stop. Just tilts the shower head just right. Hitting your clit.

“Thought I’d have to work harder for this,” He mutters. “But you’re soaking already.”

“Fuck…fuck.”

"Y'like this, hm?" He whispers into your ear. "Being used like some filthy secret?"

Your hands reach behind you and slip their way into his hair. Pulling it. He groans. Rutting his hips into your backside for some friction.

“C’mon, pretty.” He grunts.

And the water just keeps hitting you.

You sob. And then crash again.

Your legs shake. Cunt clenching around nothing. But he holds you up, turning you to face him. Pressing your back against the wall.

He finally sets the shower head down. Lets it spray onto the deck.

And then his hands are back on you. One at your lower back, one gripping your thigh, pulling it up to wrap at his waist. You balance on one leg.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Y’okay?” His voice gentle. Caring.

And you nod, pressing your head into his neck. And his heart stutters when you lean into him. Like he can finally breathe.

“I’ve got you,” He whispers.

And then, he sinks back into you.

Slow. Gentle.

Your mouth falls open. The stretch still almost unbearable after everything. But the way he slides in, feels too fucking good.

You gasp. Digging your nails into his skin. And he cradles you against the wall.

He moves slow. Rocking. No rhythm. And he feels massive. Thick.

“Oscar,” You hush into his skin. “You feel…Y’feel so good.”

He nods. “I know, baby. I know.” And his voice is a whisper.

He grinds deeper. Barely moving but pressing into you. “Can’t believe you’re still this wet…” He grunts. “Still want more? Want me to stuff you full again, hm? Fuck you til it leaks down?”

You nod. Mouth open. Moaning.

“C’mon,” He pants. Hips jerking. Cock throbbing.

It’s quick. The feel of you wrapped around his cock. The overstimulation of the stretch.

You both come quick. Crying out into each other’s skin. Soft kisses in between the moans.

And then you’re both laughing. Smiling at one another.

“Holy shit…I’m dying.” Your best friend announces. “Never let me go on another tour ever ever again.”

Oscar snorts from beside you on the bench, looking at his phone. “Told you you’d hate it.”

“You didn’t say I’d almost drown.”

You keep your face still. Sipping your drink.

And she plops down on the lounger across the deck, sighing.

And for a moment…it’s quiet.

Until Oscar leans in slightly, elbow brushing your arm.

His voice low. “Y’think she noticed?”

You glance at him. Shake your head.

“She’s never been less observant,” You whisper back.

And he grins. One of those fuck-you grins that makes you stutter.

And you hold back a smile.

Your best friend groans across the deck. “God, I feel disgusting. Should we order dinner in an hour?”

Oscar clears his throat. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” You say.

And then you lean, just slightly, into his side. Just enough that his thigh is touching yours again.

He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t stop smiling.

"Hey, what happened to the welcome basket?"

Oops? taglist (holy shit SO MANY OF YOU ILY): @landoscarinthefastlane @dudenhaaa27 @330bpm-whiplash @xoln04f1xo @sainzluvrr @minjiahyung @madicecream123 @star73807-blog @simpfortoomanymen @art-h1ve @annaswrites00 @forumlabee @butterfly-daisies07 @nothereneverherever @widow-cevans @suns3treading @fmejenson @megatrilss1885 @10iceicebaby @sh1nedreamsm1le7 @ptrickbateman @chasingosc @uuoozzii @idkwtdwml123 @pinkdeadtopia @chiara8104 @ellie-bellie-29 @piastri-my-boy @1-of-my-many-obsessions @8junejpg1 @jaydensluv @astrlape @idontknow0704 @whistlef0rthechoir @op814kitty @asmoothoperator @illicit-affcirs @lilith-123321 @teddybearbeth @saudianna @skylyn-vais @fleurdangz @angxedxtz @marekmybeloved @liafics @dxrlxb @gabyasworld @treebranch23 @drysdalesv @morganalatina21 @bigcatharmony @ilovemuppets @acina27 @angelabunbun @megatrilss1885 @ilikecarsalotsometimes @roxanne-ragnvindr @euphoriapillz @luminouskalopsia @trinity2058 @livsturnioloo @wdsara48 @ini3103 @shimmermotorsport @marslovesran4eva @wherethezoes-at @monsterdesandia @mythicalmaven @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @ella284-3 @landossainz @redcrescentmoons @jaeger-chan @altaccount283927 @ericasdumbworld @aerie717 @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ysavelelelel @phillza-my-beloved @thenalovescars @zicosbitch @scaroscar8115 @wertyuizxcvbnm @needy02 @dessashippr @quill-vy @o6hellnah @enchantedwaspwhisper @awesome-fandom-panda @biancathecool @lilorose25 @wowzees (not sure if all these worked but I took them straight from my comments on the sneak peak)

#oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut

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