james potter x female!reader (cw- periods/menstruation)
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Gentle rays of sunlight streamed into the dorm as James Potter's eyes threatened to flutter open. A small sniffle had awakened him, and although it wasn't a boisterous noise by any means, he was always a light sleeper.
His lips curled up at the corners as he beheld the vision of you, nestled in a cascade of tousled white sheets. In this very moment, he could swear on his life that you were an angel sent down by the heavens just for him. You were so incredibly beautiful.
His smile broadened as he felt you unknowingly snuggling yourself further into his warmth, soundly asleep beside him. His arm, the same one you were practically drooling over just hours ago, was draped around you, cocooning you against his chest. His finger began drawing gentle circles on your back, knowing it always worked to soothe you into sleep.
For a moment, James Potter simply observed. He looked at the girl he was madly and over the top in love with, sleeping with an expression of tender innocence. He couldn't believe his luck; he thanked his lucky stars every day for the fact that such a beautiful girl would even talk to someone like him. You were a wonder, and his favorite thing to do was to watch you live.
But what had initially woken him up now regained his attention as your nose crinkled up in another sniffle. He cooed, his eyes softening.
A sudden breeze brushed against his skin, and he cursed Sirius for forgetting to shut the window after his ritual midnight smoke break. He knew your hay fever would act up when pollen was allowed inside.
He gently brought his finger to trace your face, memorizing every part he had yet to see before you woke up and scolded him for his staring problem (again).
When your eyebrows scrunched together in discomfort, a hushed whine slipping out, he knew it wasn't just your hay fever bothering you. He wondered if it was a nightmare, drawing you even closer as he tried to alleviate the terrors plaguing your mind and settle you back into a peaceful slumber.
"Mmh," you moaned out uncomfortably, your hands tightly gripping the sheets to ground yourself. James's head snapped down at the sound, eager to see your face again. Yet, what he saw—your scrunched-up face, adorably cute as it may be—wasn't a sight he wanted to see, knowing you were in pain somehow.
His mind raced through all the possibilities of what could be wrong when suddenly, it was as if a literal lightbulb illuminated inside his head.
He felt no need to check the calendar on his nightstand to know that today was the day he had circled in red pen, ironically enough.
He decided to gently lift the sheet that separated the two of you, and what he found confirmed his suspicions—the floodgates had indeed opened.
Now he knew he had to wake you up, no matter how much he wanted you to enjoy your sleep-in. He wanted you to feel comfortable and clean.
"Bub," he nudged you softly, nosing at your neck and leaving sweet kisses in his wake. You shifted, just barely.
Murmuring unintelligibly and squirming under your boyfriend's hold, you buried yourself into his warmth.
He chuckled softly, his eyes filled with affection. "Bug, I know it's Sunday, but you gotta wake up."
"What?" you whined, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles.
He sighed, already knowing your reaction, and pulled you even closer to his chest, not allowing you to escape as he knew you would try. "You got your period, bug."
Well, that certainly woke you up. Your eyes snapped open, now alarmingly alert as you tried to process what your boyfriend had so kindly awakened you to inform you of.
You had your period, in James Potter's bed, on his beautiful white sheets that you always made a point of complimenting, in his shared dorm room with Sirius Black. Could this morning get any better? you asked yourself sarcastically.
As James predicted, you tried to shy away, only then realizing you couldn't get away as he held onto you. "Don't run away, sweetheart," he chuckled knowingly, leaving a kiss on your forehead.
You hid your face as far as possible into his chest, now acutely aware of what lay between your legs, making sure to keep them as still as possible.
"I'm so sorry, Jamie. I've stained your nice sheets, and-" you began to ramble, something he usually loved listening to, but he needed to put a stop to it now, knowing your mind would start spiraling. He was always there for you, knowing when you needed to be pulled out of your own thoughts, and he managed it every time.
"Honey," he cooed, his fingers brushing through your hair, "don't worry about my sheets. They just need a quick clean, that's all." He shrugged as if it were nothing.
"But-" he cut you off once more.
"Baby, don't even think about that, okay?" he said, shifting so that you were now face-to-face, cupping your reddening cheeks in his large hands.
"Listen, how about you have a nice warm shower, hm?" His eyebrow lifted in question, and you nodded softly, unable to hold eye contact, still mortified. "By the time you're all done, the sheets will be as good as new." He smiled reassuringly, his thumb rubbing up and down your soft skin.
"Okay," you agreed shyly. You knew that James would never in his wildest dreams be disgusted by you or remotely upset about his white sheets, but you couldn't help but overthink.
"Come here, bubs. I'll help you up." He pulled you out of your head once again and helped you sit up in bed, groaning in pain and from the lack of warmth as the breeze reached you.
He soothed you with sweet nothings and sticky morning kisses as he walked with you to the bathroom, taking each step quietly to avoid waking his roommates. He showed you, perhaps for the millionth time, where the towels were, knowing that you probably spent more time getting ready in this bathroom than in your own dorm's bathroom.
"You know, all your things are in—"
"The bottom left shelf of the right cabinet, I know," you giggled, cutting him off this time. His arms wrapped softly around your frame as you stood together in the morning light of the bathroom. "Thank you, Jamie."
"Anytime, baby." He nosed at your neck once more, not quite ready to let you go to the shower just yet, wanting to keep you in his hold forever.
"I love you," you said, and you meant it—more than anything you had ever said before in your life, you meant it.
"I love you, my beautiful girl."
[A/N - FIRST FIC WRITTEN SINCE JULY 2022!!) it’s past 2am…
breakup finally hit after a week, at last i’ve sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until almost throwing up i think now i can actually try to accept its over and realise it’s for the better
summary: Your boyfriends deal with a tipsy you during a night out. Unexpected friendships and bridal shenanigans ensue.
tags: fem!reader, fluff. honestly this is just pure slice of life fluff.
a/n: i had sooo much fun writing this one! enjoy xx
—
Sirius lets out a long and overly dramatic sigh, doing a show of fiddling with his drink in pretended boredom. Remus doesn’t have such qualms as he bops his head—seemingly in that sweet point where he’s not exactly tipsy, but not sober either. It’s possible your cheerfulness has rubbed off on him.
He gives the dance floor another quick sweep (just for good measure) and there you and James are—giggling and dancing and jumping together like you’ve been doing since that second vodka cranberry. Of course and in true fashion, James has readily accepted the role to be your dance partner after Sirius tapped out. He just hopes Remus doesn’t get any ideas—there’s only so much he can do to contain a tipsy (and extroverted) you and a whatever stage of drinking Remus is.
The song switches in a smooth transition and your bright smile can be seen even from where Sirius is perched at the bar. His own lips spread into a soft smile at your unadulterated joy—even more when you catch sight of him and Remus. You send them a little enthusiastic wave, like the shyness in you is still clinging to the last shreds of sobriety.
The thing about you is that you’re shy—not cold, or indifferent. Just… quiet. You’re usually more subtle in your affections towards your boyfriends; idle patterns around James’ inner wrist, or gentle touches as you brush Sirius’ hair out of his face, or even more subtle in the way you quietly tuck yourself under Remus’ arm when the night is starting to cling onto you. You’re quietly affectionate. Most of the time.
“Hi, dovey,” Remus smiles, bright and a little crooked as you quite literally wrap your arms around his middle. He steadies you readily. “Here for another one?”
“Hm,” you nod, eyes full of tipsy delight as you tip your head back to meet his gaze. “But first water."
“Smart girl,” James says, already on it as he passes you the uncapped water bottle. “Here.”
Your smile gets impossibly softer as you accept it, a wonky movement with your blatant refusal to let go of Remus. “Thanks,” you mumble before giving it long gulps. You tip your head back to try and down it in one go.
“Woah, hey,” Sirius lets out a startled laugh, taking the bottle from you when you start downing it. “Easy there, baby—you’ll make yourself sick.”
“Oh, shit,” you look at the bottle again, a small divot between your brows as you register the amount you drank. “Shit, shit—”
“You okay, lovie?” James asks, slight concern in his tone at your furrowed eyebrows.
“Yes, it’s just—shit, I really have to go to the ladies room,” you let out a long and dejected sigh. Like taking a few steps away from them is a suffering ordeal. ”But I really love this song. It’s my favourite.”
Sirius feels his own brows lifting in amusement, and you nestle deeper in Remus’ hold—cheek squished adorably against his side. You don’t let go of him to go dance to your alleged favourite song.
“Is it?” James perks up, giving his beer a quick sip. It’s warm already, bless him. “You told me the other day you didn’t like disco.”
You gasp, springing away from Remus. “I did not!” you point at James. “I said I didn’t like the lack of disco.”
“That’s true,” Sirius nods indulgently, winking in your direction when you preen at his support. “We’re in the midst of an unfortunate lack of disco.”
James puffs out a laugh. Your brawny and sweet boyfriend only puts on a show to stretch the bit a little longer, but you look genuinely aghast he forgoes it immediately. And you seem to quickly forget the reason for the debate as he presses a quick kiss to the side of your face.
“Right, so…” he says loudly, to be heard over the music but mostly to catch your wandering attention. “Loo, lovie?”
You smack your palm against your forehead. “Shit, right! I got to go!”
Before either of them can get a word out, you’re already weaseling your way around the crowd to get to the line for the ladies room. Remus only has to tilt his chin up a bit to find you amidst the crowd, where you’re pressed against the wall and bopping your head as you wait for your turn. It lasts shortly, because he loses sight of you as soon as you enter the room. Or, well, you’re being shepherded inside by a girl after exchanging enthusiastically tipsy compliments.
James turns to order a brand new beer and another drink for you, with more cranberry juice than vodka this time. When he turns to his boyfriends, Sirius has readily replaced your spot leeched around Remus.
He shakes his head. “Oh, you’re cruel, love. And here I thought you’d go and dance with her.”
“I’ve danced plenty with her,” Sirius argues. “Look at my boots, they already got a dent!” he points down. Like it’s not plain obvious they’re dirty and dented for the amount of times you stepped on him.
“Poor love,” James coos, setting his beer aside to take Sirius’ face in his hands—they’re warm and sticky with condensation, and a bit with the glitter of your top. “Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”
The saccharine of his tone works. Sirius melts into his touch, despite the blatant sarcasm in James’ voice. “Thank you, Jamie—now, will you go entertain our lovely tiny dancer?”
From his side, Remus starts humming Tiny Dancer under his breath and between sips of own beer—a brand new one they can't understand how or when he got it.
“Unless our Moony wants to take the mantle,” James chuckles.
“Hm?” he blinks, seemingly loose enough to hum a tune but not to catch the mischief in his boyfriend’s tones. “Mantle to what?”
Sirius sends James a look.
“You okay, Rem?” he asks, smiling impossibly brighter at the soft smile in your usually quieter boyfriend’s face. “Having fun?”
“Yeah…” he lowers his beer, giving them an amused little look. It’d work if his eyes weren’t tinkling with the same delight and looseness as yours. “Why?”
“No reason,” Sirius quips, stealing a quick sip from his beer. Remus readily lets him, a testament of how gone he is. “And certainly not more than our girl, right?”
“Oh, I’d say no one’s having more fun than her.”
“Of course she is—she tried dipping me low. She almost fell on top of me!” James says, beer sloshing with his sudden movements to explain your dance floor antics. “And she didn’t even give me a warning. She just—” he makes a few gestures for demonstration.
It’s so silly and uncharacteristic of you it pulls a funny, soft sound out of Remus. Also silly and uncharacteristic of him, but the sound of his giggle causes James to pause his explanation and Sirius to snap his head up with a look that’s entirely too smitten for a public setting like a club.
“Moony,” James says sweetly, voice sticky with fondness.
“What?” he answers immediately, almost sobering up. Almost. “I haven’t said anything. I just laughed.”
“Oh, you absolutely did,” Sirius smirks.
Remus rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint pink tint to his cheeks that makes it impossible not to kiss—Sirius takes the matter in his own hands. It’s almost comical how Remus, in all his insistence that he’s totally okay and not at all affected by the pints he’s had, visibly melts at the mushing kisses he receives.
“She’s corrupted you, love.”
“She’s having fun,” Remus retorts weakly.
“Not the only one, it seems,” James sweeps a thumb over his cheek, cleaning the pinkish gloss Sirius left behind with his kisses. “But she does look happy.”
The warmth of their moment settles in their little huddled bunch. Music blasts from every corner and the changing lights makes for a contrasting backdrop to their easy affections. It’s comfortable and easy, they nearly miss you weaving through the crowd to get back to them again.
“Okay,” you say, a little breathless and a lot urgently as you take your drink from James. “So.”
They all openly stare—not at you, or the glow that seems to continue clinging to you all night, or the way your top changes colors with the lights. But at the tiny metallic blue plastic crown at the top of your head.
Sirius raises an eyebrow, doing a terrible job at holding back a laugh. “So…” he prompts, reaching over to fix the crown. It’s crooked, bless you.
You nod once, pausing your sips to look at them. Forcing your face into one of complete seriousness. “So,” you say again.
James laughs. “Lovie.”
“Yes?” you turn to him, eyes soft at the endearment.
“Are you royalty now?”
You touch the crown like you’ve forgotten it’s there. A look of pure amusement flashes over Sirius’ eyes. He finishes fixing the crown for you, making a show of taming your curls and hair to make it look as close as it was before the night started.
“Oh!” you perk up, nearly splashing a guy with your drink. James immediately takes the glass from you. “Oh, right! So, I just met the sweetest girl in the bathroom. She said she had a top like mine, but pink—can you believe it? I knew I should've gotten it in pink to match.”
Sirius presses his lips together. Obviously, he fails to suppress his laugh at your scattered conversation.
You won’t be deterred. “And she’s here at her bachelorette party. And her friends had a spare crown, said it’d match my clothes.”
“It does match.” James says agreeably.
“She said I should have a crown.”
“Naturally.”
“And,” you pause, long and deliberately for suspense as you make a point of searching for their eyes. “She invited me to her wedding—it’s sea themed.”
James collapses into Remus’ side, not being able to control his amusement any longer. Remus wordlessly accepts his weight with a smile of his own.
“Dovey, you were gone for ten minutes.”
You take your drink back. “We really connected,” you say earnestly. “Sharing clothes with your best friend is a very serious matter.”
Sirius’ eyebrows lift. “Oh, have we officially been promoted to best friends?”
“Hm,” you nod between sips. “I already know what I’ll wear.”
Remus’ smile widens. “Yeah? What are you thinking?”
“Well… it depends on the colours for the bridal party. I can’t show up uncoordinated.”
“Sweetheart,” Sirius tries again, canines at full display. Entirely too happy with the turn your night has taken. “You left to the loo and came back with a wedding invitation.”
“She showed me pictures of her cat,” you say, like that explains everything. It does not. “They actually invited me for a drink, too—they’re right there.”
“They did?” Remus asks, voice velvety soft and amused as he thumbs at the glitter that has smudged to your temples.
“Yep,” you turn around, still sipping at your drink as you study the different booths and tables in search of your new friends. They’re not exactly hard to miss, with their boas and crowns. “Look, that’s them!”
One of the girls seems to feel you pointing at them, because she turns—face breaking into a bright smile as she waves you enthusiastically. The rest follow with a chorus of shrieks and gestures, the bride louder than everyone as she points at the shots in their table then at you. A drunk but very earnest invitation.
“I’ll be right there!” you shout over the music, waving at them with the same enthusiasm.
“I?” James asks, readily taking your empty glass.
“Of course—you can’t go. It’s a bachelorette,” your eyebrows wrinkle in confusion, like your explanation makes any sense.
“What? Are we not invited to the court?” Sirius asks, feigning offense. You frown like he had been properly complaining. All it takes is a chiding look from James and a kiss to your temple to placate you.
“It’s a girls night, handsome. You can’t come,” you brush his hair away, touch featherlight against his skin.
Sirius’ offense is more sincere this time. “What?” he takes your hand, holding it hostage against his chest. “But—”
“It’ll be quick, I promise,” you tilt your head, widening your eyes in that adorable way you’ve started using against them as of lately. Damn James and his big mouth for letting you know about their weakness. “I’ll be back before you notice—and we can dance again!” your other hand finds his.
“You can totally go, dovey,” Remus chuckles, straightening the crown again. “Just be careful, yeah?”
“Of course,” you kiss him quickly, pulling him down so suddenly Remus makes a startled noise. “I’ll try and make a case for you with them, yeah?”
“A case?”
“Hm,” you nod at James, pausing to fix his glasses before giving your empty glass another sip. “Maybe they’ll let you come if I make it very very tempting,” you wiggle your fingers.
He laughs. “It’s okay, lovie—go have fun. We’ll wait.”
“And I’ll be waiting for that dance that I was promised!” Sirius calls out as you walk away.
You only wave at them without turning around. The girls at the bachelorette shout and shriek when you join them, and the smile that takes over your face is so bright and lovely your boyfriends’ hearts turn into mush right then and there. It’s a miracle they manage to get to the end of the night in one piece.
The walk back home is filled with giggling murmurs from you and besotted looks shared between your boyfriends. It’s hard not to, especially with your adorable new look—the crooked blue tiara and now, as a parting gift from your new friends, a white boa.
“Would you like more water, your majesty?” Sirius asks, arm securely wrapped behind your back. In his eyes a sweet look that increases in intensity when you giggle at the moniker.
James stops a few steps ahead to turn and hand you the bottle back, already opened. Eyes tinkling with fondness as he watches you struggle to blow the feathers of the boa away from your face. Your nose wrinkles when it tickles you instead.
“Thanks, Jamie,” you sigh blissfully, halting to give your water a few lengthy sips. “Hm—I think I’ve made a decision.”
“About?” asks Remus from your other side.
He hasn’t been able to leave you since you returned to them, not because he wants to (even if he very much doesn’t) but because you’re keen on holding onto his arm like he might slip away if you don’t. Remus doesn’t bother hiding his evident delight in this predicament, accepting his fate of having his arm held hostage by an overly tipsy and affectionate you.
“Would you say that my purple dress is sea themed?” you muse out loud, very seriously and with a faraway, almost pensive look on your face. “Jellyfish are purple, right?”
James chuckles. “Some of them, yes,” he takes the bottle back.
“You’d look very lovely as a jellyfish, sweetheart,” Sirius says indulgently, mushing a kiss to your temple. The boa tickles his nose.
You shake your head. “No, Siri. I’ll go as the same color as a jellyfish. Not as one,” you explain, sending Remus a look like Sirius is the one speaking nonsense. He smiles when you give his arm another squeeze. “I can’t go as a jellyfish.”
“Of course not, dove.” Remus agrees readily. “The purple dress it is, then?”
You hum in the affirmative, eyes now half-lidded as the night begins to wind you down. Sirius’ thumb sweeps at the skin of your waist where your top continues lifting with your movements.
“Wait!” you halt suddenly, eyes flaring as you whip your head around. “I forgot to ask for her number!”
Sirius holds fast at your waist when you make a move to turn around. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Jamie got it.”
realised i haven’t updated my page properly in years and i fear it doesn’t reflect me as much as id want it to, so redrafting this shit is on my to do list
just found out the loml work crush guy is not only 5+ years older than i thought he was (and even that was pushing it) but is indeed engaged (not just 😛taken😛) with his high school sweetheart soooo might just d13
i only want him if he says it first to me
i wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's mercury
he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds
it makes me so, uh, and i can't get enough of it
summary: you like when he flirts with you, and he's too quick to adore the blush it brings to your cheeks, but when he desperately needs your help with a campaign repressed feelings begin to surface.
pairing: eddie munson x friend!reader
word count: like 12k
warnings: MDNI! swearing, thigh riding (i hate this why does it always show up in my fics), fingering, slight exhibitionism, oral (f and m receiving), v minor somnophilia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, r is inexperienced , i try to make up a d&d campaign.
notes: ya'll i re-watched ST for s5 and it brought back my love for this man i hate myself and then i wrote this thing in 2 nights bc i was feral with the idea. hope u enjoy it was fun to write.
You drew the short straw.
You cursed Jackie for shuffling them around, arranging them in a pretty order that led to you drawing the smallest one. You groaned as they laughed, as they packed up their things and began to leave you behind still in your theater attire.
And now the pale pink gossamer kept floating into your mouth as you picked up all the props and costume left astray to cart them down to the dressing room. You squatted down, skirts pooling around your feet, scooping up random pencils and wands, swords and sticks, askew leaves and a grey wig.
A door slammed closed.
"Hello?" You called, no one answered. You paid it no attention; it was probably a straggler, some sports player leaving after a long practice, an attendee to some competition. You pushed the large cart down the stage and through the double doors towards the props department. You silently cleaned up, put everything in its place vowing to memorize every stick so you'll never be on clean up duty again. Truly, this was probably only the third time you've had to do it, but it still sucked.
Another door slammed and this time you shot to your feet grabbing the plastic grey sword and brandishing it forward. "Hello!" You called again, their footsteps slapping against linoleum. "This isn't funny! I have a weapon!" Your arm shook as you pointed it towards the door that flew open the next second with a hurricane of frizzy hair and wind that blew the pink gossamer veil over your eyes.
"What are you doing?" There was amusement in his voice. "You'll stab yourself." You moved the fabric out of your face to see the smirk crawling on his face. "M'lady."
You breathed a sigh of relief. "Eddie. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for the props department." He said motioning around the room.
Your eyebrow rose slightly, "Why?"
He stepped closer the chain against his jeans clinking with every step, his body lithe as it moved with his strange fluidity. "Because I needed something."
"And what is that?"
His grin was feline, "You."
In the same chaotic wind he blew in on he grabbed your arm and rushed you out of the room. "Eddie." You gave a tug at your arm, but he kept walking with you, leading you down dark halls and sharp corners, deeper into the school towards his lair. "Eddie." You tried again, more serious using your other hand to pull on his grip pathetically.
He reeled on you a wild light gleaming in his eyes. "You're perfect."
The flush crawled up your neck and you almost forgot about his black painted nails digging into you...almost. "What's going on?"
He sighed hand softening on your bicep, trailing down your arm to lace his fingers with yours. "I backed myself into a corner." You furrowed your brows, "Hellfire?" You nodded along letting him know you understood the mention of his club. "Well as you know I'm Dungeon Master and I've spent months working on this new campaign and the kids have been loving it but..."
"You backed yourself into a corner." You repeated.
His hands wrapped around your face. "Yes! And I'm trying to not let on that I'm flying by the seat of my pants, so I figured out a way to get us back on track."
"Me?"
He cocked his head to the side tenderly. "You." He breathed then dropped his hands. "Well not you, I really went to find your hat to give the illusion of the princess, but when I saw you wearing it, and given your dramatic flair well that bump in the road wrote itself." He beamed wildly, that same smile that could lead anyone into a trance. "Just for a little while until I can nudge them back towards the main plot."
"So, I'm just a plot device to move your characters forward?" Simple enough.
He nodded, "You can even help me write some of your story line." He came closer using a knuckle to tilt your chin up the sharp edges of one of his rings digging in slightly, "Will you do this for me sweetheart?"
Eddie had been your friend for years, your dad had known his uncle which led to impromptu get togethers whenever the two decided to hang out. You developed a kinship with him; watching him play his music from the grass of his lawn, scowling at him for getting the first tattoo, but accompanying him for the second. You'd float aloofly around each other no animosity behind the action. You joined drama club; he built up Hellfire. You watched each other from different planets, waving hello, occasional small talk, you even offered the be his chemistry partner when he had been held back the second time, and he promised to stop smoking in exchange. He was lying though. There was camaraderie there, sweet nothings that the strange cliques of status quo fought hard to squash out. But he was still Eddie, and you were still you gazing up into brown eyes being swallowed into his abyss.
Okay, maybe something else had took root within your chest besides friendship.
"Of course, Eddie."
He leaned in close, lips a breath away. "That's my girl." And with his hand in yours he dragged you into a loud room filled with loud boys who didn't cease their noise as Eddie rounded the table with you.
Until he took his place at the helm with you at his side.
The room crackles into silence as eyes bore into you, then Eddie, then your pink princess hat that floats with a strange phantom breeze. In that moment you see them piecing it together, using that strange logic to continue the story, admiring Eddie's campaign as if he hadn't dragged it up from the props department's dark corner.
"Roll."
"For what Wheeler?" Eddie questions still holding you with an arm around the waist.
"Casting perception."
A small whisper of agreement as another boy shakes dice letting it crash along the table. It stops off to the left and Eddie peers down at it, "12."
The huddle together, "Not helpless."
"But also, a minor threat." 'Wheeler' adds.
"12 is a minor threat?"
"We should trust her."
"And have her turn on us? No way!"
Eddie yawns as he collapses into the chair behind him. "All this bickering is attracting the wrong attention." The room is silent then staring up at him with wide eyes, "Deep in the clouds leather unfolds, and the air swirls around as a deep booming flap-flap-FLAP echoes. Long talons loom as a hot screech rip through the sky; the sun blots out as all you can do is watch in horror as it scoops down and snatches the princess." Two arms wrap around your middle yanking you back into him. "With one outstretched hand she begs you to..." He glances up at you.
You turn back to the group with welling eyes, "Save me."
Eddie cackles jostling you around in his lap as the group groaned. You can't help but let a giggle slip past as they begin to argue about what to do next. Lucas, you learn all their names quickly, is pushing for the party to abandon you, stating you'll bring 'nothing but more trouble.' Dustin offers the fact that if you are in fact a real princess, rescuing you would bring in a hefty reward and notability. Jeff simply wants to slay the dragon for his own reasons not falling for your theatrics.
Mike peers up at you, then Eddie who has sat you on his right knee petting the pink gossamer over your hair. "Is there a reward?"
"Hmm," He coos. "A pretty reward. Not only from her father but slaying the dragon who sits on a mound of stolen gold and gems and charred armor of long dead enemies." His long arm wraps around your shoulder, slithering along your neck letting two nails dig into your jaw. "But...you'll have to pry her out of my cold, dead hands."
A collective whisper, a collective agreement and their quest began.
You stand up as things roll along going to the two clips that helped the large costume skirt stay in place over your jeans. You had forgotten you were even wearing the thing, that it was all play pretend. Eddie's hand went to your wrist, "At least let me buy you a drink first before you get naked princess."
A tense heat passed around the room at the flirtatious comment. The younger boys still trying to understand the dynamic between you two. But he was Eddie, and you were you, still blushing furiously as you let the skirt pool at your feet. "It's stifling in here Eddie."
"Am I getting you all hot and bothered?" You chew on your cheek as you draped it over a large table. You feel a soft touch on your fluttering pulse as he made you look at him, "Come on, tell me what I want to hear."
He had made you watch movies with him, a long marathon of space films while his body sprawled next to you. You giggled when Leia had said it and felt it fit him as well, he found it endearing. "Scruffy looking nerf herder." You smirked as you leaned against his chair, his throne.
He beamed up at you, "I love it when you scold me princess."
"What uh..." A boyish voice started, "What...Who are you?"
Gareth said your name for you explaining the strange dynamic between you two as if there was an easy way to understand it. "You don't have to stay." He waved to the game. "They'll be at it for hours before they even get close."
You smiled pulling up a long folding chair to sit next to him. "No, it's fine. I got nothing better to do." The hand you had resting on the table fell near his and the slightest twitch of his ringed pinkie had him brushing into yours. It burns your skin like a brand. "I also have some ideas." You gaze up at him innocently, "If you'd be open to them."
He leaned closer on his elbow, head against his fist, "For you, baby, anything." His long fingers toyed with pink fabric bringing it to his nose to inhale your scent.
"Are we interrupting something?" Mike asked staring at Eddie expectingly.
"Don't you have a dragon to find!" He shouted back.
The giggle slipped past your chewed bottom lip.
"The boys missed you last Friday." You had joined in on the campaign two weeks ago, occasionally dropping in for updates on the quest, if you were still alive, always hiding laughter when Lucas begged to leave you rot with the dragon. He did not fall for your damsel in distress guise. But between homework, and test, and the newest play (that involved your princess costume) you couldn't spare as much time as you liked. And you liked finding excuses to be by his side, you liked giving him excuses to touch you.
"They're sweet." You smiled digging in your locker for notebooks for your next class.
"They smell." Eddie grimaced closing it for you and walking with you down the hall. You never cared Hawkins called him a freak, you never cared they had labeled him strange, weren't you too? In your strange costumes, saying strange lines, playing pretend in the same way. He was your friend, and everything else was simply background noise. "You free today?"
You nodded, "I can come by a little early to go over some details." You stopped in the middle of the hallway, a sea of students moving around two stagnant bodies. "Bye Eddie."
"See ya princess."
You blushed, he smirked, and you went your separate ways.
You doodled details in your notebooks, wrote facts and stories for this side quest of his. You had never been super interested in the game before but being this involved, learning as you went, it began to suck you in, teleporting you beyond the small pieces on the board.
With a loud ring of the dismissal bell and a slight jump in your step you made your way towards that different dimension. He was sitting off to the side at a different table scrawling over his own notebook when you placed yours beside his, white pages against weathered yellow, black ink against multicolored highlighted words. Another sharp contrast and yet he only smiled up at you, matching yours.
"You're brilliant."
You shrug, "I try." He sat you down yanking you by the lip of the metal chair to slot your legs within his. He was touchy, always so touchy, needing some inexplainable amount of skin to skin you were more than happy to give him.
His shoulder brushed yours as he traced your words, "No this is gunna blow their minds." He glanced at you not at all surprised by your facial closeness. "Maybe next campaign you can be the DM and you can do whatever you want to me."
"Oh, so there's a next campaign now?" You raised a brow, "I thought I was just a plot device."
"I'm a filthy liar baby, what can I say?" He whispered, and the scent of him rushed into you, mint and musk and smoke, and your cheeks burned with it all. You went to bite your lip, but his thumb caught it, "Don't."
"Don't what?" You breathed, clueless except for his thumb tracing your bottom lip, holding you steady by that simple contact. Eddie being him. You being you. But sure, along the way he got flirtier, you got more flustered. He was handsome, he's always had a boyish charm but recently it had been turning into a rouge prince appeal that made you more inclined to agree with whatever he was asking. And right now, if he asked to shove his fingers into your mouth, you'd let him even as those fragile friendship lines began to dissolve into smoke.
His eyes flickered around your face, "Blush."
Your lips parted, but the question never left as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. He pressed the pad of it down onto your tongue letting you instinctively wrap your tongue along it. You had never done this, you had kissed people sure (on stage), but beyond that nothing, so you weren't quite sure what to do, or what he wanted. But he groaned and something hard dug into your knee buried between his legs. His other fingers curled around your jaw as he moved his thumb along your tongue, swirling it around, spit gathering at the corner of your lips. He grabbed you by the face and yanked you onto his thigh, your long skirt bunching up around you to put pressure on the place you craved most. He stared up at your face; thumb still rooted on your tongue.
He leaned in slowly, waiting for you to pull away, shove him out and explain that this isn't what friends do. But you would do anything he asked, and maybe every now and then you would chase an unachievable climax to thoughts of him defiling you.
So, you silently thanked Jackie, for shuffling those sticks around, arranging them in a pretty order that led to you drawing the smallest one. It led you here, to Eddie licking up the spit that dripped down your jaw, to the corner of your mouth where he planted a single kiss. Your lashes fluttered, your hips rolled against his thigh against your will as his thumb fell from your mouth. He brushed hair away from your face, trailing the deep crimson staining your cheeks, "What do you want princess?"
You wanted an end to this throbbing between your thighs every-time he stroked your face or called you some sort of pet name. You wanted a release from an ache he had caused by continuing to blur lines that may have never even been there. And because it had felt good the first time, you rolled your hips along his thigh once more a small moan slipping out.
He kisses you then, swallowing the noise whole, consuming you with an open maw letting his tongue lash against yours. He tasted like the last dregs of a cigarette, minty, harsh...addictive, and you wanted more, glad he never quit. Every-time he had lit a cigarette, he asked if you wanted some, and in the moment, you wished you had said yes just to have the little taste of him. You ground down on him as his tongue licked down your throat, as his hands dug into flesh beneath your shirt. "You that wet for me baby?" He dragged his mouth down your neck as you felt what he was talking about, as it soaked through you and him. "Has it been that long?" He nipped at your jugular, sucking and biting the pounding blood vessel and you desperately wanted him to just rip it open to end your misery. He stilled suddenly to peek at you taking in your flushed face and gentle furrowed brow realizing why he did in fact always get you so hot and bothered. "You poor thing."
"Eddie." You whined.
Nails dug down your back as he bit into your jaw needing to feast on every bare skin you'd let him. "Music to my ears." He sucked on your bottom lip, slating his mouth along yours melding it with teeth and tongue and spit. His hands went to your hips helping you roll against the meat of his thigh chasing the sweet friction. "You wanna cum like this?" It seemed like a genuine question. You didn't care; you just wanted a release. You moaned into his mouth, "Fuck yeah you do, look at you." It was open mouth kisses, sharing breaths and grunts as the warmth spread from behind your knees spreading slowly towards your already burning center. You wanted him to touch you; to feel something inside of you but it felt too good with every stroke against his leg, every tug of his hands deep within your hips helping you ride him. It was debauchery, disgustingly foul as you wrapped your arms around his neck to fuck his leg harder, nails scraping his scalp, tugging his hair as he sucked on your tongue.
He was hard against you, twitching and straining and you knew you should touch him, but your pleasure consumed you as you chased that high you only dreamed about reaching. "Please Eddie." You gritted out calves stiff, stomach tight, holding onto the blackness behind your eyes.
"You can cum pretty girl," He whispered, a hand stroking down your hair. "Come on its okay, let go." He kisses beneath your ear, soft, gentle whispering quiet words of encouragement. You grind down on him hard, hips stuttering as your orgasm suddenly hits you, clenching around nothing but his thigh muscle, stifling the screams into his hair. It takes you a few moments, a few bleary blinks to realize he's still talking to you, still stroking down your back. "Did so good for me..."
You peel off of him, suddenly cold between your naked legs as you straddle his soaked thigh. "Sorry I-!"
"No, no," He cupped your face. "That was good, you did so well." He stroked a thumb down your cheek, "Did you feel good?" You nodded letting the small smile bloom on his face. You tried to find embarrassment, but it was nestled too far beyond your pleasure to care. You did however feel bad he was still hard beneath you, your hand went to it, palming the large bulge gently. He hissed, "Easy princess." He glanced behind you at the clock along the wall, "As much as I'd love to see your lips around my cock not sure we have enough time for that." You stared at him, the question in your eyes, cheeks a ruddy red as you palmed him again, "Shit don't look at me like that unless you want our friends walking in on something indecent."
The throb echoed between your legs, and you couldn't help but palm him again letting his hips buck slightly into the touch. "You'll have to teach me." He eyed you with a gentle furrow in his brow, "Something indecent."
He twitched against you grabbing a fistful of ass beneath your skirt groaning against your skin. "I don't..." He blinked trying to finish the sentence as you ran down his never-ending length with a hard-pressed knuckle. "I don't want to scare you."
There was your sweet, gentle Eddie, the kind boy who always watched out for you, included you, took care of you. You wanted him to scare you, to ruin you, to make you realize what sinful truly meant.
It was the summer before your sophomore year, his first senior year and he had finally gotten his van. He had picked you up to show it off for you. He got you a cherry slurpee for the hot day claiming the van had no AC and drove wildly around, swerving and speeding and throwing you into sharp turns. You squealed and laughed and dug fingers into the cup, condensation running down your wrist, your thigh. He curved the wheel too hard, and you had nothing to hold on to and on instinct he had grabbed your thigh, fingers digging into dripping inner flesh. You couldn't help but burn at the contact, watching his fingers curl and uncurl against hot, wet skin. He didn't let go until he screeched to a stop patting and rubbing the bruised flesh.
"You need to be more careful Eddie." You breathed, hair wild, cheeks as red as your mouth.
He leaned forward wrapped his lips around your straw and sucked. "Too dangerous for you baby?"
Baby. It was new. You were used to his little terms of endearment, but this was something else. You blamed the summer sun for the heat in your face, in your core. His tongue glided along red glossy lips, and you wondered what they would taste like. Cherry, menthol, you wanted to know.
It was the first night you touched yourself to him, you chased it hard, tracing the marks his fingers left along your thigh as you fucked you own hand. It never worked, you never got there, something...stopping you, preventing you from that jump over the pleasured filled ledge. You groaned into your pillow letting that tension build and build and build.
You realize now you had needed to hear him tell you to let go, that this mental block of friendship had stopped you from cumming too many times. You shifted, throwing your other leg over him so you were straddling him properly and ghosted your lips over his own. "You could never scare me," You rolled against him his hard cock digging into your center from beneath tight jeans.
He groaned into your mouth, nails digging into your ass this time. "There are things," He nipped your bottom lip. "That I want to do to you that would take hours we don't have."
"Tell me." You whispered. You wanted to know, needed to know the sick and twisted ways he wanted you because your imagination was vanilla compared to his chaotic mind, because you didn't even know you could cum the way he made you.
"Baby."
You shuddered against him. "I don't care." You mumbled. You wanted him to be buried inside you; you wanted to crawl inside his skin. "Let them see you ruin me."
He kissed you hard, deep, tongue dipping along your throat, scraping against your cheek as his hips bucked up into you. You think he would have done it, truly, wrecked your very being if not for the loud tug of a metal door followed by a mess of voices.
You flew away from each other sliding into your metal chairs. Both of your hair was wild as he turned towards his friends who seemed suspicious of the musky smell of sex and hot air of mangled breath, but none the wiser. You tried to pull it together, wrangle down the knots in your hair from him before standing up. Thank God for your skirt hiding all the gush of arousal he had pulled from you, but now it had just left a cool stickiness to your skin.
Suddenly multiple eyes stared at you; you glanced at Eddie who was moving back towards you. You glanced down, admiring his skill to hide his hard length beneath jeans and long t-shirts, but watched his hand reached out to tug gently on your skirt unbunching it from where it had twisted into your underwear.
"I uh," You pointed towards the door. "Will be right back." You rushed off hearing the faint accusatory whisper.
"Jesus Eddie, were you trying to eat her?"
He only chuckled, "Princesses are rather tasty."
You understood what he meant when you reached the bathroom mirror. He had clawed and bit up your neck leaving harsh dark red marks along the column of your throat, along your collarbones and jaw. You traced them lightly, body burning at ever memory of his touch. You traced your swollen red lips, the maroon settled in your cheeks, the mess of tangles in your hair.
It was plain to see something had happened. Between your askew clothes, and perked nipples you struggled to subdue the sudden throbbing between your thighs. And as you cleaned off your legs, as you slid your underwear off fingers passing over your swollen clit, you ached for him so much more.
You straightened up your clothes, your hair. You stifled the bite in your lip as you rounded the corner back towards that sweltering room. You pretended nothing happened. You went back into the game oblivious to their suspicions.
Once seated next to Eddie who was quick to place his large hand on your thigh, you slipped something back to him, your drenched panties.
He bit his knuckle smirking at you as they laid across his crotch, you flushed a deep scarlet and knew he hadn't even need to have touched you for you to be ruined.
It was hard to move on from that, hard to go back to some hallow make believe version of friendship when you yearned for his touch across you fevered body. So instead of being on different planets you began to orbit each other, waving became flushed skin and lips between teeth, small talk came with long fingers curling around strands of hair. There was nothing left to blur. You came to Hellfire like it was your new religion begging for those moments it was just the two of you. It was never able to be anything more than swapped spit and heavy petting as his friends began to trickle in before you were allowed more time; always suspicious, always raising eyebrows at your split lips and heavy breathing.
You were half tempted to show up at his trailer as some sort of offering just to curb this pain between your legs for him. It was exhausting, needing him so badly, so roughly you couldn't think of anything else. He could sense it in the way he'd kiss your puffy mouth gently as they unpacked their things, as his thumb drew circles in your thighs rubbing together under the table to create some form of friction.
You'd slouch urging his hand up more only to earn some soft chuckle. It infuriated you so much you passed him a note during passing periods that you couldn't make it tonight due to some club scheduling conflict.
He didn't confront you, well not until the end of the day when you were taking your time packing away all the things you didn't need to bring home, lingering as if you were waiting for him to yank you back into his gravity.
"Wherefore art thou princess?" He called down the hall. You hid your smile behind your locker. You closed it slowly taking in his moving form, hand still holding his heart as he neared you. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."
You rolled your eyes, "You only know it so well because you had to repeat it."
He waggled his finger at you, "I passed English the first time around...it was just everything else." You didn't respond as his fingers reached up tucking a stray piece of hair away. "Maybe I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you every day, what if you found someone decent." He takes your hand to hold it to his chest, "Which brings me to my next point; I checked the schedules and there's no club today so what gives? We just got to the best part in your storyline."
"I..." You shuffled your feet losing focus with his hand on yours, his other twisting between locks of hair. "Why won't you touch me?"
He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "That's what you're upset about?" He chuckled, not rudely, just surprised. Then he's cupping your face, cool rings brushing warm cheeks. "I hate the idea of being rushed, of those nerds seeing you."
You wanted to say you didn't care, but his logic made sense. Something nagged despite it, "Are you embarrassed by me?" Your voice was so quiet. It seemed to add up in that moment, tucking you away before anyone can see, fleeting glances and brushed knuckles under a table, a stolen kiss when eyes were turned away.
He let out a loud laugh. "Of you? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Yeah, you supposed so. He sighed coming in close until his chest was against yours, hips flushed. "I don't want them messing with you, anyone messing with you for that matter." He tilted his head back and forth, "I do admit however to not wanting them thinking my feelings for you are altering the campaign."
Your concerned did seem silly now, and all you could do was copy his small chuckling. "I think...it's just all getting to me."
"What?" It was so innocent with wicked whims behind his eyes. He knew what you were talking about, he wanted you to say it.
"You." You breathed.
He shifted your bodies until your back hit the lockers behind you. "I know baby." He pets your hair, you whined into his mouth begging him to touch you where you needed him to. "It won't be sweet and nice like you pictured if I touched you here."
You didn't picture sweet and nice, you pictured him ravaging you, getting you stuck between his teeth. "I don't," You panted bucking your hips into him. "I don't want..."
His fingers trailed across bare skin along the top of your jeans. "You don't want it?" His mouth pouted against yours. You were breathing heavy, tugging him impossibly closer by his belt loops, nails digging into his wrist bone. "My naughty girl." It went straight down south as his fingers deftly undid the button and zipper of your jeans. "Don't want it special huh? Won't let me spoil you sweet girl? You want it hard and fast dontcha, like some little whore." You tilted your head back letting him drag his mouth down your carotid, tongue warm against it. Your fingers curled against his jacket sleeves as his hand trailed beneath fabric.
You could have cum from the sheer featherlight touch against your clit, but instead a throaty groan worked its way out. "Eddie," You gritted out. "Please."
He stilled and you brought your eyes back to his trying to read what was written there, wonder, concern, lust, a question. "I'll make you feel good princess." He nodded his other hand bringing your jaw towards him. "Have you ever touched yourself down here?" The pads of his fingers tracing your clit. You shuddered with a nod, "How many times did you cum with my face in your head?" You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head. He applied more pressure, and your mouth went slack against his, "Don't lie. You're soaked and I haven't even started."
"No I-!" You gasped as he circled your clit.
"Tell me." He growled.
You tried to focus, worried your confession would scare him away, but with his hand between your legs you didn't care. "I never could," His hand slowed slightly, his brows furrowed. "I tried but it never...never happened."
He pulled back a millimeter taking in this new truth. "Has it ever happened?" You thought back to riding his thigh, he seemed to draw the same conclusion that that had been your first orgasm. "No wonder you get so fucking wet." He kissed your mouth as his fingers pressed down hard. You tried to kiss him back, tried to fight his tongue back but you could only moan, moan as he drew circles into that small bundle of nerves as the heat boiled deep in your belly. He shifted shoving his hand further down your pants the run two fingers along your drenched pussy teasing your throbbing entrance.
You realized now he was covering your mouth with his to stifle the noise that came out of you when he slid two fingers inside of you. He began to thrust them in and out of you, palm rubbing against your clit with every pump of his hand. Gods it felt so good. Your hand had never felt this good, you could never reach, never stroke that sweet spot buried deep within your walls. Here he was, curling at the knuckle to hit everything that set your body on fire cool rings like a chilled ember that scrapped against everything good.
You mewled for him.
"That's it princess," He muttered into your ear. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
His hand went around your back to hold you to him as he fucked you with his hand. "I think...I..." You couldn't think as the pressure built, as your body was wrecked with pleasure.
"I can feel it." He nipped your ear lobe, "Can feel your body clenching around my hand." He moved faster, pressed his palm down harder. Your head fell back as you panted into the air, "Look at you. Letting me fuck you with my hand in the middle of this hallway. The janitors are still here you fucking slut." You arched your back into him trying to match his thrust, "You want someone to find us, see me defiling you."
"Eddie..." You moaned out as you rolled your hips along his hand.
"Eddie?" Another voice. Another person. Gareth. "Everyone's waiting..."
You could see the conflict in his eyes to either stop, yell, or make you cum and then it settled in some strange blown out darkness. "Think I'm embarrassed huh?" Eddie kept fucking you with his hand, bringing you closer and closer to your climax. "Come on just like that." He moved at a brutal pace as he curled his fingers just right, "That it baby, cum on my hand, you got it."
With a strangled cry your vision went out of focus as you clamped down around his hand the orgasm hitting you harder than the last one and it felt so good to clench down on something rather than the idea of it. His hand still moved gently inside of you, pulling you back down to earth and out of your dazed bliss. "I do okay?" You mumbled.
His hand slowly pulled out of you leaving you hollow. "So good, such a good girl."
A throat cleared, Gareth was still standing there, but his back to you now.
You were too boneless to care. "Gareth!" Eddie screeched. "Get the fuck out of here!" He scrambled off finally, "Fucking idiot." Eddie pressed a kiss to your parted lips, "Are you okay?" You nodded his fingers catching on your bottom lip, still glistening with your pleasure. You held onto his wrist bringing them closer to your mouth before sliding them inside. You remembered his thumb and swirled your tongue around his digits tasting the flavor of your pleasure. He groaned hard cock grinding into you, "Fuck greedy girl." You popped him out of your mouth letting his finger pads hover before he trailed them down your chest. He let his forehead rest on yours, "I'm gunna tell them we'll postpone."
You palmed his erection. "They'll be upset with you."
"I don't care." He bucked against your hand. "You were right I need to be touching you more, damn my chivalry."
You got bold, shimmied your hand down the lip of his pants until your hand was gripping the hard length of his. "Oh." You whispered staring up at him, you weren't sure what to do and the length intimidated you so you did the only thing you could think of and slid your hand down the shaft and back up again.
He shuddered. "You don't have-!"
"I want to." You cut him off. "But I need..." You blushed at the reminder of your inexperience, "I need you to defile me."
His forearm slammed into your chest throwing you back against the lockers with a harsh sound as you kept moving your hand up and down him. "I'm gunna explode if you don't stop." You didn't want to stop, you wanted him to have that feeling he gave you. You wanted to watch how he came undone under your fingers.
"Should I use my mouth instead?"
"Fucking hell baby, you're killing me."
Suddenly loud footsteps slapped against the floor and Dustin had stumbled upon you with hands covering his eyes. "Remove any elbows and please rejoin the party." He pointed an accusatory finger at the opposite wall not knowing where you two lurked, "Or else."
You stilled; Eddie blew out angry air. "I'm gunna kill you Henderson." You felt him soften slightly in your hold as he helped your hand out of his pants before redoing your own. Eddie grabbed your bag for you while Dustin disappeared the way he came realizing Eddie was listening to instructions. "Was that really the first time you had an orgasm?" You nodded, "Well I hope it was special." He slung an arm around your shoulder pulling you close.
You smiled up at him, "Anything with you is special." He rolled his eyes at you, "And anyways when are you gunna get it through your thick head; I'm not some doe-eyed schoolgirl you're gunna break."
"I can't help it if you blush like some sweet virgin every time I call you baby." He waited for the response that never came, "That's because you are." He answers his own question. "God I am so fucked up, maybe I am what everyone says I am."
You stopped at the metal door and looked up at him through his curtain of dark hair. You traced the outline of his cock, "And I am so god-damn wet every-time you look at me." His cock stirred in his jeans, your lashes fluttered up at him. "What does that say about your princess?"
The noise beyond the door caught up to you as you let Eddie hold it open to walk inside. They were gathered around the table comparing elbows when you walked up to them. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"Gareth said you were 'elbow deep.' in her pants." Dustin had repeated. "And we were trying to understand the logistics of that."
Your face burned red and you forced yourself to cover it as Eddie began shouting at them, reminding them he would scalp them all if they even mentioned anything to anyone especially you. "Get back to the game!"
"We were waiting on you Sir Elbows!" Mike argues back.
Eddied shot him a cold glare and Mike settled back into his seat. "Fine. Fine. Yes. You're in for it now kids." He beckoned you towards him. "You stumbled upon the crumbling palace that once could have belonged to a mighty king. Now, it houses a horrid dragon pent on roasting you the minute you try to save your endearing princess." You watched him move the dragon figurine into place unable to curb the feeling of them curling inside of you. You watch his mouth as he keeps talking, keeps moving them into place. He's handing them dice, pushing hair out of his face, and you wanted him to shove it all off and take you right here.
His eyes are on you, and you melt a little inside, new wetness seeping out of you. You know your cheeks are red as they sear into you, you know he detects it. He just motioned to the game with his eyes. "Hmm." It comes out a soft whine, a soft moan.
Eddie ticks your chin with his thumb knuckle. "Our party has discovered you princess."
The cloud of lust clears and you give your head a shake, clearing your throat. "Artificer." You say, Eddie gives you a small smile.
"Oh no." It's Dustin.
You turn to meet their gaze. "She's not just an inventor, but an alchemist, a magical engineer!" Eddie rages on, "And as you race in to save her you find her attaching a shimmering golden bridle atop the dragon which has the power to control the wild beast. She had played you the fool, used her fake rescue to attract the dragon to her side to destroy her father's kingdom. And now she will use you to fuel her ferocious beast"
A collective groan, an 'I told you so' from Lucus and a loud maniacal laugh from Eddie. The game rages on, you get caught up in as well, acting out along with the rest of them falling into this safe world of Eddie's mind. It spins you around in a swirl of wild dice and you're not sure you could ever walk away unchanged.
You help him clean up quietly as everyone leaves, moving around each other like twin moons. You stop in front of him. You drop to your knees and blink up at him.
"Tell me what to do." You run your hands down his jean clad thighs, fingers toying with the silver chain attached.
"Baby," He breathed growing harder and harder as you pull the button loose, as you trail the zipper down.
Your eyes quiver, "Please. I want..." You can't say it; it's too foul. You want the taste of him in your mouth, you want to feel him deep in your throat until you gagged, you wanted him to fuck your mouth so hard you cried. "I want to make you feel good too." You settled for.
He groaned, "Just...let me know..." He pulled himself free of his underwear. "If it's too much." It was going to be too much; you weren't sure how it was even supposed to fit in your mouth. You should have started with the hand thing again. You slowly brought it up, "Yeah start there and-!" He hissed as you stroked him gently as you used your hand to softly glide along the shaft. "Open your mouth." His fingers dug into your hair as you moved forward, mouth open, tongue outstretched licking the head ever so slightly. "Fuck okay okay keep going. It's okay if you can't fit the whole thing."
You mumbled some understanding and took him into your mouth. He tasted salty and smelled like Eddie and your tongue lapped around him until the tip of him hit the back of your throat. You gagged.
"Shit." He tried to push you off slightly, but you shook him off pulling back and sucking him in again until it was a steady pace of you choking on him. "Gods fuck you're such a slut." You moaned against him, sucking him deeper, spit pooling around your mouth. "Use your hand." You brought it up twisting it around all the places your jaw couldn't fit as his hips moved with your movements, as he used his grip in your hair to move you faster. You let him, let him use you to get off. You blinked up at him, wide eyed wonder as you watched him fall apart. "Don't ah..." He stared back down at you sucking in your cheeks to seal him in better, to hold his cock tighter in your mouth. "Look at you." He cupped your jaw, spit running down your neck. "Take it so well, let me do whatever I want to you, letting me fuck your throat."
You ran your tongue along the underside feeling him twitch heavenly.
"You want me to cum down your throat?" He gave your face a slight slap, "What about this pretty face huh?" You squeezed his thigh letting him know whatever he wanted, he could have.
So, he thrusted into your mouth faster, you gripped him harder, until the end got messy and loud and uncoordinated. His hips stuttered and he ripped out of your mouth stroking himself as hot ropes of cum shot all over your face, chest, gaping mouth. He had covered you in it, claiming you, marking you.
You ran your hands along your coated lips, the sticky substance gathering along your fingers before you sucked them into your mouth too, moaning at the taste of him on your tongue.
"You are..." You peered up at him through cum covered eyelids. "Magnificent."
A movie plays on in the background, some slasher film you're both are mindlessly watching. It wasn't strange for you to be here watching movies with Eddie while his uncle was away at work you had done it for ages. The difference: now your limbs were tangled beyond recognition. Before it was an innocent thigh brush, a hand to a shoulder when you jumped, a gentle head to bicep when you began to doze off and he inevitably would drive you home.
Now you weren't sure where you began and he ended. You were tucked between his legs, head against his chest as he stroked fingers through hair, down skin. "Lucus was on to me from the beginning." You chuckled
"He's too smart for his own good." Eddie replies. You can hear him rummaging around for his stray can of beer.
You can smell the stale alcohol of it and it twist something in your gut, "I can't believe they bridled me." You weren't overly surprised by their choice to put you down; you were surprised when they opted to leash you instead to keep your skills tethered to them.
"It was a good move." He took a drink. "Need more than that to rein you in." He set the can down to run the back of his cool fingers down your bare skin, "I can feel you blushing from here princess."
You peeked up at him, "I can't help it."
He cooed, "I know baby." He licks his lips, beer still leaving a shine behind as he stares down at you. You can't help your thighs from pressing together, he catches the movement fingers trailing up and down skin like he knew what he was doing to you. "I've always known."
You chew on your lips the sound of a porn star dying almost drowning out your voice. "It wasn't like that back then."
"Wasn't it?" He has an evil playful gleam in his eyes seeing right through you. "You don't think I noticed every time your breath hitched, feel you stuttering pulse beneath your wrist." He leans in close fingers dragging inward towards a pulsing heat. "I noticed princess, noticed that god forsaken blush on your face, noticed every-time you tried to rub away all those urges, the inclines of your chin begging me with those fuck me eyes."
You try to contain the noise as his fingers ghost over you, "Why didn't...you..."
"Fuck you?" He toys with the hem of your underwear as your legs open for him completely desperate for him. He chuckles to himself, "I didn't want to corrupt you." He beneath fabric now bare fingers gliding along wetness. "But you make it so easy." You hate him in this moment for stringing you out, teasing you, making you wait when all along he knew what you had wanted, even before you had.
Nails dig into his wrist, "Eddie..." You whine trying to shimmy your body onto his fingers.
He indulged you, slips two fingers inside hooking them deep within your cunt and you gasp out into open air. "This was what you wanted hmm?" He grunts into your head with every heard thrust of his hand inside of you, "Look at you, so fucking desperate for it, bet you'd let me do anything to you."
Anything. Anything for you. Anything.
You realize you're saying it out-loud too, but it's true. In these moments, with his fingers extracting every ounce of pleasure, you lose all sense of caring. You lose the right or wrong ways to go; there was only this, only him. His other hand comes around cupping your breast, kneading the flesh into his palm, pinching at your nipples through fabric. He moves down your body until he's got one hand inside of you, and the other rubbing circles into your clit. You arch back into him as he tries to pin your legs down with his own, but it only works when he shifts slightly using his weight to hold you halfway underneath him.
He's grinding his hips against your ass relentlessly as his hand pulls you apart from the inside. You have a sudden sense that maybe he'll just push your clothes to the side and shove his cock into you. You realize you want him to. You want him to shove you deep into the mattress until your suffocating while he pounds into you. You want to tell him, tell him to take you however he wants, but instead you cum in a muffled cry against bunched up sheets. "That's it, there you go, so good, so-Ah Fuck!"
Your fist had wrapped around his cock. It's sloppy and uncoordinated as you try to use everything, he taught you. You use precum to slide your hand down his length. He's close, you can tell but the small gasp he gives when you tighten ever so slightly. He probably would have cum in his pants if you had let him rut against you a little but longer. But you need to feel him in your hands, feel his nails dig into your body as you work him faster. "Mouth?" Is all you can ask him.
"You know where I want to cum," He growls into your shoulder, teeth bared against your shirt. You go to roll over to let him have you how he wants, but his hand on your hip stops you. "Gods fuck baby just because I want to..." He trails off.
"I want you to."
He pulls his other hand out of you despite your cry of protest and holds you still as he thrust into your palm. You let go for a moment, plunging you hand inside of yourself to gather every drop you could before sliding it back down his shaft. "How are you so fucking nasty?"
"You," You whisper as your hand glides more easily against him. It isn't long until cum splatters against your legs and back, seeping between thighs and sheets. You pump him full of it, draining every last drop until he begins to grow soft in your hand. You lay there for a moment both spent and drenched in pleasure, "Do you think my parents will let me come over for movie night still if I come home reeking on cum?"
He laughed loudly pushing away from you, pulling his clothes from his body to clean himself up. You trace the lines of his body with your eyes, the dark ink coating his skin, the chained pick around his neck. He finds a lone pack of cigarettes and shoving one between his teeth the only light in his room the faint glow of the TV. "Guess you'll just have to stay the night then." He ignites the lighter, sticking it to the end before inhaling deeply. In this state he looks like the dragon you imagined had stolen you away; black hair like dark scales, smoke billowing around him, red ember of the cigarette alight in his mouth. "Come here." You scooch to the edge of the bed as he stands in front of you every deep inhale casting an orange glow upon his features. You go up onto your knees as his hand tilts your chin upwards. "Are you going to let me do dirty things to you in the dark?"
You're dizzy from the nicotine swirling around him, from him. "I told you to quit smoking."
He cups your face bringing his other hand towards your mouth pressing the cigarette pass your lips. "You did, but I'm not as good as a listener as you." You know what he wants, to prove that he can, as if you had ever given him a moment to doubt that. You take a drag struggling it down, letting it burn and spin inside your lungs, exhaling it back into his face. He smirks.
He puts out his cigarette, and then he's on you. Hands raking through your hair as his tongue delves into your mouth. You taste the smoke still on his breath, the lingering sip of a cheap can of beer. He's moving with your body, backing you until you fall back into his bed, He slots himself between your legs hand pushing up your shirt to grab onto your breast trying to imprint that shape into his hand He kisses you deeper. "I want to do something."
You nod against him. "For you?"
He huffed a laugh against your lips, "For you sweet girl." He kissed you softly, "It will feel good."
You believe him.
He descended your body; he pulled your pants and underwear down your legs discarding them off of the bed. He pulled your knees up and out staring down at the burning heat between them casted in the flicker of the TV light. "So pretty," He mutters to himself as he lays flat against your bed. You stare up at the ceiling as his mouth attaches itself to your clit. He feasts on you; tongue licking up and down your entrance, circling your clit delicately as your squirm beneath him. He places a hand on your stomach; an elbow digs into your thigh to keep your legs apart.
You're fighting the scream, fighting him as you rake nails across his shoulders, a tight grip forming into his scalp as he moves his tongue wildly against your clit. You're going to black out, it's too much, too good, and you wonder if God had sent Eddie into your life to bring you the pleasure you always imagined but could never get. You didn't know it was supposed to feel like this, that this level of indulgence was allowed.
Eddie ravishes you; he pushes two fingers inside of you, and your hips buck into his face letting them hit everything that feels good. You taste copper as you bite your lip too hard holding back the noises trapped in your chest. You feel him humming against you, speaking into your cunt as something tight pulls from within. "Let it out baby." He murmurs into your cunt as the sound breaks free of your throat. You're moaning for him, falling through endless skies as he yanks every string loose., his name like a chant in his dark bedroom.
You hold your breath. He wraps his lips around your clit and the small sigh leaves as your orgasm slams into you. Your vision explodes as you throw your head back, as you gush around him, over him, through him. It's intense and blurry and you're not sure if its ten seconds or ten hours but when you come too, he's still lapping you up. It hurts slightly, you give him a soft shove and he's tugging his fingers from you, sitting up.
The TV's glow illuminates your pleasure glistening along his chin and jaw. "How do I taste?" You ask.
He leans down, hovering over you. "Like heaven."
Then he's kissing you, the taste of yourself spilling into your mouth with every breath exchanged, and you would drown in it just to keep his mouth attached to yours. "Did I do okay?"
"You did perfect princess." He chuckles against you. "Did it feel good?" He asks sliding next to your body, brushing hair away from the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead.
"Yes." You answered a slow blink in your tired eyes.
He kissed you once more, sweetly, tongue gently caressing yours, hand a cage against your hip, the air of possession suddenly mingling into the heavy room. You wanted to fall asleep within his arms, warm and safe, entrapped and surrounded by him, you didn't care who found you in the morning. His hand moved down your body again coming in contact with your nakedness.
"Eddie," You mumbled, bones heavy. "Tired."
"Shh shh," He kissed your shoulder. "Remember what I said," He kissed your sternum, your beating heart. "Just close your eyes," He kissed your belly. "Let me make you feel good." He kissed you between your legs.
His tongue was moving again against your clit, soft waves pulling you to and fro in a current of bliss. Your eyes were closed you think, or maybe the room was just that dark, but the pillow dragged you down as Eddie dragged your soul somewhere else, somewhere beyond your reach. It felt safe in his hands. In the sharp dig of his fingers in the flesh of your thigh, in the teeth gnashing against your clit, against the lash of his tongue within your throbbing entrance.
He stayed down there for hours, feasting on something forbidden. You slept deep and peaceful, until the pressure built too high to which he'd slap a hand over your mouth as you came against his own.
With your part in the campaign inevitably ended you were worried that that was the end of whatever was going on between you and Eddie.
That was far from the truth.
"I have class." You would force into his mouth as he shoved you in an out of order bathroom stall hand already halfway down your pants.
"Skip." He bites into your already broken and busted lip. "I always do."
You tried to laugh but it broke off into a moan as he pushed half his hand inside of you, "That's why..." Another gasp. "You failed." Was all you could accomplish getting out as he fucked you with his hand hard and fast plunging his knuckles into your mouth to stop any noises as girls would migrate in and out, in and out, in and out.
He wouldn't stop until you came at least twice and by then the bell would have rang marking you late. So, you did the only logical thing and got down onto your knees for him so you could go give your teacher some dumb excuse with his cum in your molars.
It was disgusting the way you seemed insatiable when it came to him, and him just as putrid to gratify the urges.
In the quiet moments as classes droned on, as you ate dinner with your family, the silent walk in the halls after a wrecking orgasm; you wondered what it all meant. Would you always be here in this perplexed state of needing him or would there ever come more. You tried to imagine it, a simple home, a simple life with jobs and children and normality. Eddie wasn't normal and neither was what was festering inside of you like some harsh fever, some aliment you only had one solution for.
"Let me take you out tonight," His hands were on your hips kissing you into the locker as students milled about beyond his shoulders.
People groaned. "Ugh get a room."
It was easy to ignore them with his tongue down your throat, his fingers brushing against skin. "Where?"
"It's a surprise." He smirked. "A date."
"A date?" You blushed.
He traced the pink tint, "Figured I owed you one finally." You laughed slightly as he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, "I'll pick you up at 7."
You got ready quickly trying to look cute even though he had seen almost every part of you naked and exposed. Your dad was at the bottom of the stairs, "Do you need a ride?" You shook your head, he knew you were 'hanging out' with Eddie. "How is he?" He shuffled his feet, behind him your mother packed up dinner trying to pretend she wasn't listening.
"Good," You nodded taking small steps down the stairs until you were in front of him.
"He's being...nice?"
You laughed, "Yes. A perfect gentleman."
Your dad nodded, "Good, maybe you can get him back on track. He's a good kid, but he could be more than that if he'd just screw his head on better."
You tried to smile. Eddie was a good man, but you also liked how he wasn't good either. You liked that he was raw and intimidating and a loose cannon. You thought it ironic that your father thought you could change him, maybe you could, maybe you didn't want to as something changed inside you too. "He's on track to graduate this year with me."
He smiles, relieved, like what he said was already working. "I bet his uncle is happy he has you."
He picked you up at 7:06, loud music coming from his van. He waved out of the window at your parents as you skipped over to him.
"Hi princess," He beamed at you, cigarette alight between fingers, leaning on the window's frame. You reached up to kiss him, but he set the tan end of his cigarette in your mouth watching you with lazy eyes "Suck," He commanded, so you did. Harsh air ripped through your throat, your lungs and you fought the urge to cough as you inhaled nicotine. He took it away and then slammed his mouth to yours stealing away all the air you had sucked in. You felt lightheaded as he held your face to his, mouth melting into yours. You'd stay like this forever, but he pulls away smirking at you. "Get in baby."
You went around the other side letting him push the door open so you could slide in before he sped off. You didn't ask where he was taking you, you knew it would be somewhere quiet. There would be no candlelight dinners with rich wines and small portions. There would be no dive bars with loud, old music, no drive-in movies or roller rinks. You could only hope he would make you laugh and maybe get a free soda out of it.
After 20 minutes of driving, of his hand resting on your thigh and a mixtape playing through the radio; he pulled off of the main road, gravel crunching under tires, until it turned into dirt, until it turned it soft grass.
He turned off the car a wild gleam in his eyes and threw the door open running around the side to open yours and drag you into the night. He trudges you around the back where he flung the back doors open and yanked a large blanket out laying it flat on the ground.
He pulled you down with him, back against a soft bed of grass. "Henderson said there was a chance Venus would be visible tonight." He dug in his pocket pulling out a creased piece of paper filled with strange drawings and scribbled words. He compared it to the night sky and shot a finger forward at a brighter light, "There."
You smiled at him, "Amazing."
He took you by the chin and turned your eyes upward where you finally took a look. "What would you do without me?"
"Never see Venus." You chuckled then tapped the paper, "But I think this one is all Henderson."
He curled you under his arm as your eyes trailed over the glittering sky, the full moon. "They keep asking me what it is exactly I do to you in the dark of the night."
"Did you tell them that you binge on my flesh for twisted ecstasy?" You peer up sideways at him. You tried to cover most of it up, but Eddie had a tendency to leave a stain. Bites and harsh marks from sucking too hard, bruises and nail indents, the split in your lip that was almost fully scabbed over from his teeth yanking too hard. Like a deer being ripped open by the wolf, only to be licked so affectionately it could only be called love. Then it dawned on you, "They want tips you sick freak!"
He only laughed, "I only indulge them a little, they can't know all my secrets."
And because he was Eddie, and you were you, you perched up onto your elbow the dark hiding the blush on your cheeks, "Can I know all your secrets?"
"Hmm," His thumb strokes the soft color he knew was there, like the color had been swirled and crafted just for him. "Maybe just one." He leans upward to attach his mouth to yours, a hand under your jaw as yours goes to his chest lips gliding over one another, tongue pushing past teeth to taste his gums. You stay like that for minutes, hours, years; time drags on within his mouth and neither of you come up for air, suffocating in each other as tongues caress each other, as he licks the roof of your mouth.
He pushes you lightly until your back hits the blanket, sharp greenery pocking through. He fans hair around your head as his creates a curtain over you, he stares down at you, waiting. "Well go on," You whisper. "Tell me."
"You already know princess." His mouth quirked up as the heat crept into your face. You did know, you had always known and now here you were laid out for him skin flayed, chest cracked open, ribs flared, blood oozing from a wound that he adorned with kisses. You were his, from the day your father walked you over to him; a sweet little gift all for him. So you would be; his, he had made certain of it. He had wanted his princess, so he stole her away, defiled and ravaged her, and kept her prisoner inside his black heart. This violent doting was nothing short of love; you wanted him to reach inside the mush of ligaments and tissues to let your heart finally take its place in his hands. He kissed along your jaw, "Are you gunna let me fuck you?"
Anything for you. "Of course, Eddie."
He smirked into goosebump covered skin, "That's my girl." He wastes no time peeling off every single layer of clothing until you're bare underneath him. He cups your breast, kneading his fist into them, pinching perked nipples before he wraps his mouth around them. You whine for him, back arching into his mouth as his tongue swirls around the bud, nipping slightly until you wince. "Sorry," He mutters.
You shake your head, "Don't hold back."
His mouth is on your other breast lavishing it just as much, nipping just as hard even as you wince again. "You don't know what you're getting into with that." You didn't care as his mouth stills as he looks up at you, as he studies your features. "Okay but you need to tell me if anything hurts." You nodded earnestly as he went down on you.
You wonder if anyone else would have treated your body so delicately during these intimate moments, or if you would have dealt with an unenjoyable sex life. You wonder if you should have lost your virginity sooner so you could be more experienced with him. It's not like you had been waiting for marriage, but you never had a boyfriend, and a one-night stand didn't seem right either. It felt right to be handled by Eddie, he was your best friend, now something more, something that felt more permanent.
He licks your clit slow, with a knowing ease, soft swirls around it that already had you head falling back. You found Venus against, using it as an anchor as Eddie moved your body to a different plane. Your fingers run through his hair as he presses down hard inserting two fingers. His movements are different; he takes his time stretching and opening you up for him, taking his time with you. You gasp as his fingers curl caressing that spongey part of you that feels too good, his tongue drawing languid circles into your clit. The stars are blurring as the warmth spreads over your body, you feel his shoulder pin you squirming thigh down, the other legs curling and uncurling along the blanket.
It's his small muttering against your pussy that sends you over the edge. You know what he's saying, can remember ever soft encouragement to gently guide you towards sexual bliss. When you glance back down his hand is still buried inside of you, but he isn't moving, it's just sitting there as he slowly undoes his jeans letting his hard cock spring free. In this moment, it looks too big, and you remember the countless times you gagged on it, remember the heaviness of it when it sat on your tongue, in your hand.
"I'm scared," It slips out as he finally takes his hand out using your sopping pleasure to stroke himself.
His hand doesn't stop, but he asks, "Do you not want to?"
You shake your head, "No, I do, I'm just worried it won't..."
He only laughs as he climbs over your body slotting himself between your legs the tip of him sliding along your soaked entrance, "Oh it'll fit, just won't be pretty."
"I'm glad it's you Eddie," You whisper up at him.
His kiss his featherlight. "For you, baby, anything." He pushes into you slowly, so achingly slow and you can tell why. You feel him stretching something deep inside until it feels like there's no more skin to give. Your pelvic bone shudders with the groaning fill of him. Nails dig into his biceps, "Fuck." It's an involuntary sound. "You gotta," He takes a deep breath, "Relax." You can't, you can't breathe, you can't even tell him it hurts. He shifts pulling at the skin of your thigh to separate the skin more, to allow him to push in a few more inches. Your insides feel like they're ripping apart and you grit through your teeth. He groans, plants his elbow next to your head and pushes the rest of the way in your scream getting swallowed by the moon.
You feel the gush of a broken hymen aiding in his burrowing into you. He doesn't move, neither do you as the tip of him kisses your cervix, you just breath against each other. "Eddie." Your voice is cracked. You can't sit like this as everything throbs painfully aware of him inside you. "Move."
"Hold on, just..." He takes a deep breath. "You're too tight I'm gunna cum too fast." The pain is a dull ache inside of you, so you try to relax, he feels it too. He begins to move, begins to pull back slightly and push back into you warming you up to the movement. You wince with every jerk of him trying to ease into it, so you try to focus on him. On his face screwed up in concentration, on his occasionally glance down to watch as his cock disappears inside of you, on the way his hands have begun to creep around your throat. "You feel so fucking good."
His words make the pain ebb completely, "You gunna fuck me for hours Eddie like you promised." His dark eyes bear into yours like a man possessed.
He squeezes on the soft skin of your neck, toying with the air coming in quick and fast to your lungs, "You want me to? Want me to fuck you so hard you can't walk next week? Want me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name?" His grip goes firm and suddenly you can't breathe again. "That's right you do because you're a fucking whore, you let me ravage you and you fucking like it." He thrust into you fast, his cock filling you so completely you can't think of anything else but each brutal stroke of him. He let's go of your neck air rushing into your lungs as you cling to him. He dips low, sucking and kissing and biting every spare piece of flesh you would give him. He takes it all like it was never yours, and maybe it never was, "You're mine you understand that? Mine." His teeth dig into your jaw, "Say it."
You can't, you can't breathe, can't focus on a single thought. "Yo...u." Finds a way up your throat and he's pulling up and away from you until he looms over your body his cock hitting a deeper angel and moan leaves your throat.
He spits on your open mouth, "Fucking tell me what I want to hear."
"Yours," Your tongue darts out to taste his spit. "Always. Yours."
He's rabid after that, fucking you so furiously you can't see straight. His fingers find your clit, and he presses down into it making your back arch, "My pussy, fucking made for me, wanted this for so long, wanted you." He brutalized you and you were gunna cum because of it, mind not comprehending his confession. "Take it so good princess." He grabs a fistful of your ass using the momentum to push your knee up into his chest tilting your hips upward. "Want to fuck you every day, wanna ruin you for everyone else." A guttural groan comes out and before you could stop it, you're clenching around him the stars blinking out of existence until all you felt was the steady thrust of his body. He's got two hands on your hips slamming you down onto his cock. He's saying something you can only catch fragments, "Cum...in..." You only nod not sure what you're even agreeing too but you wanted him to fill you, to carve a home for himself inside your body, let it fester and rot, let it grow in your womb so you could claw it out of your body for him on a silver platter.
You catch the moaning growl as his hip stutter, as warmth fills you. He thrust slowly as if letting your pussy milk every last drop out of him. He still doesn't pull out, "Did I do okay?" You ask groggily.
"Perfect," He breaths out finally pulling out. You feel hallow and empty without him, but he's quick to wrap you up in arms. "How do you feel?"
"Good. Sore." He forces his shirt over your naked body then places your head on his chest. "Thirsty."
"Whatever the princess wishes."
"What do you want to do forever?" You asked soda between palms, under a new blanket, feet dangling off the edge of his van while he leaned against the frame smoking a cigarette. You're still wearing his shirt, still leaking his cum out of you as the gas station lights flicker overhead.
He took a deep inhale of smoke and smirked. "You." You rolled your eyes, "Obviously I'm not good at the education thing, but something with music." He takes another long drag contemplating his motives, "Go out west, try to make some sort of name for myself."
"You're good with kids." You remind him. His eyes go to your abdomen painted with his semen. "No," You laugh. "I mean have you ever considered teaching, like for music?"
He smiles, something genuine. "Maybe when life gets boring." He drops the cigarette stomping the butt of it under his shoe. He comes towards you, hands on either side of you, "And what do you want to be?"
You mull it over for a minute taking a long-contemplated drink already knowing your answer. You set the Styrofoam cup down meeting his gaze, "Does this mean I'm in the club?" You motioned to his t-shirt covering your bare skin.
He laughed, "You can be co-owner, put you name next to mine in the yearbook."
"Okay," Your fingers toy with the chain around his neck as he waits for your answer. "I'd rather die than be anything but your girl."
His features faultered not expecting that answer from you. He moved slightly, cupping your face in his hands as he stands now in front of you, looming like some statue of a dark god you found grace in. "Don't you want someone good?" His words settle low. It reminded you of what your father had said that Eddie was a good kid but hadn't figured it out yet. You never saw it that way; Eddie was good to you, that was all that mattered.
"Good men die too," You whispered. "So I'd rather be with you."
His fingers curled against your skull, "Well then princess I guess I'll just have to keep you prisoner forever."
Your cheeks tinged with pink, "Promise?"
He leaned in close, pressed a kiss to your waiting lips. "Forever and a day."
endnotes: HAHAH if i had a nickel for every time I used cannibalism as a metaphor for love i'd have two nickels.
hey girlfriends !!! after a year of what felt like countless appointments, ive recently got my diagnosis of postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (pots). was hoping to find a community where people with pots & other chronic illnesses can share experiences and advice with eachother <3
Summary: Reader wants a man to love her like her father loves her mom. She just hasn't met him yet.. maybe.
AN: I needed a break from all the angst I'm writing.
Wc: 1494
Cw: use of Y/N, oblivious reader, idiots in love, not proof read
Part two
“Lily, I implore you to raise your standards.” You snarked as you entered the kitchen, giving your mother a kiss on the cheek and she playfully pinched your side.
“{Y/N} Euphemia Potter!” She scolded and you giggled, hurrying over to your father and kissing on the head.
“Good morning, princess.” He hummed and you smiled.
“Morning daddy!”
“Oi! Pops, she just insulted me!” James shouted across the table and Fleamont huffed, looking up at you. “Be nice to your brother, princess.”
“Daddy you know I can't.” You insisted as you walked across the table to give Lily a hug. Pressing your cheek to hers as she giggled.
“You're way too pretty for my wack of a brother.” You continued and your mother looked at her father fondly, taking his hand in her own, which he quickly squeezed in return.
“You're one to talk, you haven't dated anyone… ever. Not that anyone would date-” James smirked and Lily rolled her eyes, laying her head on his chest and pinching his side as he tried to continue.
“Ouch!”
“Thank you Lily.” You giggled and sat down at your seat, muttering a thank you to Sirius as he handed you your morning tea. Giving a low hum at the smell of the sugars and fragrant tea leaves he shifted for it. “Besides, I have standards that prevent me from stooping too low.”
“Standards?” James scoffed and you hummed as you took a sip of your tea, muttering another thanks to Sirius who began to serve you breakfast- a routine you two picked up at Hogwarts that was getting hard to break. “You have standards? You used to crush on boys left and right!”
“Yes but the second they didn't meet my standards they were gone.” You insisted with a hum and James shook his head with a scoff.
“What standards could you possibly be talking about?”
“Well…” You muttered and began to tap on your mug in thought. Slowly smiling to yourself. “I want a man who loves me like daddy loves mum.”
You could feel the room quiet as your words hung in the air. Your father glanced up from his breakfast, a soft smile spreading across his face, while your mother’s eyes sparkled with pride.
“Now that is a standard I can get behind,” Fleamont said, his voice warm and filled with affection. “A man who cherishes you and treats you with respect is worth waiting for.”
“Exactly!” You exclaimed, feeling a surge of confidence. “I want someone who understands the value of love and partnership, not just a fleeting crush. Someone who will stand by me through thick and thin, just like you two do.”
James rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning back and throwing his arm around Lily. “So, like us?”
You gave a long sigh before you slowly smiled. “Unfortunately, yes. You were gifted with dad’s love language, it's your only redeeming quality, I fear.”
Lily snickered and James gave an offended gasp.
“I want…” You trailed off as you put your hand to your cheek and crossed your leg over the other. “I want to come home to flowers. And tea made the way he knows I like. I want him to think about coming home to me at the end of the day.”
You didn't even seem to look when Sirius poured more tea into your cup, stirring in some sugar as you talked. Even though everyone else at the table noticed.
“I want a man who gets along with my parents too! And daddy has high enough standards as it is!”
You glanced over at your father, who was smiling proudly at you, his eyes twinkling with affection as he glanced at your mother who seemed to just be eating it up. “I do have high standards.” He mumbled with a playful grin, leaning in to kiss your mothers temple. “But I’m confident that any young man would be lucky to have you.”
“See?” You said, pointing at him with a mock-serious expression. “Even Dad agrees! So, boys, do take note: you’ve got to bring your A-game if you want to win my heart.”
James snorted, not noticing as Lily and Sirius seemed to make eye contact over the table. “What if they show up with flowers but no charm? Or worse, what if they have charm but no flowers? Sounds like a dilemma.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “That’s why I’m not settling for just flowers or just charm, James. It’s about the whole package. I want someone who knows me better than anyone. Someone who knows my favorite flower,” You held up your finger and Sirius smirked from beside you.
“Sunflowers.”
“My favorite movie,”
“Grease.”
“My favorite book,”
“Little Woman.”
“And even my favorite meal!”
“Anything your mom cooks.”
“Exactly!” You turned to face Sirius with a bright smile. “See? It's not so hard, even my brothers best friend can figure it out.”
You smiled to yourself and took another sip of tea, not noticing your parents sharing a look and your brother giving you the most shocked expression.
Sirius just chuckled and picked a grape off his plate. “It's easy when you never shut it, Potter.” He then proceeded to flick it at you, quickly, you caught it and rolled it between your fingers.
“Oh! And playful too! I don't want to be dreadfully bored around the bloke.”
“Playful? So you want someone who can keep up with your incessant snark?” James interjected, eyebrows raised in mock disbelief. “Good luck finding that! You’ll be searching for ages.”
You shot him a playful glare. “I’ll have you know that my wit is one of my greatest assets, thank you very much. I need someone who can challenge me, not someone who’s going to sit there and nod while I talk.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Lily chimed in, her voice light and teasing. “After all, who would want to date someone as dull as a rock?”
“Exactly!” You grinned. “I want someone who can banter with me, someone who can make me laugh until I cry; I want to marry my best friend.”
“Do you have other friends?” Sirius sassed and you gave him an offended but playful gasp.
“Excuse me?” You exclaimed, hand over your heart in mock horror. “I have plenty of friends, thank you very much! Just because you’re one of them doesn’t mean you can throw shade like that.”
“Friends who actually like you, though?” Sirius teased, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “That’s the real question.”
James burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Honestly, {Y/N}, you might need to reconsider your definition of ‘friends’ if he’s the best you’ve got.”
“Hey now, I’ll have you know that Sirius is a very valuable friend.” You shot back, your eyes narrowing playfully. “And let's not forget, I was Lily’s favorite Potter first.”
“You still are!” Lily cooed as she reached across the table, James quickly lifting his hands to keep you two apart.
“Hey! Hands off my wife!” He playfully scolded and you laughed, before giving a dramatic sigh.
“I want a man… who’s patient and sweet. Who knows what he wants and will take his time for it.” You nodded as if to agree with yourself. “I want someone who doesn't see me as some fleeting crush. He sees me as someone to work for, who puts in the time and energy.”
James smirked, leaning forward with a teasing grin. “Good luck with that! You’re going to have to beat them off with a stick.”
“I’m serious, James!” You shot back, a hint of frustration lacing your voice. “I want someone who values me, not just for my looks or what I can do, but for who I am. Someone who appreciates my quirks and my drive. Someone who knows all my little weird things.”
“Wow, when did you become so profound?” Sirius said, feigning shock as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Potter.”
“Oh, shut it, Black. I’m just stating facts.” You replied, your tone playful yet earnest. “I deserve someone who sees my worth and is willing to fight for it, just like my dad did for my mum.”
Your father smiled at that, clearly pleased with your sentiment. “That’s right, my dear. Love is about commitment and effort.” He stood up and walked around the table to kiss your temple. “You should never settle for less than you deserve.”
“Exactly!” You nodded, feeling empowered. “I want a man who knows that love isn’t a race.”
“Mhm.” You father agreed before he patted Sirius’s back as he passed. “Good luck, son.”
Sirius felt his face flush and he slowly smirked to himself, biting his cheek.
You looked at him and furrowed your brow, before you mother came over and kissed your cheek and dismissed herself as well.
“What was that for?” You huffed and Sirius shrugged.
james potter x reader, black!brothers! x fem!sister!reader
'Til All That's Left Is Glorious Bone— part 3 (extra)
synopsis: in which being a black means learning to carry a legacy you never asked for — and even after escaping its weight, your name still clings to you like a shadow. while everyone else seems to move on, you are left behind with doubt. but james, steady as ever, stands beneath the rain and reminds you that you will be loved, no matter what.
cw: chronic illness, emotional breakdowns, physical pain, unfiltered intrusive thoughts, references to childhood neglect, emotional repression, fluff fluff fluff, tooth-rotting fluff x2, lots of reassurance. can be read as a stand-alone!!
w/c: 6.5k
a/n: based on she will be loved by maroon 5, this is probably the most adorable shit ever </3
part one part two masterlist
“You’re stiff-wristed, sweetheart. The secret’s in the swirl, not the stab.”
Her voice—Euphemia Potter’s—wraps around you like the hush of soft rain against old glass, all lilting warmth and quiet command.
She stands behind you, close but not crowding, guiding your hand with the kind of reverence you imagine one might reserve for spun sugar or wounded birds. Her fingers barely touch your wrist, feather-light, as though afraid you might shatter from the weight of anything firmer.
The frosting clings to the whisk like silk, pale pink and shimmering beneath the golden kitchen light, and you stare at it as though it might give you answers you’re too afraid to ask for.
She hums something low, a tune you don’t recognize. It drifts around the kitchen like it’s always belonged there, curling into the corners like the scent of vanilla and lemon zest.
You think she must be the kind of person who hums to flowers when she waters them, who sings lullabies to empty rooms and means it.
You wonder, distantly, if she’s always been this kind to kids with fucked up families.
You press your lips into a tight line, unsure what to do with the softness curling at the edges of this moment, and murmur without looking up, “I’m not stabbing it.”
A beat. Then laughter—low, honeyed, and bright enough to make something crack inside you.
“You’re threatening it,” she says, her grin audible in the curve of her words. “You’ve got to coax it. Love it a little.”
Love.
The word lands in your chest like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through something long frozen. You don’t know what to do with it—how to hold it, where to place it in a life that’s been stitched together with silence and survival.
So you shrug like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter, and let the whisk move in wide, uncertain circles.
You don’t look at her. You look at the frosting, at the way it smooths under your hand when you stop fighting it. At how something can come together when you let it breathe.
The kitchen is warm in a way that startles you—cozy, cluttered, too alive to be anything but real. It’s the kind of lived-in mess you’ve never learned to trust, all soft disarray and stubborn comfort.
There are crooked portraits on the walls and mismatched rugs softening the floors, and the light from the windows pours in thick and gold, like early spring is trying to wrap you in something gentle.
The whole house smells like vanilla and something older, deeper—like magic that has settled into the floorboards and refuses to leave.
You keep your sleeves rolled down despite the warmth, even as your hands stir with careful deliberation. There's flour on your knuckles and a strange tightness in your chest, like you’ve wandered into a memory that doesn’t belong to you.
From beyond the archway, chaos hums like a second heartbeat. James lets out a yelp as Sirius tackles him onto the sofa, their limbs a tangled mess of laughter and mock indignation. Cushions fly.
“He’s cheating!” James shouts, voice muffled by upholstery and betrayal.
“I’m winning,” Sirius growls, smug and breathless.
And there—just behind the couch, half in shadow, half in sunlight—stands Regulus. Still and composed, arms crossed like a barrier, eyes narrowed with the bored disdain of someone raised in rooms where no one ever raised their voice.
You glance up, and for a moment, his gaze catches yours.Something wordless passes between you, soft and sharp and impossible to name. He looks away first.
Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to yesterday. To the Potters’ den, flickering firelight painting lazy patterns across the room. You and Regulus on opposite ends of the hearth, James lounging like a spoiled cat between you, half-on, half-off the armrest.
He’d been demolishing a cupcake—frosting smeared across his cheek, crumbs dotting the fabric like confetti—when he paused, blinked, and looked at you both.
“You’ve never had one?” he repeated, like the very concept offended him.
You and Regulus had nodded in tandem, as if admitting a shared sin. Regulus looked faintly embarrassed. You hadn’t bothered.
“No cupcakes,” James had whispered, horrified. “You poor, repressed creatures.”
You’d shrugged, lifting your teacup with both hands. “We weren’t exactly allowed to eat with our hands.”
James had stared like he could see your childhood printed in bruises across your skin. “That’s it. Mum’s baking with you tomorrow, with Regulus too, if I can pry him off his high horse.”
And so here you are. In socks that don’t belong to you and an apron that does—barely—reading “Kiss the Cook” in faded embroidery. Your hands are sticky with sugar, your elbows awkwardly bent, and Euphemia Potter stands beside you, the very image of maternal grace in motion.
Every movement she makes is soft, efficient, full of something like love. She shows you how to spoon frosting into the bag, how to twist the top just so, how to guide the tip in slow, looping swirls instead of the instinctive little jabs you keep trying.
Her voice is low, her patience unshakable, but her eyes are sharp—they see too much. They had settled on you the first night with a kind of quiet knowing, like she could already feel the ache tucked behind your ribs, the weight you never speak of.
You feel strange in your own skin—tied into the apron like you’re being stitched into something unfamiliar, clutching the piping bag like it might burst between your fingers (which it might well considering how anxious you are)
It’s strange, isn’t it, how some places don’t just shelter you—they learn you. Grow around you like moss, slow and soft and impossibly gentle. The Potters’ house is like that. A space that doesn’t just exist, but exhales. Its colors are warm, its corners worn by laughter and living.
The curtains breathe in the wind like old lungs, the frames are all crooked, like no one ever bothered to make anything perfect, only meaningful.
“You doing alright, darling?” Euphemia asks softly, not looking up from the cake tin she’s buttering.
“I’m fine,” you reply, too fast. The word lands oddly in the space between you, hard-edged and out of tune with the golden hush of the kitchen.
You don’t meet her eyes. You glance toward the sitting room instead, where laughter crashes like a tide against the floorboards.
James is shouting—again. “If he strangles me, tell Mum I loved her—!”
You roll your eyes instinctively. “They’re idiots.”
“They sure are,” Euphemia agrees with a fondness that makes your chest ache. And then—she turns to you fully, flour dusted on her hands, her eyes a little too sharp, a little too knowing. The kind of gaze that only women who’ve borne grief like children know how to wear. “They’re yours too, now.”
Your hands keep moving, mechanical. The frosting in the bowl is starting to lose its shine. You swirl it once, then again yet, it still doesn’t look right.
You want to tell her something. Anything. That you don’t know what “yours” means. That you’re afraid of claiming things that feel too soft to last.
That you still brace for shouting when you drop a glass. But the words wedge themselves between your ribs, stubborn and silent. So you just nod.
There are still letters from your mother. They come like bruises—paper-thin but lingering. Sirius tears them up before you can read them, jaw tight with old fury.
James doesn’t even look. He lights them on fire with a flick of his wand and watches them curl into ash.
Once, you caught the edge of your name written in her careful script, underlined like an accusation. You didn’t ask what it said. You didn’t want to know. Some things are meant to be burned.
So instead, you learn to make frosting.
You’re not sure what to call what you and James have. If it’s dating, it’s the kind with missing rules and unspoken agreements. There are no labels, no promises carved in stone—but there is his hand in yours when you walk in the garden.
There is his kiss on your forehead when your dreams turn sharp. There’s his laughter echoing down the hallway as he spins you beneath the afternoon light just because it’s pretty. You lean into him more than you mean to. You laugh more than you expected to. It’s not perfect. But it’s warm.
And sometimes, when sleep slips away and grief curls against your spine like a ghost, you wake to find someone already there. Sirius, slouched in the armchair with a blanket thrown over his legs.
Or James, curled at the foot of your bed like he’s guarding you from whatever still lingers in the dark. Sometimes it’s both, sprawled like overgrown puppies, as if they heard your heartbeat change and followed it.
Just James, pressing a kiss to your temple, whispering, “Hey. You’re here. That’s enough.”
And in those quiet hours, maybe it is.
Outside, the sky is still gray—the way spring always begins. Soft and threatening. Like a promise that hasn’t made up its mind. Inside, the kitchen is warm. The air is sweet with sugar and butter and the faintest trace of something old—like memory.
You’ve been standing here long enough for the light to change. The kind of morning that feels like it might last all day.
“Alright,” Euphemia says after a while, brushing her hands clean on a tea towel. “Let’s try your first one. Pick a cupcake!”
Your hand hesitates above the tray. It’s silly, maybe, but this feels like a test. You reach. Choose the one with the least cracks. The cleanest top. It’s still warm in your palm, soft around the edges.
And you think—Regulus would’ve picked this one too. The most perfect on the outside, like that could save you from whatever’s rotting underneath. Like surface beauty was ever enough to survive.
You lift the piping bag with uncertain fingers. Squeeze slowly. Your swirl ends up lopsided, a little tight at the base—more question mark than spiral.
“Not bad,” Euphemia says, smiling. “She’s got the hand of a sculptor!”
You blink. Then glance up, startled. Not just by the compliment, but by how gently it lands. Like it wasn’t meant to test or teach you, just offer you a truth.
It feels good, for a second. To be seen by someone who isn’t waiting for you to fall apart. Who gives kindness freely, without demanding anything back.
From the sitting room, Regulus calls, “Is she doing alright?”
You don’t look. “No,” you call, voice flat, automatic. “She’s surviving.”
Sirius whoops, “Like a true Black!”
And something in you eases. You don’t laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitches—an almost-smile.
Because it’s true. You are surviving. You are a Black. You still move like you expect the room to collapse beneath you. You still speak like a warning. But now you’re here, in a sun-drenched kitchen, with pink frosting on your wrist and sunlight on your collarbone. Learning something new.
You stand at the edge of the kitchen now, tray in trembling hands.
The cupcakes are uneven—some leaning like they’re tired, others piped too thick with nerves you couldn’t quite still.
Euphemia stands behind you, her hand resting lightly at the small of your back.
“They look beautiful,” Euphemia says gently. Her voice is velvet, all warmth and hush and pride you don’t know how to hold.
Your eyes stay pinned to the tray in your hands — twelve cupcakes, swirled in soft pinks and lavenders, their colors uneven, the frosting imperfect.
One leans too far to the left. One has too much icing; another, not enough. They’re not neat. They’re not elegant.
You’d asked too many questions in the kitchen. Kept second-guessing yourself, measuring the sugar twice, afraid of ruining something you’d never been trusted to make.
Euphemia had only smiled, quiet and patient, as if she could hear the uncertainty in your bones.
It was supposed to be simple. Cupcakes, James had said. Something to try. Something you’ve never had before.
You hadn’t expected how much that would matter.
Now the tray is warm in your hands, and your sleeves still carry the scent of vanilla and sugar. You can’t tell if the sweetness stayed with you or if you left it all behind in the frosting bowl.
Inside the sitting room, you can hear Sirius mid-argument, half-laughing, half-shouting about something inconsequential.
Regulus leans stiffly over the arm of a chair, trying to explain something with too many syllables to James, who keeps interrupting just to make him scowl. It’s loud. Familiar. Ordinary in a way that makes your chest ache.
You’ve always watched this kind of life from a distance — the kind where people interrupt each other without fear of being punished, where laughter is constant and never cruel.
Problem is; you don’t quite know how to step into it.
“They’re waiting,” Euphemia murmurs. She steps forward and opens the door all the way, but she doesn’t push. She just rests her hand gently at the small of your back — not forceful, just present.
The tray shifts slightly in your hands as you cross the threshold. You steady it quickly, trying to school your features into something neutral. All three heads turn at once.
James rises first, his expression flickering from surprise to something quieter. He just looks at you like you’ve brought something more than sugar into the room.
And for a breath, you forget what you’re holding.
“I, um…” You clear your throat. “I made these.”
Sirius squints. “You? In a kitchen? With actual ingredients?”
You shoot him a look, but your voice doesn’t wobble this time. “Do you want one or not?”
“I’m just saying,” he says, grinning, “this could be a trap. What if they’re poisoned?”
James is already stepping forward, inspecting the cupcakes with a kind of gentle reverence. “They look brilliant.”
“They’re uneven,” you say quickly, before anyone else can. “I didn’t mix the color all the way. And I think I overfilled the third row.”
James ignores that. Picks a lavender-swirled one with a little too much icing and cradles it like it might sing. “They look so pretty, love,” he says softly. “Just like you.”
That catches you off guard. You don’t know how to carry a compliment that tender. So you don’t reply.
Regulus doesn’t speak at first. His eyes skim the tray, then flick to your face. “Which one’s yours?” he asks.
The question is simple. But it lands like a stone in water.
You hesitate. “The ugly one?”
He tilts his head. “They’re all a little ugly.”
Sirius snorts. “Which means they’re honest. I like that!”
You laugh, a breathy, uncertain sound that escapes before you can stop it.
Regulus steps forward slowly. He doesn’t reach for a cupcake. He just looks. And then, quieter this time: “Can I have yours?”
It’s such a small sentence, but it knocks something loose inside your chest.
You nod, carefully. Select the one with the uneven spiral, where the frosting pooled too fast and dipped at the edge.
He takes it from you like it’s a glass relic. And then, with a quiet kind of sincerity, he says, “Thank you.”
Sirius bites into his with theatrical flair. “Oh, hell, this is good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” you mutter.
James is already halfway through his. “I’m putting in a request for another batch. Maybe lemon next time?”
“There’s not going to be a next batch,” you say, but it’s a soft lie. One you hope someone sees through.
Regulus finally bites into his. His expression doesn’t change much, but his gaze returns to you — steady, unreadable — and then, after a pause, he murmurs, “It’s sweet.”
The laughter rises again, light and irreverent, as James starts a dramatic monologue about how cupcakes are the purest form of magic and Sirius demands to be taught immediately so he can outshine you. Regulus settles back into his seat, eyes flicking between the cupcake and you.
You set the tray down on the coffee table, then retreat a half-step as if the cupcakes might embarrass you by existing.
You’ve never made something like this before — sweet, delicate, not meant to survive a war or a dinner at the Black family table.
You don’t know how to be proud of it. You only know how to hope it isn’t a disappointment.
James doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you, then at the tray, then back at you. The silence stretches too long.
He smiles — not his usual grin, not the cocky, tilted thing he uses when he wants to charm or tease. This one is quiet, like a secret he’s sharing only with you. “It’s perfect.”
Your throat tightens. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t,” he agrees, stepping closer. “But I’m saying it anyway.”
You glance down, but he reaches out and gently taps the edge of your hand. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
He’s all warmth and open sky. There’s frosting at the corner of his mouth. His hair’s a mess from wrestling Sirius earlier, and his voice is steady in a way yours hasn’t been all day.
“You did something new,” he says. “You made something. You shared it. That’s brave. And I am so so proud of you, yeah baby?.”
Something catches in your chest — like a thread being pulled too tight. You don’t know how to answer, so you don’t.
He just brushes a curl from your cheek, fingers warm against your skin, and the softness in his touch undoes you more than anything he’s said.
James reaches for another cupcake and holds it out to you.
Your brows raise. “What’s that for?”
He shrugs, tilting the cupcake toward you again — an unspoken offer, gentle and insistent. “You baked them,” he says, voice low. “You haven’t even tried one.”
“I know what they taste like,” you murmur, though your eyes remain on the small swirl of frosting.
“Do you?” he asks, and there’s a smile in his voice. “You stood next to Mum, mixed everything, piped the frosting like an artist—” his hand gestures loosely to the tray, already missing three cakes, “—but you haven’t taken a single bite.”
James nudges it forward again, a nudge that feels like kindness disguised as teasing. “First time for everything, yeah?”
Your fingers hover, then curl slowly around the paper casing. It yields beneath your grip — soft, still warm from the kitchen heat, as if it had been waiting for your touch.
You bring it up, careful, uncertain, aware of the hush that falls across the room. You don’t meet anyone’s eyes.
You just take a breath and press your mouth to the top, just enough to taste.
The frosting melts instantly on your tongue — silky and slow, bright with vanilla and a whisper of lemon, like sunlight folded into sugar. It’s not overwhelming, not too rich.
Just… soft. The kind of sweetness that doesn’t need to be earned. The kind that offers itself freely. For a moment, your chest feels too tight for your ribs, your throat too narrow for words.
You swallow. “That’s—” Your voice falters. You blink. “Good.”
James beams. Not like someone who expected praise, but like someone who’s just watched a door open. “Just good?”
You look down at what’s left in your hand. You dip your finger gently into the frosting, curl it into a neat spiral, and pop it into your mouth.
The taste is quieter now, familiar already. But still — still — it makes you feel something that has no name.
Sirius makes a dramatic sound of protest from the sofa. “Criminal,” he declares. Regulus mutters something darkly unimpressed, but neither of them matter right now.
Because James is still watching you. Like he’s been handed something rare and breakable.
“You’re telling me,” he says softly, “you’re going to eat only the frosting?”
“It’s the best part,” you reply, licking your thumb, almost defiant.
He reaches for another cupcake, peels the paper halfway back, and takes a slow, deliberate bite of just the cake — clean, unfrosted.
He chews, thoughtful, then glances at you, the corner of his mouth curling. “Well,” he says, “we’re clearly soulmates.”
You blink. “What?”
“I hate frosting,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Always have. It's way too sweet and sticky. I'd much rather eat the cake part.”
Your brow furrows. “You’re making that up.”
“I swear on all of Gryffindor’s noble dead.” He raises a solemn hand, though his eyes are dancing. “This is fate. You eat the tops, I eat the bottoms. Every cupcake perfect, every piece devoured. Balance in all things.”
You try to glare at him. You try to keep your mouth straight. But your lips betray you, twitching at the corners. You look away, but not fast enough.
“You’re flirting again,” you say, voice too soft to sting.
“Can you blame me?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his breath to touch your cheek. “You’re frosting-drunk. It’s adorable.”
“It’s frosting,” you reply, scoffing. “I’m not drunk.”
He tilts his head, studying you like a poem he’s trying to memorize. “Are you sure?” he says, voice a hush now. “Because I think I just fell in love all over again.”
James doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, eyes warm, quiet, full of something that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.
You feel it anyway — that impossible softness, that lightness he brings with him like a second skin. The kind of sweetness that lingers even after it’s gone.
And as you bite into the frosting, as Sirius resumes his argument and Regulus sighs into his tea, something inside you begins to settle.
Maybe sweetness doesn’t have to be earned.
The rest of the evening settles like golden syrup over the table — slow, warm, and rich with laughter. The sun filters through the windows in long amber slants, gilding the countertop where half-eaten cupcakes sit like tiny triumphs.
You’re tucked between Sirius and Regulus on the floor, knees brushing, while James sprawls at your feet, arms flung behind his head like the world’s most content boy.
He keeps glancing up at you as if he’s never seen you smile before — like he’s trying to memorize every possible angle, afraid he might blink and miss it.
Sirius is midway through some outrageous tale about a stolen broomstick and second-year mayhem. Euphemia gasps in mock horror. Fleamont peers over his glasses with a grin that threatens to tip into laughter.
Regulus groans into his palm and mutters, “You two are why she has grey hairs.”
And for a moment, you let yourself laugh.
Really laugh — not the careful, calculated chuckles you’ve grown used to offering like coins at a tollbooth. This is warm, bright, unguarded. It spills out of you without permission, lifting your shoulders and loosening something long-caged in your chest.
When James reaches for your hand, you let him take it. His fingers thread through yours, firm and certain, like a promise you almost believe.
For a little while, you let yourself believe this could be yours — this ordinary sweetness. Something with frosting and sun-drenched floors and a kitchen that always smells like cinnamon and safety.
Something not carved from pain. Not built on survival.
You go to bed that night feeling full in a way that has nothing to do with cupcakes.
—
The ache begins quietly, as it always does. A heaviness that coils at the base of your spine, patient and precise. Something about the way it settles there—like a bruise blooming behind your ribs, tender and unnoticed—makes it easy to dismiss.
You stretch your fingers. Roll your shoulders. Breathe through it like it’s nothing more than morning stiffness or a restless night’s sleep.
You tell yourself it will pass, that maybe you’ve just been sitting too long, dreaming too hard.
But two days later, it’s harder to rise.
The bed feels heavier, the light colder, and the spring air bites through the cracks in the stone like it wants to warn you of something. Still, you manage. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders and curl beside the others near the hearth.
The pain deepens when you move too quickly, or laugh without bracing for it. It hides in strange corners of your body—sharp beneath your ribs, warm and aching behind your knees, slow and stubborn in your breath.
Sometimes it steals the air right out of your lungs as you climb the stairs or reach for something just out of grasp.
But you smile through it. You always do. You bite the inside of your cheek and hold your posture like a prayer, like it might keep you whole a little longer.
You don’t want to ruin it. They’re so happy — Sirius losing at chess with theatrical flair, Fleamont snorting into his tea, Euphemia gently guiding Regulus’s hands through loops of yarn as he pretends not to care.
James tugging you into corners thick with laughter and warmth, brushing your cheek with reverence, telling you your eyes look like dusk when the world is kind.
You won’t be the shadow in their light.
So you laugh when you’re meant to. You nod at all the right moments. You stir the ache into your tea like it’s just another kind of sweetness.
You tell yourself it’s nothing — that it will pass, that it must. That you owe them this version of you, the one who is steady and soft and whole.
And when the hurt steals your voice, you simply say you’re tired. It’s easier that way. You’ve had years to perfect the script, and the silences between the lines.
You breathe through it, quiet and constant.
Because what else can you do?
You don’t cry. You just sit there, letting the rain pour over you like a second skin, not harsh but steady, familiar — not the warmth of this place, not the laughter pressed between the walls, but something older, something colder, something that remembers the echoing halls of Grimmauld Place.
The kind of silence that didn’t need a reason. The kind that stitched itself into your bones so long ago you forgot what it felt like to live without it.
You sit with the rain in your lap like it belongs to you, like the storm found you first and decided to stay.
It slides down the curve of your spine, pools in the hollow of your throat, traces your wrists like rivers returning to the sea. It’s cold, but you don’t flinch.
You’ve always known cold — cold hands, cold glances, cold corridors and colder silences — and this kind of chill feels almost merciful, soaking into you gently instead of cutting you down.
Through the glass, the fire glows soft and golden, and their laughter spills out in waves, blurred and beautiful — Sirius, all brightness and reckless limbs, draped across the couch like it was made just for him; James beside him, head thrown back, eyes shut with joy, tipping into Sirius like gravity’s favorite joke.
Their laughter is loud and unbreakable, the kind of joy that fills rooms and hearts and lifetimes.
And as you watch, you realize they are whole in ways you were never taught to be.
Near the window, Regulus leans toward Remus, long fingers brushing across an open book, nodding as Remus speaks. Their voices are low, private, thoughtful.
Regulus is in a sweater too big for him and socks with mismatched toes, the kind of domesticity you never thought would suit him.
But it does. He looks… soft. Happy, maybe. Or something close enough to it that you could believe in it if you squinted.
Even Peter, curled up near the fire, hums to himself without shame.
And you — you are the ghost at the glass. The story that doesn’t belong in this chapter.
They’ve all found something that quiets the noise in their heads. Sirius with his rebellion. Regulus with his books. James with his heart wide open.
You want to reach for them — you do — but your hands feel wrong, too heavy, too worn, made of sharp edges and sore joints and skin that’s forgotten how to feel safe.
You shift, just barely, and pain flares up your spine like a slow-lit match, bright and hot and unmistakably alive.
Your bones ache as though they’re begging to be remembered. The rain, relentless and soft, hides your tears — the only kindness this sky offers.
You try to breathe around it, around the heat coiling behind your ribs, around the memory that presses down on your chest like a weight you can’t lift. It shouldn’t hurt like this anymore.
You’re not there. You’re not hers. You’re not her daughter anymore.
And still, you can feel her fingers in your scalp, ghost-thin and cruel, tugging until obedience became instinct.
Even now, even with your hair down and soft and brushed through by Euphemia’s patient hands, the ache lingers — hot and deep at your crown, where braids once pulled tight enough to silence you.
You wonder if the pain will ever leave you, if someday you’ll touch your own head and feel nothing but skin.
She braided your obedience into your body — every twist a warning, every knot a prayer for silence.
You remember sitting beside Regulus, knees knocking together as your mother yanked the brush through your hair.
You whispered, “Do you think cupcakes taste good?” and he smiled like it hurt, like something blooming too fast — neither of you had ever tasted one.
And now, somehow, you’ve found yourself somewhere soft, somewhere warm, where the air doesn’t sting and the quiet isn’t cruel — but still, you carry the weight of old commands in your spine, and your skin tenses like it expects to be scolded.
Even now, even here, you feel like an intruder in your own softness.
You watch James laugh again, mouth open wide, the kind of joy that belongs in sunlit fields and childhood games. And suddenly, you want to scream.
You want to bury your face in his shoulder and cry and say I’m still hurting. I still wake up afraid. I still hear her voice in mine when I speak too sharply. But instead, you sit very still. You keep your shoulders straight.
Because this is the only way you know how to keep from breaking open.
And somehow, even with your twin in the room, even with James who loves you more than air, you’ve never felt more alone. It’s like watching life through glass, your fingers pressed to the warmth without ever quite feeling it.
Their laughter is real, their joy is real, but you are a quiet echo curled in the corner, a shadow in a room full of light, trying to remember what it felt like to belong.
It starts at your spine.
A low throb at first, something quiet enough to ignore if you just breathe through it, if you just pretend long enough that you’re still strong, still whole, still more than what she made of you.
But it spreads. Down your legs, up through your ribs. Every breath starts to feel like a small betrayal — your lungs stiff and aching, like they too are tired of you surviving.
By the time it reaches your hands, you can’t even feel the rain anymore.
It always begins softly—never a crash, just a hush, like memory, like shame, like your mother’s voice woven into the fabric of your childhood.
You’ve learned to carry pain quietly, tucked behind small smiles and well-timed stillness. Inside, they laugh.
And that is when it hits you. The quiet rage. The kind that doesn’t scream but digs deep into your ribs.
Because why didn’t she stop this? Why didn’t she see you breaking and fix it? Why did she look at your pain and name it a lesson?
You hate her. You hate your name. You hate that no matter how far you run, your body still sings in her voice.
You can still feel the ghost of those braids. Can still remember the weight of silence tied to the nape of your neck.
And you wonder — as the rain runs into your eyes and your bones begin to tremble — if you’ll ever be free of her.
If the damage is permanent. If you’ll always be the girl with the broken smile who hides in corners and gardens and rain.
You feel so far away from joy, from light, from yourself, breath snagging not on a sob but on a scream too tired to rise, your body tight with silence, with the weight of what you won’t let slip.
Then warmth, sudden and soft, fingers on your cheeks, steady and certain, anchoring you to the now.
You flinch, bracing for the sting, for the world to splinter beneath the touch, but the hands stay, quiet and kind.
A voice follows, low and breathless, threaded with something like worry, something like care—“Hey, look at me, c’mon, open your eyes for me,” And you do, slowly, like coming up for air after a long, aching dive.
And there he is — James Potter, kneeling in the wet grass in front of you like he was sent by the gods of mercy themselves. Soaked clean through, curls matted to his forehead, glasses beaded with rain.
His hands cradle your face like he’s holding something sacred, and there’s not a flicker of pity in his gaze. Only concern. Only knowing. Only love.
Your mouth trembles, but the words won’t come. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with cleverness, doesn’t ask what’s wrong or tell you it’s okay—because it isn’t.
He just stays close, forehead nearly brushing yours, his gaze steady and bright like lanterns flickering through the rain.
You don’t notice the tremble in your hands at first, only the sharp hitch in your breath and the way your bones begin to shake, too deep for the rain to be the cause.
The ache builds quietly, curling behind your ribs like smoke, but then it crests, pressing up into your throat until your mouth tastes of salt and sorrow. And then the tears come—jagged, hot, unhidden.
You hate it. Hate how your body betrays you like this. Hate that even now — surrounded by warmth, by voices that laugh like nothing hurts — you can’t stop breaking. That even now, soaked in the middle of spring rain, your grief still finds you.
His thumbs sweep along your cheeks.
“Hey,” he says, and the word breaks something open in you. Not because it’s loud. But because it’s kind.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.”
You shake your head. The words come before you can stop them. “I’m sorry. I— I don’t know why I’m crying, I just— I still feel so broken sometimes. And I hate it. I hate that I can’t just be fine.”
Your voice cracks, and so does your chest.
James doesn’t say anything right away. He just pulls you close — soaked wool and trembling hands and that smell of petrichor and something sweeter beneath it, something like safety. One of his hands slides to your back, the other still at your jaw, grounding you.
And then he says, soft as rain, “Then I’ll just love you in pieces.”
“I’ll love you whole, when you’re ready,” he continues, breath warm against your temple, “but if all you can give me today are pieces, then I’ll hold them all. I’ll love you as you are. No fixing, no conditions. Just you.”
Something in your chest gives in.
And you sob again, not from pain this time, but from relief. From the unbearable gentleness in his voice. From the way he’s still here, even as your tears fall like spring rain and your body aches with every breath.
“I don’t want to be pieces forever,” you whisper.
“You won’t be,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you — really look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his cheeks flushed from cold, but his eyes are steady. “But if you are, even just for a little while… I’m still yours.”
You don’t know what you’ve done to deserve him.
Then his voice cuts gently through the hush, low and steady near your ear.
“Some days,” he says, “your smile will feel like a lie.”
James doesn’t pull away, doesn’t ask you to stop crying, doesn’t try to fix the ache sitting heavy in your chest. He just keeps going, voice warm, soaked hair sticking to his forehead as he holds your gaze.
“And that’s alright. I’ll know where to find the real one.”
You glance up at him, lashes damp, heart aching. “Where?”
He grins, the smallest tilt of his mouth, not smug or teasing but certain, like he has spent months learning every version of you, and this one—wet with rain, worn thin, unraveling at the edges—is just another part of the map he already knows by heart.
“I find it when you’re baking with Mum,” he says first, brushing a lock of wet hair from your cheek. “When you pretend not to care but you lean in every time she offers to teach you something.”
You swallow. He goes on.
“When you try something new and your face gets all confused, and Regulus teases you, and you act offended but you never actually stop.”
You let out the softest breath — almost a laugh.
“When Sirius hugs you and you pretend to hate it, but you always hug him back for half a second longer than he does.”
You hate how seen that makes you feel.
“When I kiss you,” James says, voice dipping slightly lower, “and you push me away, all huffing and scowling — but then you smile anyway, right after. Not for me to see. Just… because.”
You look down, heart a mess in your throat.
“When you steal the biggest jumper in the room but still act like it’s not enough and curl up into yourself like you’re trying to disappear.”
You blink. You hadn’t even known he’d noticed that.
“When you fidget with your rings during serious conversations. When you cut your toast into perfect halves but only eat one.”
He brushes his thumb beneath your eye, gentle.
“When you braid your hair with shaking hands on bad days because it’s the only thing you can still control.”
He keeps going, and he doesn’t falter once.
“When you laugh at something Sirius says but bite the inside of your cheek after, like you’re not used to joy lasting that long.”
You’re crying again. This time you let yourself.
“When you tuck your feet under you on the couch and pretend you’re cold, even though we both know it’s just so you won’t be touched unless you choose it.”
You want to look away, but he won’t let you.
“When you whisper goodnight to your own reflection in the hallway mirror — like you’re still learning how to be kind to the girl staring back.”
“And when you say nothing at all,” James murmurs, “but your fingers reach for mine under the table anyway.”
His voice is almost a prayer now.
“I find your real smile in the in-between places—the quiet moments, the gentle cracks where the light slips through.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like a promise.
“So even when you feel like you’re disappearing, like you’ve slipped too far into the dark — I’ll still know where to look.”
You don’t even realize you’re crying again until James wipes a tear from your chin, not startled, not worried — just there, always, with hands steady and patient.
“See?” he says softly. “Even when you’re hiding, you still leave a trail.”
“And you’ll always find it?” you whisper, throat thick.
He leans his forehead against yours, soaked and breathless. “Every time.”
His thumb brushes another tear from your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s touching something sacred.
Then another. And another. As if every drop matters to him. As if each one deserves to be seen, and then let go.
His other hand finds its way into your hair, tucking back a rain-heavy strand that clings stubbornly to your skin.
You’re both soaked — your clothes plastered to your bodies, your hearts just as bare — but his gaze holds so much gentleness, it feels like warmth.
He leans in.
Not rushed, not greedy — just sure. Like this moment has always been waiting for itself. His lips meet yours, soft and slow and steady, like the way honey slips from a spoon.
And when you pull back — cheeks damp with rain and love alike — you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in the curve of his shoulder, voice barely a whisper.
“I love you, Jamie.”
He stills. Just for a second. Like the world stopped to catch its breath.
Then: “Merlin, I love when you say my name like that.”
You laugh, a little hiccup of sound against his chest, like joy finally broke the surface.
He grins into your hair, arms tightening. “Say it again.”
“No,” you murmur, but you’re still smiling, your face warm despite the chill. “Don’t get greedy.”
“Oh, but I will,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, “because I’ve been waiting since the minute I met you for this moment. For you, all of you.”
You shake your head, blushing, but before you can bury yourself back into his chest, he tugs on your hand and nods toward the house. “Come on, love. Let’s go make some more frosting.”
You blink at him. “Didn’t we have frosting two days ago?”
“Yeah,” he says, practically beaming, “and we’ll have it every day if you want. Frosting and love and all the soft things you never got.”
You don’t answer right away.
You just let yourself be pulled forward, hand in his, the rain washing down your spine like a second spine. Inside the house — warm, golden, safe — light spills through the windows.
Through the foggy glass, you can already see Sirius rolling his eyes at something Euphemia says, while Regulus sips tea like it’s a ceremony and pretends not to smile.
Inside, your voice rises again—bright and unexpected, like a flame refusing to go out.
James watches you with that look he doesn’t bother hiding anymore, the one that says he’s memorizing you, holding each moment like it’s something rare, something he’s scared to lose.
You swipe frosting onto his nose, slow and teasing, and he doesn’t flinch. Just stands there with that soft look he gets sometimes, the one that feels like a held breath.
Then, grinning like it’s the easiest thing in the world to be known by you, he dips a finger into the bowl, brings it to his mouth, and pulls a face so exaggerated it nearly breaks your laugh into two.
He grimaces like a child tasting medicine, all scrunched eyes and over-the-top theatrics, and you can’t help it—you laugh, a real one, bright and full in your chest like something blooming open.
He leans in close, gentle in a way he doesn't speak aloud, and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s sacred.
The world hums along as if nothing has shifted, but something has. In the stillness that follows, he looks at you like he could live a hundred lives and choose this one every time—just to be here, covered in sugar and light, with you laughing in the kitchen like it’s never hurt to be alive.
Outside the doorway, tucked in the quiet curve of the hallway, two figures stand watching. The lights from the kitchen paint them in warm shadows.
Euphemia stands in the doorway, her silhouette lit soft by the kitchen light.
She watches her son with something ancient in her gaze — not surprise, not pride, but the kind of quiet understanding only mothers ever seem to carry.
Her hands are tucked gently into her sleeves, like there’s something sacred she’s holding onto.
A moment later, Sirius joins her, silent and slow, leaning against the frame beside her.
“She thinks he hates frosting,” Euphemia says softly, her voice like the rain still tapping the roof.
Sirius glances sideways. “He doesn’t?”
“He adores it,” she murmurs. “Used to sneak it out of the tin with a spoon when he was ten. Still does, when no one’s looking.”
Sirius huffs a breath of laughter. “Why let her think otherwise?”
Euphemia doesn’t look away from the pair in the kitchen. “Because she always lets him have the cake part. And he wants her to have the sweet.”
Sirius looks toward his brother, who’s now brushing a smudge of flour from your nose while you pretend not to smile too much.
“He’d give her anything.”
“He does,” Euphemia says. “Even the things she doesn’t know she’s missing.”
There’s a pause, soft and full of something unspoken, before Sirius says quietly, almost to himself,
“She’ll be loved.”
And so you stand in the kitchen washed in gold, where the rain outside sings soft against the windows and the scent of vanilla drapes itself over the bones of the house.
There were years when love came braided in silence and obedience, when sweetness was something you only ever imagined, something you gave away without tasting, something that lived in storybooks and other people’s birthdays.
But here — in this glowing hush, in the weight of his eyes on you like a vow he keeps choosing — something breaks open in you. Gently. Without pain.
The bowl is nearly empty, but the love lingers, rich and steady, not loud or grand, but real in the quiet curve of your mouth and the warmth in your chest.
Behind you, in the doorway, a mother and a brother stand without speaking, carrying a kind of ache that only love knows — the kind that waits in the wings, the kind that chooses softness again and again.
And maybe that is what love is in the end, not the absence of pain but the presence that follows it, the quiet return, the choosing again and again.
He never stopped loving the sweetness. He just wanted you to have it first — to taste what your childhood kept out of reach, to learn that softness could be safe, that someone would wait in the rain with hands full of kindness just to be near you, that someone would stay even when you break, even when you cannot ask.
Simply to show that no matter what the world took from you, you will be loved.
