Hello, and welcome to my little corner of fiction, where chaos, laughter, and a touch of heartwarming chaos reign supreme. Here, you’ll find all of my works centered around the characters I love most, Fred Weasley, Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, Percy Jackson and anyone else who happens to live rent-free in my mind.
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
Fred Weasley
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
✧ Series
Who are you? Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7.
✧ Imagines
The memory box
Emerald Haze
Skirts & scars
The Wax Prank
The One Exception
The Wrong Tie
You? Never
Breaking The Silence
All Talk Except You
Sweet Distractions
The Birthday Chase
A Weasley Birthday To Remembered
A Spark Of Jealousy
The Craving Cure
In His Hands
Starlight & Firelight
Exactly Where You Belong
Undeniably Screwed
Cherry Thief
Better Than You
Meet The Newest Trouble-Maker
You Came
A Waste Of The Person You Are
If I Was A Bird
Hard To Watch
When Did You Get Hot?
Bet You Can’t Tell Us Apart
Forever Starts Tonight
Mischief Managed, Forever
I’l Get To Know You Again
Can I Kiss You?
You Make Me Feel Like I’m Home
Jealousy Looks Terrible on You, Weasley
You Made Me Your Enemy the Moment You Lied
Egregiously Jealous
Reckless Hearts
✧ Headcanons
Life With Fred Weasley
Slytherin x Fred Weasley
Teasing To Loving. Fred Weasley’s Evolution
Ravenclaw x Fred Weasley
✧ Alternate Universes (AUs)
Too Loud for a Mafia Boss
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
✧ Series
Coming soon…
✧ Imagines
Where the Sun Chose You
✧ Headcanons
Coming soon…
✧ Alternate Universes (AUs)
Coming soon…
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
Percy Jackson ( TV Show)
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
✧ Series
Coming soon…
✧ Imagines
Saltwater Diagnosis
Undertow Between Us
✧ Headcanons
Coming soon…
✧ Alternate Universes (AUs)
Coming soon…
─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─ ─ ✦ ─
💌 Disclaimer 💌
All content on this blog, imagines, series, headcanons, and au works is written by me and is my original work. Please do not claim, repost, or steal my content. Reblogs are loved and appreciated, but copying or using my work elsewhere without permission is not allowed. ✦
Thank you for respecting my writing and letting these Fred Weasley, Percy Jackson, and Lo'ak Sully stories live safely here. 🧙✨
vyon's mouthpiece. forgot to post this in the midst of becoming a deadbeat 🫀
Hot— that's all you can focus on. The sticky between the webs of your fingers so far away from you, resting a whole stretched out arm's length away on the whale skin leather of the benches that line around the walls of the Sunny's aquarium; your skin's melting, you're sure, it's the sweat that oozes out of your pores, between folds of skin chafing against skin, clinging around your shape, the temporary relief of pushing hair out of your face and stripping down to the barest of layers without flashing your crewmates. Horrid hot, the salt in the air crystallised, evaporated to taste in your mouth whenever you swipe your tongue against your top lip, your own sweat to keep you hydrated. Breathing is damped by the weight of oxygen, thickened and curdled with the chirping of pervasive sun rays atop the Sunny's deck, soaking through the great Adam's wood and congealing through rooms and hallways.
You've no idea how everyone else is coping, gave up trying to play nice in passing conversation with most of your crew— irritated and boiling and hating the mention of ‘Alabasta’. You joined sometime after Alabasta, after Vivi, and after Luffy had taken down his first Warlord. It's never been something that bothered you, not to this degree anyways, but you reckon that the sizzling you've been doing under the Grand Line sun had dehydrated the rationale you had concerning your bitterness to feeling left out. So now all you had were the little shards of annoyance, the unadulterated childish isolation and alienation you had from becoming a Strawhat too late.
You hoarded all the cool treats that Sanji had made into the aquarium, licking vanilla ice cream and caramel glaze off the bottom of your lip as you watched the drag of waves through the glass. The aquarium was notably cooler than the rest of the Sunny, something about the room needing to stay a certain degree so Luffy could keep his dinner fresh and alive until he was hungry, the lack of warm light to keep the fish complacent until Sanji got his knife in them. Plus, no one was in the aquarium— you didn't have to hear them talking about Alabasta.
Watching a purple sea king twist around the water, splitting through the blue with a quick lurch, you blink and it's gone, leaving behind some pathetic catches, smaller schools of fish that were caught in some net cast off the side of the Sunny, forgotten for an hour or two until Franky dragged it up and dumped it into the aquarium. Eventually, even those fish are gone and you're still watching the empty blue, tasting the fizz and crackle of some experimental dessert Sanji'd been tinkering with as you consider the bubbles of air scoring through the water, snapping apart.
Alabasta, Alabasta— the last you'd heard of the country was when the Strawhats were there, something about Smoker uncovering some heinous ploy to take over the world, capturing Warlord Sir Crocodile in the process; you should have known Luffy was there. Speaking of Luffy: Luffy; you keep thinking about Luffy. The last you'd seen of him he had his tongue stuck to the back of the refrigerator where the ice was, melting out of the open door of the fridge before Sanji yelled at him and slammed the door shut on his ass out of principle. It merely bounced back and rattled a few things around.
You think about Luffy as you start eating the ice cream, packaged ones you guys got from a few islands back, tracing melted chocolate up from the inside of your wrist to your palm, sucking on the stale cone, and then dragging a flat tongue up to the cream at the top before biting down. Rich, thickened chocolate melting over your palate as you remember the slip of tan skin between his open vest and the low waist band of his denim shorts, the peek of some no brand boxers. You chew on some swirl of caramel and salt sticks to your molars in the back; beads of sweat over the curve of his hip— you push your thumb against the corner of your mouth to redirect some of the cream into your mouth.
Half a finger in your mouth, the tang of caramel and sweat stuck beneath your nail, transferring a print to the buds of your tongue, you think you've lost your mind when you see a ripple of an arm sneaking in through the door. Must be the heat, the reflection of some flesh coloured fish around you until the hand gropes around for some leverage, nails cut into the matte of the cushion benches and then the waves pulled taut, straightening into a beam and then the door swings, rattling back and forth on its poor hinges as Luffy shoots through the room. He lands, ass up, upside down on the bench across from you.
Luffy makes a ‘nyop’ noise after he plants his feet on the glass of the aquarium behind him, kicking himself ‘round to stand up; his hand throwing the straw hat lop–sided on his shoulder to swing at his back as he looks around like he's not sure where he is.
“Captain,” you drawl, making things easier for him. You've still got that pervasive irritation from being left out as they chatted and giggled and laughed about some giant, perverted crab and camel, but you reckon all the sweet's been rotting your teeth, making words slip and slide easier.
When he turns a thirty–two teethed grin to you, all molars and sharp incisors, you preen; when he calls your name, smiling ‘round the syllables, you shiver. He gives you a moment to see him, he's the shine of an oyster's pearl, the slick of slimy seaweed dressed in unnatural blues; his unforgiving red vest is mellowed into a purple, he'd unbuttoned his shorts earlier, something about letting the air in. It also lets the pests in, letting your eyes slip from the tacky of sweaty skin, tripping over obstructing hems and lingering on the cotton peek of his boxers. His fly's wholly undone, the two corners of his waistband flipped outwards, open like an invitation for you to stay with your gaze. Denim low, low, low on his waist like he doesn't know what he's doing— probably doesn't, no one else in the crew's crazy enough to want Luffy this way, Luffy don't know what it means to want like you do. He must do, he's good with intent, good with knowing those he calls his.
He turns indignant when he sees the food you'd been hoarding. “No fair!” He decides, crashing half into you and swiping an arm around whatever you'd had on your lap to shovel into his wide, greedy, encompassing mouth. He spits out some wrapper and then, belatedly, “it's so much cooler in here,” Luffy realises, letting himself sprawl out on the seats.
You make a general noise of agreement, nodding your head away.
He lets you forget he’s there beside you surprisingly, quietly chewing on the food he’s still got in his mouth. You consider your eyes upon a tiny blip of a fish, a tragic thing that hasn't even been good enough to be food for Luffy, watching it struggle against the stretch of water rolling off of the end of a sea king’s flickering tail. You're startled when Luffy speaks— the fish goes limp, lets itself be washed away. “Are y’ upset?” Dribbling strawberry syrup from his lips. You make a face. Shadows of the deep blue obscure it and Luffy is half distracted by the heat, the food, only catches the frays of your expression turning indifferent again.
“No,” sounds petulant even to your own ears, childish and immature as you toe off your shoes, spread your toes out, and curl them— sweeping your thighs back in closer and digging your heels into the pleather seats. You can feel his gaze like a different shade of a sunburn, heavy the glare of a sun on a different planet; you're masochistic enough to turn over to watch his face bounce through different expressions.
“You upset ‘cause it’s hot?” Luffy asks, slurping up some slushie as the words melt, “Nami gets angry too, have t’ stay away from her when it gets this hot.”
Burning, ashamed maybe, you narrow your eyes at him. “I’m not upset,” you adamantly deny.
Luffy looks at you like he’s trying to see something else, apprehensive about the way he nods his head slowly, mouth opens to sound out the words, “mmm, ‘kay.” And then you get more agitated because that's the response he gives Nami when he’s trying to not piss her off about something.
It’s counterintuitive to keep claiming you're not upset but you feel you can't help it, frowning as you deny again. “I’m not.” Third time’s a charm, you reckon, denying a man three times has worked well enough before. But then Luffy comes closer, eyes open wide; his fingers around your knee as he shoves his face closer.
He asks, “why are you getting upset?”
You couldn't betray him the truth, shouldn't, but Luffy's good at knowing it all regardless; he might have even come looking for you just to make sure. His fingers are moist, you can imagine the taste of them in your mouth: metallic salt, sweet vanilla, tonka spiced, cold— you bite on your lip. His body weighs heavy on your knee, burdening you over on your left side. Luffy tilts his head to his shoulder, expressionless mostly, “don't wanna talk ‘bout it?”
“It’s stupid,” you mumble.
Luffy nods, “probably is.” Doesn’t even sound like he doubts it, so it might have been right for you to lower your gaze, hope the shadows of flowing fish cover the apprehensive soft of your features. “Y' should tell me anyway,” Luffy continues, thumbing over the wrapper of whatever else has caught his fancy.
That's not an invitation— Luffy is not one for invites, he warns and then he does. You have a second or two, depending on how distracted he can get himself, before Luffy does what he does best: wants and gets. Ironically, you get distracted by the possible outcomes of this interaction and you entirely miss how he discards the hoard of food and then weighs his whole self, his attention onto you, harder, insistent, waiting. He’s wanting; it won't be long before he gets and you know, you're no fool, you'll fold to his whims.
You let him come to his own conclusion. Too stubborn and far too smart to give him any ammunition; whatever he sees makes him frown.
You're watching his mouth, you realise, after your gaze glides off the sweat under his nose, follows the glide of a downward turn and then slips completely off his chin— skipping around the angle of his Adam's apple, sparkling with a hue of the salty sea and the sharp of scales that get caught between your teeth, irritates you, continues slipping below his open vest and stops again, once more, at the band of his boxers.
“Is it hot?” He asks, like it matters.
Going down was an easy feat, everything glides with the drag of gravity, but going up— against the natural tug— was hard; something in your stomach pants with a feeling you’ve never known when you make eye contact with Luffy; you think it’s been melted out of you, deep between layers of muscle and flesh that you’ve never had the knowledge of. Following that logic, you nod. Luffy, for whatever reason, mimics your nodding; a wet clump of hair slaps down against his forehead and he pushes it back with the back of his hand. Imagine him out of the bath, your brain then supplies, imagine him wet, dripping— imagine him with his hair swept back with nothing but moisture, clothes an afterthought, imagine the flush on his cheeks from the warm of the bath, the smoke that follows his feet with the bathroom door swinging after him, imagine him with wet eyes. Think about his sticky hands, how it stretches around your knees, how his fingers are always closed with no intent of going, about his wide brown eyes— dirt coloured, dyed with the yellow of dandelions he’d been digging around at; the message in his eyes obscured enough that you’re allowed to misinterpret how he makes a point of looking so intently, never lets up with it. Think about it.
“You look like Sanji,” he has the gall to laugh at you afterwards.
That shocks you sober. An offended gasp of air in through your nose, embarrassed and ashamed, as you shove him out of your face; hands against the round of his shoulders. Steady as Luffy is, he hardly moves; he makes an indignant noise but you’re the one that stumbles and slips off the bench. Luffy grips you by the leg when he realises you’re falling backwards. You end up on the floor regardless, hands braced behind you with your legs still hooked up on the leather, eyes wide as you look up at Luffy; it wouldn’t be strange for him to laugh. You’re horrified by the thought and the feeling you’d run away from earlier comes back stronger. If he laughs now, you won't recover.
A while ago, you’d given up on trying to understand Luffy; it’s much too complicated and far too much of a convoluted mission for you to try your hand at. So, naturally, when Luffy drops forward, unceremoniously and in the way that hurts the most, right into your chest, all you can do is take it. The added weight collapses your arms at the elbows; your back pressed against the floor as Luffy shifts his hat onto his head. Comfortable, like it's his rightful spot. Your forearms are against the wooden planks, head tilted up to look at Luffy, “why’d you put your hat on?” is the easiest thing to say.
Luffy shrugs, “felt right.” Amazing, great, wonderful; even if the man himself didn't have a lick of an idea of what you wanted, something in him always knew his crew. You can feel a bruise forming, under the shape of his ass— which you're not sure how to feel about because you don't really want a bruise in the shape of his ass across your hips but there's no reason for it to hurt so much, something like an ache over the skin that he’s against. He leans forward, his hips shift and he comes close enough that the button of his denim shorts end up pressed into your hipbone.
“Captain,” both startled and wary; you think about it quickly as he comes closer, you don't think he'll take offense, he’d be confused at best. He wouldn't understand it enough for you to really be embarrassed about it, it wouldn't mean a thing to him, so you prepare yourself accordingly, and then, quick as you can, “are you trying to kiss me?”
Luffy makes a noise, not of disgust you have to tell yourself, but of confusion. “No, you have ice cream in your hair.” You do have a response for that, albeit it being undeservedly defensive to save face, but then Luffy swarms in again, and drops his jaw— presses his tongue against your hairline to lick up into the sweet wrapped into strands of your hair. You blink. Once. Twice. Luffy mimics you, smacking his lips together, “vanilla?”
It’s so stupid you have to take a minute. Reaching up to tug his hat over his eyes, you keep your hand against the material, pressing it into his face; you’re so confused because anyone else you might have been able to consider it to be flirting— abrupt and perverse, invasive, but for Luffy, it might have been as easy as seeing a crumb of food and just wanting it. Where does that leave you?
Luffy reminds that your place is beneath him. An indignant noise leaves his mouth, “hey,” he shouts, ripping your hands off of him, settling his hat back on his head. He looks at you with a frown, eyebrows furrowed, lips inviting in a pout. “You are upset,” he accuses, “is it ‘cause you’re hot?” A pause, “or did you want a kiss?” He blinks, opening them up again is like the bottom of the ocean unhinging to take you— you imagine that it might be the sight that so many have never had the fortune to see, drowned too early before they get to kiss the floor of the sea. Shame, you think, it’s beautiful, as you look at Luffy. “Or my hat?”
All three guesses suck.
Somehow though, Luffy gets an answer. He tugs the string of his straw hat over his head from under his chin and settles it onto yours, grinning with a ‘shishishi’ tickling through his teeth.
He gives you enough confidence to ask, “what if I wanted a kiss?”
Luffy leaves a gap of silence between you, where his mind seems to wander far away— which is a horrifying sight because it means he’s thinking and seas knows nothing good comes out of him thinking, but you're still underneath him. Stuck beneath his weight, you shift awkwardly, almost wanting to get away. His lips part to mouth around some word in a tongue you must be unfamiliar with, but you watch as a line of saliva stretches between his lips, thick and white from the dairy of the ice cream and all of a sudden, “captain.” And you don't recognise that word then either, even when it comes from your own mouth. An unfamiliar language, an emotional one maybe; Luffy knows it though ‘cause whatever you were trying to say, he understands and responds by dipping his head down.
Your breath catches, pulls back into your mouth like you're hoping it won't scare him away and he takes a moment. Luffy studies you, assesses in his own way; you get scared, pressing your feet against the wood of the benches and pushing hard in an attempt to slide out from under him.
It doesn't really work— fat ass Luffy keeps you down— but it gets some startled noise out of Luffy, a sort of gasp and hitch of breath that you think is most similar to when he resurfaces after falling into the sea, clutching onto Zoro for dear life, looking all pathetic and miserable. He twitched. “Hey, don't do that.” He says first, decidedly upset as he tests the feeling in his toes by curling them. Petty and still childish, you try it again. He lurches— all sharp angles and obtuse ticking in a way you’d never seen rubber do; his spine snaps forward in parts of three, motion separated from each other like they’re not of the same whole and Luffy folds himself down against you. A frisson that jumps and skips across the active lines of a transmission tower of tangled wires and obscured messages. His head is bowed low, the point of his widow’s peak sat at the hollow between your collarbones, his knees pulled in as close as possible with you obstructing the rest of the way. There’s barely a second for you to appreciate the view, his sun–burnt skin and the slight line of lighter skin under his vest all in the same glaze as salted caramel, before Luffy nods his head back up to glare at you. “I said don’t do that.”
“Why not?” And it’s only half asked to be difficult, the other half is because you want to know why it’s bothering him— why it’s made him twitch.
The response you get is the furrow of a brow— one you don’t understand but react to all the same. Your head tilts and it's now that urges of fight leave you and discards behind simple curiosity; you don’t really get it, no, not even when it’s yours, but Luffy does. He’s good at that, at knowing. He doesn’t know much, but he understands how the synapses work, where the sinew and the bone connect, he knows where the blood sits, how it gets to the heart— he knows where to look to catch every tick, vellication, tremble; in hypotheticals, of course, because Luffy doesn’t know it in himself, but on you, on his crew it’s easy. Luffy knows exactly where to touch so that your skin opens up to invite him closer in. You’d given him a hint earlier.
“Feels weird,” he responds, nose scrunching and, because restraint is unfamiliar to him, he continues, “makes me w’nna kiss you.”
You thought Luffy had lost all capacity to shock you, thought you’d managed to get used to his particular brand of chaos. You’re not sure what your face is doing, past your lip trembling in open and close to make some noises that you think a blubbering fish would make on dry land. Luffy shows about as much interest in women as Sanji shows interest in men, which is to say he doesn’t and if he does, it's apprehensively at best. He’s no fool and he knows about sex, as juvenile as his brothers might have made it or as clinical as Chopper might have explained, but for him to want the prerequisite is confounding.
You squint your eyes at him, disbelieving and unsure. “A kiss?” You echo, the words sounding even crazier as they glide around the aquarium, return to your ears in a glutinous lacquer picked up from molecules of wet clinging ‘round the air. “What’d you even know about kissing?” And then, “are you making fun of me?”
“No, why would I do that?”
“Cause it’s kissing,” you stress like Luffy might get it. He doesn’t. You won’t get an answer past frustration. “What did I even do?”
Luffy huffs, irritated. He stretches his back out again, presses his hands onto your shoulders. “This,” and you’re reminded that you’ll never truly be able to guess what Luffy is capable of when he rolls his hip into yours, up and lousy. The intention is there, but the point is immature, doesn’t work in the way he’s trying to make it. Still, it knocks a breath up your throat, warped in all the heat, viscous with all the melting it's done and leaves slick all the way up to the back of your throat when the metal button of his shorts catches on a belt loop of your pants.
“This?” And you do better, lift your hips from the floor and press it up into him where— yes— you feel the faint hardening of something distinct and Luffy makes that same gasp, twitches all the same. His fingers tremble over your shoulders and he squeezes down around skin hard.
Well, there’s your answer.
Something possesses you easily when you know Luffy is being generous enough to allow it. “Luffy,” he shakes his head, his bottom lip caught between teeth and you remember how careless he is with his mouth, how easy it is for him to tear through meat and how sloppy he gets with sauce, “captain.” Another gasp broken through the surface of water, pathetic, miserable. You gratefully take your catch. Grabbing onto the lapels of his vest and tugging him down as you stomp your shoes onto the floor, jerking your hips up as your teeth rattle, ring against Luffy’s.
Luffy's kissed before. That's the impression you have first, but then you realise that no, that's just instinct. He doesn't know what he’s doing, which is great— makes you feel an immature flicker of pride when you drop your jaw and press your open mouth against his, swallowing all the splutters of gasps and breaths and heavy pants; something ugly inside you, a muscly thing full of phlegm and blood, something you haven't realised the weight of since joining the Strawhats, preens at the realisation that this was new. A whole unexplored territory of touch and new experiences for your captain and here you were, the one who had initiated it all and the one to see it through all the way to the end with him. The only Strawhat that's had your tongue against Luffy's palate, where he keeps all his most treasured flavors.
Before you get to really feel sick at the train of thought, Luffy squeezes around the fabric of your shirt and then his tongue desperately lurches. It feels like drowning as the muscle stretches out, like he’s trying to flood your mouth, rewire all the senses in your mouth to only know him; you shouldn't be surprised, when Luffy doesn't know what to do with what he wants, he does it all excessively and hopes how large his gesture had done at least something notable. A hypnic jerk of your hips makes him pause, spitting out his tongue from your mouth.
“Hey!” He shouts, offended; he presses his weight down to keep you still, like he’s denying you the pleasure to keep rutting against him.
You're equally miffed, “don't stretch out your tongue— holy shit, I couldn't breathe.”
Luffy doesn't look a bit apologetic, just annoyed that he’s got it wrong; his face scrunches up and then, finally, “sorry.”
The tension on your face splits and breaks away as the thought occurs to you, he really doesn't know what he’s doing, then you get giddy again, because oh God, Luffy doesn't know what he’s fucking doing and you're the first person to have ever scolded him for his horrible kissing habits, because your captain has never kissed before.
“Hey, you look like Sanji again!” He points out, a grin already on his face.
You slap your hand against his face, “shut up.” The moment’s gone, you sigh, at least you get his first kiss, even if Sanji was somewhat, dubiously involved.
You're shifting to get out from under him when Luffy grabs at you. “Where you going?” He whines, “I wanna keep kissing.”
You don't need much more convincing, dogish when it comes to him. “Alright, captain.” This time you don't miss the slight shiver that makes Luffy twang like a rubber band, how it ends at the very tips of his hair and the sigh he lets out of him; like a string of rubber that's so easily malleable, stretches taut with a curled index and then slips off with a misguided touch and can so readily hurt. He’s a lot more tentative this time, careful and slow when he opens his mouth, tilts his head to let you slide the curve of your lips together; the friction of two tectonic plates over the course of years spent in anticipation, shivering and fizzling under the cool, cool sea until it learns of touch.
His denim shorts tremble like the waves following a collision, shifting up to cover the colour of his boxers before dragging back down as he mimics a sloppy tempo against you. Sweat builds up again, you try to convince yourself it’s the same kind of heat that would have troubled Luffy in Alabasta. You thought the sound of Luffy eating would always be annoying, smacking his lips and slurping and letting out obnoxious, appreciative moans and groans that would make any other pirate irritated; you're selfish enough to enjoy it when it’s you he’s got his undivided attention on trying to swallow. He surges forwards, follows with a stubborn you know well, the moment makes his straw hat tip back, threatening to slip off your head but Luffy slaps a hand against it and steadies it back onto your head.
Satisfied, he focuses back onto you. The sound of wet closes in around your head, pure obscenity, the savagery of ducking your head down and goring down on an open orifice of your meal— it slicks around creases of your ears, floods in and makes everything else sound far, far away; distantly, very distantly, you hear the sudden swerve of a large tail of an unimaginable beast that Luffy has only found usefulness in its calories. He's sloppy in ways you don’t understand, you can feel the sticky of spit against the corner of your mouth and it's thick in a way that ain't right, swirled with vanilla and thick chocolate as Luffy curls a hand under your nape. The sound of your own gasps, flavoured with captain's spit, return to you foreign after it circles around the walls of the aquarium, taunting schools of fish as it bounces onto the glass and reverberates back to you in a poor, embarrassing echo.
Captain's getting heavy, the intent of how his hips press low against you and then the curve of his bulge as he settles it between the stitch of fabric and then slides it up in a rough manner. “Captain,” breathless, like breaking out the ocean, Luffy doesn't stop— opens his mouth wider with the intention of swallowing the call of his name like he doesn't want it to go any further, “Lu— Luffy, give, give me a sec’, c'mon.” He chases the words with his grinding, every vowel followed by his insistent rutting. “Let me get my pants off.”
He whines, pulls back from your lips after he places his tongue flat against the top of your mouth and traces a line from the back to the edge of your teeth. “No, don't make me stop—” His jaw clenches, teeth grinding like he’s gonna set his second gear into motion if you even dare keep pushing for a pause; he squeezed around the nape of your neck, blunt nails digging into skin that makes you duck your head back into your shoulders, “not stoppin’, captain’s orders, keep going.” He uses his foot from where his legs are bent to straddle you to kick at your thigh like he's trying to get a horse to move.
It would offend you but then again this is Captain.
So naturally, the only path to try and take is to appease him as nicely as you can into getting what you want. “Captain,” voice low, a thickened sweet with catches of cold ice like a milkshake, “you feel good right?” He snaps his head in a nod, eyebrows furrowed at you with a snarl that is so blatant in its ‘so what?’.
“I want to feel good too, so let me get my pants off.”
Frustration makes his features curl, the ears of a canine predator laying flat against its head, he flattens his tongue against his sharpest tooth and clicks his tongue as he takes it away. You've never had his annoyance directed at you, perhaps for the better because you can only imagine that it’d have had you as wet as you are now, no matter the circumstances. He lifts his hips if only for a second, doesn't wait for you to do anything before he grabs at the hem of your shorts and tugs it down. Once it’s down enough to reveal your underwear, Luffy decides it’s good enough to get back down.
“Okay?” He asks with the petulance of an impatient man, daring you to say anything but yes.
You breathe out a sigh that rattles through your ribs, pings off the curve of bones before it’s gone, “yeah,” you settled your hands onto his thighs, “thanks Captain.”
How submissive you are makes him a little less grudgeful, huffing before he starts again, picks up the speed just from when he’d stopped. His irises quiver with an unwavering focus, knees pressed in against your side as he knocks the curve of a strained bulge against the dampening crease molding against your skin. This is what he looks like, all those times his straw hat obscures his face, when the boy you love becomes who he’s promised to be: captain; eyebrows sharpened into an upward slant, a scrunch of agitation between them, animalistic and wanting, getting. Sweat becomes more manageable when you get to taste its salt off his tanned skin, keening upwards with your hands pressed against the panels of wood behind you to get there, swerving your head along the cut of his jaw to get up into his sideburns, toffee that crackles in wads of dairy thick spit, makes your throat dry when you swallow.
Luffy slams you down, so hard that your vision splits for a moment and the world duplicates with a blurry fizz, cracks back from its duplicity when he gathers your tethers by ravishing his hands up your shirt, his thumbs pressed into your navel and then pushing up so he can cup his hands over your breasts. He’s no patience to fiddle with the clasps at your back, pushing the support of your bra over the fat and strangles you with the top of its cups as he squeezes around the meat. The liquid ease of earlier words are roughened back to solids under his grinding, leaves you in half–breaths and strangled gasps that mimic the vibrations of his name, of captain, of pleases, and of mores. He’s never looked more sober, heavy to consider; he’s usually grand, boisterous with all his actions, unnecessarily so with his ability to blow himself up, stretch to a larger stature.
Luffy has a handful of tit that he abuses, you try your best to keep up with how he thrusts his hips into yours, but you soon find out that there is no tempo, no pattern, and it annoys him more than it does help. You surrender yourself to laying there, clenching around nothing and gripping onto his thighs, fingers pushed up past the hem of his shorts as he ducks his head down and bites at a hardened nipple and then suckles. “Mine.” Captain says once. You hadn’t even needed to hear it, you knew you were his far before he had even invited you onto his ship, but it’s chilling for him to acknowledge it, to know it and to use it— for you to hear it echo and slick between grooves of wooden planks, to adhere to splits between panels of glass, and for the sea kings to burrow into hiding when they hear his voice. It’s entombed in his haki, you realise when you see an eel–like sea monster snap at an angle to shoot away from the glass of the aquarium.
You peek down at him at the valley of your chest and find he’s already looking up at you, lying in wait. He burrows his strained bulge between saturated cotton and tilts his head. “Yeah, captain.” His lips jerk into a wide grin, manic around the shaking of his pupils, and then snaps up, thrusts the crook of his cock right against your clit. When he finds that it makes your head tip back, pushing into the shape of his straw hat, he does it again.
“Here?” He asks, almost amused. You nod your head, a whine stuck between phlegm when he does it again. He gets stubborn about it, testing it a couple of times until he feels your nails dig into his skin and then, he moves his head further up, licking up from your throat to your chin. Captain kisses you again, just once, a sweet peck that puts you off–kilter in the moment and makes you follow after him, “hey,” humming to get your attention, apologises for the chaste kiss by mimicking what it would have been against your clit with his bulge. “Are you gonna tell me what got you upset?”
You frown, feeling immature in the way you bite on your gums, peeking up at him through lashes and furrowed eyebrows. Luffy mimics your expression as he settles his hands by your head, boxers sticky on yours— the reminder that it was your doing appeases you, “you're not gonna tell your captain? C'monnnn, ‘m asking nice an’ all.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck if he doesn’t know how to get under your skin. A full body itch, the need for nails to press in at the back of your head and split your skin down to muscle to your heels, you need this pumping blood out of your body and you need oxygen to deplete and you need someone to break your bones and you think you want it to be him. Most of all, you want his approval more than anything. Even if you hadn't, the sound of his stained boxers on yours, the way he looms like he's about to unhinge his jaw over your head— it's hard to say no when he's redirecting all thoughts to your pussy.
You take a large breath to centre yourself and because he's getting real fucking precise with where you're most sensitive, it gets hot beneath the flesh, gives you the illusion of it being cooler when the heat is not plastering to your skin but bubbling beneath you. “I didn’t like— fuck— you guys talking about Alabasta.” His hips jerk in surprise and there's a split second when he freezes like he doesn't expect it but then he's back into motion.
“Why not?”
You look at him like he's stupid, realising, when your eyes settle on him wholly, how wrecked he looks. His skin is glazed with a sheen, sweat collects at angles of his shape and threatens to drip onto you, his hair is frizzy with the heat, stray matted strands pointing upwards and about at the back of his head, his eyes spinning ‘round and ‘round before they drag back down to the colour of your panties, letting out a sigh, and then back up; you're reminded of cinnamon rolls, the speckles of seasoning that could easily be his freckles, the glaze of liquid sugar rolled between folds of his body, the gooey centre that you'd have to unravel the rest to get to. Sweet on your tongue, sticky on your fingers with the way you eat it, licking your lips afterwards.
“I was jealous, captain.” For your honesty, Luffy fucks his hips harder. Or not. He's doing it for his own pleasure at his point, hardly listening but ‘uh–huh'ing anyways because he'd asked you to tell him and he's a good, good captain so of course he'll listen to the woes of his crew. His ‘mhm’ is shaky, trembles after his hips stutter and he wanders his hands from the ground to your shoulders for a better grip, his jaw is clenched and you feel the twitch of his cock between the heated folds of your cunt, hitting against your clit with every tick. “I wasn't yours at that point, so I didn't like hearing about it.”
Maybe he just wants you to shut up, maybe he means it and it's as easy as, “you're mine now.” Captain promises, threatens, warns— you don't fucking know.
“Yeah,” you agree, and then “yeah, yeah,” ‘cause he’s getting real good with his hips and you're closer than you remember, losing all heat between your toes as you curl them, clawing at his thighs with a moan that bares your throat to him.
“So wet,” Captain observes, panting between the consonants, “so hot, s’ good.”
His dick twitches, wet blossoms from the pre sticking to his inner thigh. He lowers himself down and opens his jaw around your throat, bites down as you bring your knees into his sides, squeezing tight around him as you feel thrumming shocks of an overwhelming orgasm twitch through your body; your ears pop, a bursting of a bubble right in your eardrum.
You're halfway through a call of Captain's name when he licks over the marks of his teeth and he says, “I know,” and presses his lips against yours as he drags a final grind against you, mouthing off words you're not sure of as he comes. He eases off the rutting slowly, like he doesn't really want to, but the feeling gets a little painful as he keeps chasing. Captain keeps himself satisfied by kissing, making obnoxious smacking noises and humming with his tongue on top of your teeth. His kissing is strange, isn't so much kissing but mimics the shadows of what eating is, too much teeth and swallowing for it to be anything different, carries a dangerous intent— you’re sure he’d swallow if he could.
Luffy pulls back with a wide cheshire grin that you can somehow taste on your tongue— it’s sweet, a kick of a spice, thickens and melts, “you're nakama, ‘right? Means you’re always gonna be mine.”
To be honest, it’s embarrassing how that comforts you so. It’s only now in the situation you blush, “mhm.” It’s worse in a way, childish and immature, an unknown feeling to a child who’s only learnt of the sweet things in life.
“Don't be stupid, ‘kay? Y’re not meant to be,” a pause where he thinks, “but you should tell me when you're feelin’ stupid, I’ll help.”
You’re not exactly sure how he intends to help, but that’s a promise, and if you know anything about Luffy, it’s that he’s stubborn to a dizzying degree and he’ll make sure to do as best he can to make good on promises. Either way, if you find yourself acting a bit more stupid after you follow Luffy out of the aquarium, dragging him into the showers of the Sunny, it’s no one’s problem but Captain’s.
Luffy is already in that needy, instinct-driven mood.
His hips are slamming into you, balls hitting against your ass, his thrusts are fast and rough. “Hnghh! s’good!” His voice is spilling out loud moans and gasps without holding back. He’s not thinking about the pace or rhythm, he’s just lost in the feeling of your pussy squeezing around him, too tight every damn time. His mouth is open, drooling against your neck, teeth grazing skin like he can’t decide whether to moan or bite.
“y/n, fuuckk.. s’tight!—“ he moans out, hands running down your body before gripping you, his fingers digging in your hips as if he’s keeping you tightly in place while his cock slides even deeper inside your wetness, as far as he can go. His leaking tip hits against the end of your cunt each time, pre-cum coating your already-wet velvety walls.
You're a mess underneath him. “L-lu!—Ah!“ your body is limp but so alive, shaking from every thrust. Your thighs quiver and your back arches helplessly, your mouth keeps falling open with these uncontrollable sounds that get louder and louder. “I—hnghh, ahhn! Luffyy!—“ Your pussy can’t stop clenching around him, and the overstimulation is so much that your whole body searches for something to cling to.
And then without thinking, it happens.
Your nails drag down Luffy’s back. Not gently. Hard. Deep red lines bloom down his skin as you scratch, desperate, grounding yourself in the only way you can. You’re crying out Luffy’s name, sobbing from the pleasure, your hands raking over Luffy’s sweaty back like if you’ll let go, you’ll drown in it.
Luffy shudders the second he feels it. His moan cuts into a sharp gasp, his whole body jerks like electricity shot through him. He’d never felt that before, never had someone mark him like that. And it drives him insane. His instincts kick in—he snarls into your neck, rutting into you harder, chest heaving, but there’s this huge grin splitting his face too.
“—Haa! y/n!! That feels good!!” he cries, voice cracked and needy, and he starts chasing it, almost angling his body so your nails keep dragging along him with every movement.
Your voice is hoarse.. breathless: “l-luffy—luffy please!~ I can’t— it’s so much—!” but your nails dig deeper anyway, your hands trembling as they tear lines down his back again and again.
Luffy is so gone that the sting just fuels him. He doesn’t slow down once, doesn’t even notice his own back burning from the scratches—it just eventually shoves him right over the edge—like his body wants it. “‘m gonna cum, gonna cum—!” the feeling of your nails deep in his back while his cock is getting hugged so tight from your sweet pussy is just too much, it feels too good. His cock throbs deep inside you, and then he’s cumming hard.
Thick, hot spurts fill your cunt in heavy waves, way more than usual, so much it leaks out almost instantly. His moans are loud, breaking into desperate little cries. “Ahhh ‘m cummin’—c-cummin’ s’good.. feels s’good!..haaah—!!” He moans out, eyes half lidded and glazed with pleasure.
His back is still raking against your trembling nails, every sting sparking another throb, another spurt. His hips jerk through it, rutting sloppily, chasing every last drop, still thrusting deep in you—fucking himself through his orgasm.
And you—the moment Luffy empties inside you while rutting so hard, your body shatters, a sharp aching jolt running down your spine as your cunt clenches hard around Luffy’s length, fluttering and sucking him deeper, overstimulated to hell. Your legs quake and lock around Luffy’s waist, heels digging in. You sob out, voice high and broken “hngh—! ‘m—ahhh!!”
And then you're cumming too, hard, pussy spasming. The overstimulation is unbearable, your nerves feel like they’re on fire, every thrust dragging you through wave after wave. Your scratches get even deeper into Luffy’s back, nails trembling but desperate, carving red streaks as you cry out helplessly while he continues to fuck into you.
By the time it ends, Luffy is still above you, panting, drooling on your neck with the dopiest, bliss-drunk grin. His back is a canvas of red marks and welts, but he’s giggling breathlessly, voice hoarse, “Shishishi… that was s’amazing… y/n, you scratched me sooo good… it made me cum s’hard…” he sighs happily.
Luffy’s back is covered in raw, red lines, some still stinging, some bleeding lightly, but he doesn’t care at all—he’s still just grinning like he just had the best meal of his life, “You scratched me a lot, y/n. Do it again next time, ‘kay?” While you just whined underneath him, your pussy fluttering weakly around luffy’s cock as you can’t think straight right now.
Luffy’s humming to himself after, pulling his blue shorts back on, tying his yellow sash lazily around his waist. He’s still sweaty, hair sticking out in every direction, but his grin is wide and boyish.
You’re sitting on the bed, blanket bunched around your waist, legs trembling, face still hot and flushed. You catch a glimpse of Luffy’s back as he straightens up—and your eyes widen.
The whole expanse of his tanned skin is covered in angry red scratches, some raw and welted, a few with little beads of blood. They run all the way down his back, vivid and shameless. You instantly go pale, your hands flying to your mouth. “Luffy—!!” Your voice cracks, horrified. “I–I did that?! Oh my god—I’m so sorry! Does it hurt?! I didn’t mean to—!”
Luffy glances over his shoulder, blinking. “Huh? Oh.” He cranes his neck to try and see his own back, but then just shrugs like it’s nothing.
You're scrambling, cheeks burning, trying to reach for him. “I-I scratched you so bad! You’re bleeding a little—Luffy, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
But Luffy just laughs, that carefree, belly-deep laugh, his grin stretching wide. “Shishishi! Why’re ya apologizin’? I liked it!”
You froze, speechless. Your whole face goes pink, ears hot, lips fumbling to form words. “Y-You… you liked that?!”
Luffy just tilts his head, totally serious but playful. “Yeah! It made me cum way harder. Ya should do it again next time!”
You make this tiny strangled noise, burying your red face into your hands, completely overwhelmed. You don’t know if you want to sink into the floor or kiss Luffy senseless. Your chest is pounding, and all you can manage is a muffled “l-luffy..”
Luffy just plops down next to you with that goofy grin, eventually pressing your foreheads together. “What? It’s true! You’re the best, y/n!” He giggles as he wraps an arm around your waist, nudging you to get up. “C’mon, let’s go!” He announces, that made you let out a sigh, at least he doesn’t mind the scratches you desperately made on him.
Later, when Luffy’s still wandering around shirtless, you're trailing behind him like a little stormcloud of nerves. Every time you see those deep red scratch marks across Luffy’s back, your stomach flips, especially because the crew definitely would notice.
You finally tug him into their room, cheeks pink, holding a little jar of cream Chopper gave you for cuts and scrapes. “Sit down, Luffy..” you mutter, voice all wobbly but stern. “I need to clean your back.”
Luffy blinks at you, tilting his head like a puppy. “Huh? Why?”
Your face heats. You gesture weakly at his back. “B–Because you’re covered in scratches! And they’re from me… If the others see, they’ll—they’ll ask questions!”
Luffy just grins at that, plopping down cross-legged on the bed like this is some big fun game. “So what? I’ll just tell ’em ya did it.”
“Luffy!!” You squeak, nearly dropping the cream. Your whole face is glowing red now. “Y–You can’t just say that! Do you want everyone to know?!”
Luffy blinks at you innocently, totally confused. “Why not!? I told ya I liked it!” He’s so cheerful about it, so blunt. His big smile is making you want to melt into the floor.
You let out a groan, covering your face with one hand, but you still scoop out some of the cream with trembling fingers. Carefully, gently, you smooth it over the angry lines down Luffy’s back. Your touch is tender, almost reverent, even as you stammer out “jeez.. you’re so shameless, y’know that? Aren’t you embarrassed..?”
Luffy giggles at the cold cream, wriggling but letting you work. “Embarrassed? Why? You’re mine! If ya scratch me, then ya scratch me. I don’t care if they see.”
You go silent, your throat tight, you can’t argue with that blunt honesty—it always leaves you speechless. All you can do is keep tending the scratches with careful little touches, your heart pounding like crazy. When you’re done, Luffy twists around and suddenly wraps both of his arms around your waist, hugging you tight with a cheeky grin. “Thanks, y/n! You’re always so nice to me!”
At night, the ship is quiet, everyone else is asleep. But Luffy’s sprawled on top of you, cheek squished against your chest, drooling just a little with that blissful knocked-out smile. His arms are wrapped around you like he’s never letting go.
You’re wide awake, though. Your fingers keep ghosting over Luffy’s back where the scratches are still faintly raised and red. Every time your fingertips trail across them, your chest squeezes with guilt and warmth all at once. You pout down at the mess you left, whispering softly even though Luffy’s practically half-asleep “..You really could’ve told me to stop…”
But Luffy shifts at the touch, a sleepy hum slipping out of him. “Mmm… don’t stop...” His voice is slurred, half-asleep but honest.
You sigh, blushing furiously, eventually you duck your face into Luffy’s messy hair with a shaky little smile. Your nails drag so carefully now, just tracing the lines you left behind, softer than soft. Not hurting—just petting, retracing what you did. Your voice is a whisper, shaky but affectionate “I’d never hurt you… I was so scared that I did… but you really did like it, huh?”
Luffy giggles against your chest in his sleep “mmm.. liked it… ‘lots…” he mumbles.
And your heart melts completely at that, your chest aching with love. You keep scratching lightly, almost massaging up and down Luffy’s back until your own eyelids grow heavy. Before you drift off, you press a kiss into Luffy’s hair and whispered “…love you, lu..” after that, you finally let yourself sleep, your arms locked protectively around your beloved captain.
do not copy, translate, plagiarize or put my writing into ai ⋆˚⟡˖
Perv! luffy watching you through the cracked door as you call his name 🤧 #O meathod
I haven’t posted in almost 6 months omg I’ve been so busy with my clinicals, but ask and you shall receive!! MINORS DNI
[Pairing]: Luffy x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Explicit Language, 18+, MINORS DNI, written as requested
You should’ve known better than to do this on the Sunny.
Too risky. Too many creaky floors. Too many curious idiots.
But the ache was too much tonight.
So you locked the bedroom door.
Or thought you did.
Palm between your thighs.
Breath catching.
Sweat on your brow as your hand reached under your shorts, slow, gentle then at a mediocre pace your fingers rubbed at your clit. The sexual tension you faced all day staring at his toned body, that ‘X’ draped around his chest like a fucking treasure map you wanted to hunt down. But for now you kept it a fantasy, just like you did a few days ago, then the week before that: you were currently in a loophole of pleasuring yourself to the thought of him.
And his name.
Spilling from your lips before you can stop it as your middle finger curved while slipping in & poking your cervix.
“Luffy…”
Soft.
Wrecked.
Needy.
You don’t know that he’s right there, behind the door.
You don’t hear the barely-there creak of the hallway floor.
Don’t see the shadow pass in front of the crack in the door.
Don’t feel the pair of dark eyes on you—wide, hungry.
He doesn’t mean to stop.
He shouldn’t stop.
But then he hears it again.
“Luffy, please…”
And he freezes.
You’re breathless.
You’re close.
You’re whimpering for him like he’s the only thing you need in the world.
His cock twitches.
Hard. Fast. Immediate.
He presses his forehead to the wall, eyes still locked through the gap.
Your fingers.
Your slick.
Your thighs.
Your voice.
He licks his lips.
God, you’re so pretty like this.
He palms himself through his shorts.
He’s never really touched himself before meeting you—never really thought about it.
But you? Like this? on his ship fucking yourself to the idea of him?
It’s different.
He’s breathing hard now. Quiet, but shaky.
The grip on his dick is clumsy, of course it is.
But it's effective.
He’s mouthing your name.
You don’t know he’s there.
Not when you come.
Not when you arch and cry out and grind down like you need him. that's the part that had him questioning whether to cross the line between you two. (like it still existed at this point).
Not even when he bites his lip to keep from groaning when he follows a few seconds later, panting through his teeth, hand wet with heat and want.
He stays there.
Just for a second.
Watching you come down.
Watching the soft, fluttery way your fingers tremble.
Then he slips away into the dark.
You never see him. But you did see the mysterious milky white liquid left dripping on your door handle when you left to go wash your hands.
He secretly followed you the whole time till you went to bed, then called it a night himself.
But in the morning? His dick is already poking out through the sheets, leaving him to beat it again. Then a flash of memory while he was in the shower—rock hard again. Then the memory of how you smelled when you gave him hugs, that little twitch your eye does when you smile, poor boy couldn’t handle it anymore.
Summary: You were taught to never go near a Malfoy, ever. But how could you? He's very much unavoidable.
wc: 1.1k+
cw: potter!reader x draco, reader is twins w harry, au where voldy doesn't exist, jily is alive, kinda unsupportive james, reader and james fight.
A/N: I can't stop with the potter!reader x draco fics.😔
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
Your parents only ever gave you and Harry one command before your very first year at Hogwarts. Not “study hard,” not “stay out of trouble,” not even “stick together.” No. It was a singular warning, sharp and unwavering, as you stood on Platform 9¾ with your trunks at your feet and nerves buzzing under your skin.
James Potter crouched in front of you, eyebrows furrowed beneath his messy hair, and pointed at both of you as if branding the rule into your very soul.
“You do not go near a Malfoy,” he said with finality.
“Ever,” Lily echoed, folding her arms across her chest.
You and Harry glanced at each other, unsure whether to laugh or panic. But neither of you asked questions. You didn’t have to. Their faces were carved from stone—resolute, nostalgic, and more than a little haunted.
So you promised.
And for the first few years, you kept that promise.
⸻
You were now heavily making out with Draco Malfoy.
Pressed against the stone wall behind the library, hidden in the shadows, you felt his fingers tangle in your hair as his lips moved hungrily against yours. Your heart pounded like it always did when he touched you—half from the thrill, half from the guilt.
You broke the one rule your parents gave you. And you broke it over and over again.
You didn’t mean to fall for Draco Malfoy. You really didn’t. He was cold and smug, always armed with some sharp-tongued remark. But there was something about him that you couldn’t shake—something that got under your skin.
Maybe it was the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. Or the way he softened, just slightly, when you were alone. Maybe it was the fact that he saw you when so few people did.
Whatever it was, you fell. Hard.
The worst part? You didn’t regret it.
Your relationship wasn’t born from passion—it was born from quiet. From shared detentions, lingering glances, sarcastic bickering that slowly melted into warmth.
It started in fifth year, during a late-night prefect patrol, when you caught Draco staring up at the stars through one of the Astronomy Tower windows.
“I thought you didn’t care about anything that wasn’t gold or pureblood,” you had teased.
“I don’t,” he’d replied, smirking. Then, after a pause:
“Except maybe this.”
He never said what “this” meant. But he didn’t have to.
You kept it hidden. For nearly a year, you and Draco became masters of secrecy. Carefully choreographed exits, notes passed in books, fleeting touches under desks. No one suspected a thing. Not your friends. Not Harry. Not your parents.
Until the day the secret fell apart.
It started with a storm.
You and Draco had snuck off to the boathouse, hoping to escape the castle for an hour. The rain came fast, wind howling against the windows. You lit your wand and wrapped yourselves in a conjured blanket, curled together on the old wooden bench. He kissed you, slow and soft, the way he always did when he was trying not to say something out loud.
And then—click.
You both froze.
In the doorway stood Colin Creevey, camera in hand, eyes wide.
“Colin,” you said, your voice weak. “You can’t—please don’t—”
But he was already running. Already shouting your name and Draco’s down the corridor.
By the time you returned to the castle, the damage was done.
You walked into the Great Hall for dinner and the noise immediately dipped into silence. Dozens of heads turned. Murmurs passed like wildfire through the room.
“Potter’s daughter and Malfoy?”
“James Potter’s going to kill him.”
“Bloody hell, are they serious?”
You held Draco’s hand anyway.
Even though Ron gawked at you like you’d lost your mind. Even though Hermione looked at you like she was calculating seventeen different ways your life was about to fall apart.
Even Harry, sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table, stood up and walked out the moment you sat down.
He didn't talk to you for a month.
You were dreading the Easter holidays.
The moment you stepped off the train at King’s Cross, the pit in your stomach grew heavier. Your parents were waiting by the barrier, smiling—until they saw you walking hand-in-hand with Draco Malfoy.
James’s smile vanished.
Lily blinked like she was sure she was seeing things.
“Draco,” you said carefully, “maybe I’ll see you later—”
But James was already storming forward.
“Is this a joke?” he snapped. “Please tell me this is some Slytherin dare.”
“Dad—”
“No, no, no, don’t Dad me—you promised. You promised us!”
“I didn’t plan this—”
“Damn right you didn’t!” James shouted, voice cracking. “He’s a Malfoy! Do you have any idea what that family stands for?”
Draco, to his credit, didn’t say a word. He just nodded once at James, then looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes.
“I’ll see you later,” he murmured, and disappeared into the crowd.
Back home, the air was thick with silence.
Lily sat across from you at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a cooling cup of tea. James paced by the fireplace like a storm cloud.
“I knew you’d rebel eventually,” James muttered. “But I didn’t think you’d break our one rule.”
“I’m not rebelling,” you said. “I’m in love with him.”
The room froze.
Lily’s eyes softened. “Sweetheart…”
“He’s not Lucius,” you said, voice shaking. “He’s not cruel. He’s not obsessed with bloodlines. He’s nothing like the stories you told us.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” James asked, quieter now. “What if he hurts you?”
“Then he hurts me,” you said. “But at least it’s my choice.”
That night, you lay in your old bed, staring up at the enchanted ceiling James had painted for you when you were little—charmed to mirror the sky above Godric’s Hollow. Stars blinked back at you as your heart twisted with everything left unsaid.
You reached under your bed and pulled out the small, rectangular piece of enchanted slate. A matching one sat in Draco’s room at the Manor. You’d created them together last year in secret—a charmed chalkboard where whatever you wrote appeared on the other’s board in real time. Just one more way to stay close without being caught.
You held the chalk in your hand for a long moment, unsure what to say. But then, your fingers moved instinctively.
Are you still there?
A few seconds passed.
Then, slowly, a response appeared, the words etching themselves across the slate in Draco’s neat, angular handwriting:
I’m still here. If you still want me.
Your breath caught.
You smiled softly, heart aching with everything you felt and everything you chose.
You pressed the chalk to the board again.
Always.
You were told to never go near a Malfoy. But you did.
Summary: You receive a letter with a gift every week, and your brother Harry and his friends won’t stop teasing you about a “mystery admirer.” Little does he know, the sender is the last person he’d ever expect.
A/N: I'm currently in love with potter!reader x draco scenarios. ♡
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
It started about a month ago—a quiet little mystery that became your favorite part of the week.
Every Friday morning, just as the Great Hall buzzed with chatter and clinking silverware, a sleek, pale-gray owl swooped down gracefully and landed in front of you. It was never late. And it always brought something thoughtful—something that made your heart race just a little.
The first gift had been a delicate silver charm bracelet, simple but elegant, with a tiny serpent dangling from the chain. The note attached was written in tidy script:
“Something subtle… to keep me close, even when I’m not there.”
The second week, it was a small box of enchanted chocolates—each one shaped like a star, and when you bit into them, they whispered things like, “You’re beautiful,” and “Thinking of you.” The letter that time said:
“A little sweetness to match yours. Don’t share them with Weasley.”
You had giggled at that one, earning a curious look from Harry across the table.
Week three, it was a pressed flower—some kind of rare, deep purple bloom you’d never seen before—enchanted so it would never wilt. The note was shorter that time, but no less meaningful:
“Even something rare and beautiful pales next to you.”
And today? As the owl landed gracefully in front of you, heads turned, and Harry, who had already caught on to the pattern, raised his eyebrows with exaggerated interest. You untied the small parcel and unfolded the parchment first.
It read:
“Meet me tonight. Same place. P.S. You look stunning when you smile at my letters.”
You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you unwrapped the gift—a silver locket. When you clicked it open, inside was a tiny photo of you (one you didn’t even remember being taken) smiling down at something out of frame. Opposite it was a moving image of Draco, eyes soft and a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. Your heart squeezed.
“Alright,” Harry said, setting down his fork and leaning forward on his elbows. “This is getting serious now. A locket? You have to tell me who it is.”
Ron and Hermione both looked up, curious and amused, but Harry was the most relentless.
“I’m guessing—hmm—Ernie Macmillan.”
You rolled your eyes, tucking the locket carefully into your pocket. “Nope.”
“Michael Corner?”
“Wrong again.”
“Hmm…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Zabini? He’s smooth.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Lockhart?!” Harry gasped suddenly, eyes wide with mock horror. “Is it Lockhart? You can tell me!”
“Harry!” you squeaked, swatting at him, your face burning as you laughed.
“Look at her blush!” Harry crowed. “It’s Lockhart. Case closed.”
Ron groaned. “Please, no one wants to think about that.”
That night, you slipped out like usual, heart thudding as you made your way through the secret passage to your hidden meeting spot. And sure enough, there was Draco, already waiting, arms crossed, expression… stormy.
You frowned. “Hey… what’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer at first, just glared down at the ground. His jaw was tight, and he seemed to be brooding even more than usual.
“Draco?” you pressed, stepping closer.
Finally, he huffed and muttered, “If your brother keeps talking about other boys, I swear I’m going to hex him into next week.”
You blinked, startled—then burst out laughing. “That’s why you’re sulking?”
Draco scowled but didn’t deny it. “It’s annoying. All day, it’s been Corner this and Zabini that—and Lockhart?! Are you kidding me? I should’ve hexed Potter right then and there.”
You giggled, sliding your arms around his waist. “Jealous, much?”
“Maybe.” Draco didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes were sharp but softened when you reached up to brush his hair back.
“You know it’s only ever you, right?”
That earned a rare, genuine smile. He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, pulling you flush against him like he never wanted to let go.
“Let them guess,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s more fun that way.”
“As long as you remember who you belong to,” Draco murmured, smirking now, possessive but playful.
You laughed, pecking his lips. “Always.”
⸻
The following Friday, you thought maybe things would settle down. But oh, how wrong you were.
The owl swooped in as usual—but this time, it carried a huge box. Bigger than any gift so far. You stared as it dropped the package in front of you with a graceful thud.
“Oh, this is serious now,” Harry announced, eyes lighting up as he grabbed the box before you could. “Come on, let’s see what lover boy sent this time.”
You groaned, but Hermione and Ron were already leaning in curiously, and of course, the Weasley twins—never ones to miss out on teasing—slid onto the bench with identical grins.
Harry opened the box dramatically—and all five of them gasped.
Inside was the most stunning gown you’d ever seen: emerald-green silk, shimmering faintly, clearly enchanted, with intricate embroidery that looked too expensive to even touch. You couldn’t stop staring at it.
“Holy—” Fred began.
“—bloody hell,” George finished.
“Is that designer?” Hermione whispered, eyes wide.
Harry held it up, gaping. “This must’ve cost a fortune! Okay, okay, this is big money. We need to think. Who’s rich enough to pull this off?”
You tried to grab it back, face burning. “Harry, stop—”
“Theodore Nott?” Harry guessed first.
“Nope.”
“Mclaggen?”
“Wrong.”
“Zabini?” Hermione chimed in, clearly entertained now.
“Montague?” Fred suggested, holding the dress up to himself with a wink. “If it is, tell him I want one too.”
“Ohhh,” George added dramatically, “I bet it’s one of those international students. Super rich.”
You groaned, hiding your face. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Fred and George shared a look and started chanting, “She’s getting married! She’s getting married!”
“I am NOT—!"
And then it happened.
A sudden clatter of footsteps, sharp and purposeful, echoed across the Great Hall. Everyone turned—and your stomach dropped.
Draco Malfoy was storming across the room, eyes locked on you, face like thunder.
The table fell dead silent.
“Uh… why’s Malfoy coming over here?” Ron muttered nervously.
Draco didn’t stop until he was standing right behind Harry, towering over him with his arms crossed and that deadly glare fixed in place.
“I’m the one who bought the dress, Potter,” Draco announced, his voice cool but sharp, loud enough for half the hall to hear. “Not the cheap students you’re rattling off like some pathetic guessing game."
Silence.
Harry’s jaw dropped. Fred dropped his fork. Hermione blinked like she couldn’t process what had just happened.
Draco turned to you then, gaze softening ever so slightly. “You’ll look stunning in it, by the way.”
Harry's eyes widen even more, practically bulging out of his eye sockets, as Draco leans in to kiss your forehead.
And with that, he spun on his heel and strode out, his cloak following behind him.
There was a beat of stunned silence… and then chaos.
“MALFOY?!” Harry exploded, whipping around to stare at you. “You’re dating MALFOY?!”
Fred and George howled with laughter, practically falling off the bench.
“Ohhh, this is gold,” George gasped between wheezes.
“Best reveal ever,” Fred agreed, wiping tears from his eyes.
Ron just looked horrified, and Hermione… Hermione slowly closed her book, gave you a look, and said, “I knew it.”
You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “…Well. I guess the mystery’s solved.”
Summary: When you're paired with Draco Malfoy for Herbology, you expected eye-rolls and dead plants. But, you don’t expect that the most sudden pairings bloom the brightest.
wc: 1.7k+
cw: Hufflepuff!reader x draco. FLUFF! FLUFF! FLUFF!, a very pouty reader who loves and names her plants.
A/N: Alright you got me. I made up some of the plants mentioned cause I got lazy going through all the canon plants in hp. I LOVE LOVE LOVE HUFFLEPUFF!READERS! 💞
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
You’d witnessed many botanical tragedies during your years in Hogwarts’ greenhouses—Mandrakes shrieking their way into fainting fits, Puffapods misfiring into clouds of spores, even a Dungbomb incident involving a Fanged Geranium with a grudge and poor aim—but nothing, not even that, prepared you for the quiet devastation that was Draco Malfoy trying to care for magical plants.
“This one’s supposed to be droopy, right?” Draco asked one chilly morning, holding up a miserable-looking Flitterbloom, his face in lost confusion. The plant sagged from his gloved fingers like a limp dishcloth, the edges tinged with black rot, its once vibrant fronds now hanging as though in mourning.
Professor Sprout audibly gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, Mr. Malfoy, it most certainly is not supposed to look like that! That poor dear is drowning in water it didn’t ask for!”
You bit down on your smile, valiantly trying not to laugh. You really did try. But the look on Draco’s face—offended, a little baffled, and thoroughly disgusted—was too much. Your shoulders shook with suppressed giggles, and Professor Sprout caught your eye with a hopeful glint.
“Y/N,” she said, a little too sweetly, “would you mind pairing up with Mr. Malfoy for the rest of the term? He could use someone with your… patience.”
You blinked, unsure whether you were being punished or knighted. “You want me to help him?”
“I don’t need help,” Draco snapped, standing straighter.
“You do,” you and Sprout said at the same time, your voices perfectly overlapped. Your eyes met. She looked vindicated. Draco looked betrayed.
And that was how you became Draco Malfoy’s unofficial plant handler.
⸻
You wore flowers like armor. Always. In your hair—violets carefully tucked into your braid, a daisy behind your ear, sprigs of baby's breath pinned like secrets. Your jumpers often had tiny embroidered petals curling down the sleeves or buttons shaped like blooming buds. When people asked, you just smiled like the flowers had chosen you that morning and not the other way around. Flowers were a part of you, just like freckles were a part of others.
“Is there a reason you always dress like a sentient meadow?” Draco asked once, squinting as you buttoned up a coat stitched with little yellow marigolds that seemed to flutter when you moved.
“It’s for luck,” you said serenely, smoothing a daffodil-shaped pin at your collar. “And it makes the plants feel at home.”
He stared like you’d just offered him a slice of moonlight for breakfast. “You think the plants care what you’re wearing?”
You tilted your head, genuinely perplexed. “You don’t?”
The first incident came swiftly. You’d barely begun working together when he attempted to nudge a Puffapod into blooming. One gentle poke was all it needed—delicate, respectful. Draco prodded it like it owed him an explanation, and it exploded in a soft-pink mushroom cloud of pollen.
You stood in stunned silence, covered in fuzz, bits of petal clinging to your braid like confetti. You tried not to pout. You really did. But you ended up cross-legged on the floor, mournfully collecting the petals and whispering soft apologies.
“She just needed patience,” you murmured, fingers brushing the frayed bloom. “A bit of kindness.”
Draco sneezed and looked utterly unconvinced. “It was a plant. Not a therapy client.”
“She had a name,” you said sharply, shooting him a glare. “Lulu.”
He gave you a flat look. “You named the Puffapod?”
You met his gaze with unflinching sincerity. “I would've told you her name if you didn't blow up her sister Lala earlier this year.
He sighed. "yeah... because plants have siblings."
The next week, he crushed a Bubotuber in a moment of casual irritation. One second he was ranting about someone stealing his socks, the next he squeezed the bulb like it had personally offended him. It responded by erupting in a burst of thick, greenish goo. Draco’s shriek of horror echoed off the greenhouse walls.
“You strangled her,” you said disappointed, trying not to frown as you dabbed away goo with a Moondew sprig.
“I barely touched it!”
“You manhandled her like she owed you money.”
“It attacked me!”
“She was terrified.”
He stumbled back, covered in yellow-green sludge. “Of what? My refined bone structure?”
You crouched next to the limp plant, wand raised, murmuring a soft charm. “Of being misunderstood. She’s very shy.”
Draco groaned. “Merlin help me. Not again.”
“She has a name,” you said firmly. “Matilda.”
“Of course she does.”
With a flick of your wand and a quiet word, Matilda shivered back to life, wiggling slightly in your palm. You leaned in and whispered something that made her glow faintly. She’d forgiven him. Barely.
“She’s a menace,” he muttered.
“She’s sensitive,” you corrected, stroking her stem.
Draco stared at you like he was trying to decide if this was some elaborate Hufflepuff prank. You smiled serenely and tucked a fallen blossom behind your ear.
By the fourth week, Draco had managed to offend a Flutterfern, enrage a Shrivelfig, and traumatize a Fanged Geranium into permanent wilt. The final straw came when he took pruning shears to a Venomous Tentacula like he was avenging a personal vendetta. It lashed out in protest, its tendrils flailing before curling in on themselves, whimpering.
You didn’t speak to him for the next twenty minutes.
Instead, you crouched beside the wounded plant, gently gathering its injured tendrils in your hands. You rocked slightly, whispering something ancient and low—more lullaby than incantation. Slowly, the Tentacula calmed. Its color returned in hesitant pulses. One vine curled around your wrist, tentative and grateful.
“You’ve got to be doing this on purpose,” Draco muttered from the other side of the greenhouse. “No one’s that bad at plants unless they’re cursed. Or a Gryffindor.”
You glanced up, your voice dry. “You think I’d hex my own greenhouse just to make you look bad?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “With great pleasure.”
You dusted soil from your cheek with a dramatic flourish. “I’m petty, Malfoy. Not suicidal.”
He eyed you, then your boots. “You’ve got roses on your socks.”
“They’re embroidered,” you replied, lifting your foot slightly to show him. “Climbing roses. Very resilient. A bit clingy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Like you?”
You grinned. “Like you.”
His ears turned pink.
The sixth time was different. He didn’t kill the plant. He merely terrified it.
A small Mandrake sat trembling on its roots while Draco hovered uncertainly nearby, brow furrowed, tongue between his teeth in sheer concentration, wondering how the hell did you manage to stop a mandrake from crying. You watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, trying not to interfere.
“If you’re going to loom like that,” Draco muttered, glancing sideways, “you might as well do it yourself.”
“I’m observing,” you said proudly. “You’re improving. That Mandrake hasn’t flinched in at least two minutes.”
“It keeps looking at me.”
“you mean, He. Well, duh he has eyes. Of course he's looking at you.”
“Judgmentally.”
“That’s a compliment,” you said. “He doesn’t usually acknowledge people he dislikes.”
Draco scowled, but the Mandrake remained intact. Which, for him, was practically a miracle. When he wasn’t looking, you snuck the plant a leaf treat. It quivered happily.
Later that afternoon, while you adjusted the angle of a sunlamp for your Asphodel, you sensed Draco stepping beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just hovered—an odd, uncertain weight in the air. Then his voice came, softer than usual.
“You missed a spot.”
You turned, confused, just as he reached out. His thumb brushed a smudge of soil from your cheek, lingering a second too long. You froze.
The world narrowed. You forgot the cold, the damp, the faint buzzing of Pixie-flies overhead. For one suspended breath, it was just you, him, and the inch of air between your faces.
He cleared his throat abruptly and pulled his hand back. “You had… dirt. On your face.”
“Oh.” You touched the spot instinctively. “Thanks.”
He turned away, cheeks faintly pink. You didn’t say anything. Your heart was too loud.
⸻
All term, you’d been tending to a single Moonlily in the corner of Greenhouse Three. Once silver-bright, it had withered into something curled and gray, like it had forgotten what light felt like. Every class, you brought it a fresh blossom, whispered to it like an old friend. “I’m still here,” you told it. “Come back when you’re ready.”
Draco never asked about it. But he noticed. You caught him glancing at it when he thought you weren’t looking. Watching the way you cared.
And then came the last day of term.
Most students had left for the holidays. Snow pressed against the greenhouse windows, and frost dusted the vines in glittering white. You were alone, brushing a light dusting of ice from the soil, when you heard the sound of footsteps.
Draco.
He looked a little windblown, hair tousled, scarf half-untied. In one gloved hand, he held something fragile. Small. Pale.
A pot with a single marigold.
Its stem was crooked. Its petals trembled. But it was alive.
“I, uh… Professor Sprout helped,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “A bit. Mostly she just stopped me from killing it.”
You stared, lips parting. He shifted, awkward.
“It’s not perfect,” he said.
You reached out and took it gently, your fingers brushing his. The flower quivered in your palm like it knew who had grown it.
“It’s exquisite.” you whispered.
His shoulders sagged, some tightness easing in his jaw. “I... It reminded me of you. It's bright and... pretty. Very, pretty.”
You stepped closer.
“Thank you,” you murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t dare name. “I love it.”
And then, without thinking, you kissed him.
It was soft, tentative—dirt-smudged noses, cold fingers brushing warm cheeks, and the quiet, sweet hush of something just beginning. He tasted of peppermint tea and the kind of wonder that comes only after you’ve stopped pretending not to care.
Behind you, something stirred.
You turned as the Moonlily—the one you’d nurtured all term—gave a shiver, then slowly unfurled. Its silver petals caught the moonlight and glowed like a promise, blooming with the kind of gentle pride only magic, patience, and love can grow.
Draco stared, wide-eyed. “Was that... because of us?”
You clutched the flower he'd given you to your chest, heart fluttering. “She’s been waiting. I think... she felt it.”
He looked at you, the usual edge in his voice softened into awe. “You’re completely mad.”
You grinned, breathless. “You still think the plants don’t notice?”
And then, for the first time all term, Draco Malfoy laughed—really laughed. It spilled into the greenhouse like sunlight after rain, warm and unexpected.
“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe they do.”
You reached up and tucked the crooked little flower he’d grown into your braid, letting it nestle behind your ear like it had always belonged there.
“Then they’ve clearly been paying more attention than you have.”
“It’ll be fun, Matty!” you whine, tilting your head and giving him those big, pleading puppy-dog eyes that always seem to short-circuit his brain. The way your lashes flutter and the soft pout of your lips—he swears you know exactly what you’re doing.
Mattheo rolls his eyes hard, a low scoff escaping him, but the corner of his mouth twitches traitorously. Gods, you drive him insane. Every damn time it’s some ridiculous Muggle trend, some silly, pointless thing you’ve seen online, and every damn time he caves because apparently he’s that far gone for you.
He doesn’t bother arguing this round. Instead, his hands find your waist and he yanks you forward until you’re stumbling right into him. You land straddling his lap on the worn leather sofa, your thighs bracketing his hips, your ass settling flush against the growing heat of his groin in a way that makes his breath hitch for half a second before he recovers.
The faint scent of your sweet floral shampoo mixes with the warm, smoky trace of his cologne as you shift closer. He feels the quick rise and fall of your chest against his, the way your heartbeat flutters like a trapped bird when his fingers dig just slightly into your sides.
Mattheo snatches the little pack of flavored chapsticks from your eager hands, ripping the plastic open with his teeth in one sharp tug. His dark eyes flick up to meet yours—half-lidded, challenging, already simmering with that dangerous mix of annoyance and hunger he never quite manages to hide around you.
“Fine,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the word vibrating where your bodies press together. “But if this ends with you tasting like artificial cherry for the next hour, I’m blaming you.”
You beam up at him, all giddy and bright-eyed, lips already curving into that smile that should be illegal. Mattheo hates how easily it disarms him—hates how one look from you can make heat crawl under his skin like wildfire, how making you happy suddenly feels like the only thing that matters.
“Okay, okay,” you mutter, the words all light and airy. “Close your eyes.”
A low, reluctant chuckle rumbles from his chest and he actually does it. Lashes fanning dark against his cheeks, he waits, jaw tight, every muscle coiled like he’s bracing for impact. You can feel the subtle shift in his breathing, the way it slows and deepens as you lean in closer, the warmth of him radiating against your front.
You twist open the grape chapstick with trembling fingers, the sweet, artificial scent blooming sharp in the air between you. Slowly you drag the glossy stick across your lower lip, then the upper, watching the way his throat bobs when he hears the soft, slick sound of it. Your heart hammers so loud you’re sure he can feel it where your chest brushes his.
Then you close the last inch.
Your lips meet his in a soft, tentative press—warm, plush, tasting faintly of sugar and artificial fruit. It’s barely a kiss at first, just enough contact to transfer the chapstick, but the second your mouths connect, something shifts. His hands flex on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to keep you exactly where you are. A quiet, involuntary sound slips from the back of his throat and you feel the vibration of it against your lips.
You pull back first, just enough to see his reaction.
Mattheo’s nose wrinkles instantly, brows furrowing in exaggerated disgust as he processes the flavor. “Ew. It’s grape.”
The complaint comes out gravelly, almost petulant, but his eyes are still closed for a beat longer than necessary—like he’s savoring the ghost of your mouth on his. When they finally open, they’re darker, pupils blown, and the look he gives you is pure trouble wrapped in heat.
You can’t help the delighted little laugh that bubbles out. “Yay! One point for you.”
He exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’re the most ridiculous person alive—and maybe the most addictive. “You’re killing me with this shit,” he mutters, but the hand still splayed across your lower back slides up your spine in a slow, possessive drag, pulling you a fraction closer again. “Next one better not taste like shit.”
Mattheo’s eyes narrow, that dangerous glint sparking again as he rifles through the remaining chapsticks. He plucks out the chocolate one without a word, twisting it open. The rich, cocoa scent hits immediately—warm, indulgent, melting into the air between you like a promise. It’s nothing like the cloying grape; this one feels sinful, like something he could get addicted to. You want to remind him that this isn't necessarily how the game goes, but he looks so pretty when he's concentrated.
He doesn’t hand it to you this time.
Instead, he brings it to your lips himself, slow and deliberate. The pad of his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth as he smears the glossy balm across your bottom lip, then the top, watching with hooded eyes the way the deep brown tint makes them look even fuller, even more tempting. Your breath stutters at the contact, and he feels it, the tiny tremor that runs through you.
“Open,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, barely above a whisper.
You part your lips just enough, and he drags the stick over them once more, lingering, like he’s painting something he plans to devour. The chocolate melts slightly against your warmth, sweet and velvety on your tongue when you dart it out instinctively.
His gaze drops to your mouth, dark and hungry. Then he leans in.
This kiss isn’t tentative like the last one.
His lips crash against yours—firm, claiming, tasting the chocolate immediately and groaning low in his throat at the flavor mixed with you. The sound vibrates straight through your chest, raw and unrestrained, sending heat pooling low in your belly. One hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to tilt your head exactly how he wants it, deepening the kiss until there’s no space left between you. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, then slips inside—slow at first, savoring, then hungrier, chasing every last trace of cocoa and the soft, slick heat of your mouth.
You melt into him, hands fisting the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His other arm bands around your waist, grinding you down harder against the unmistakable hardness straining beneath you. Another quiet moan rumbles from him deeper this time, almost pained as he sucks gently on your lower lip, tasting, teasing, losing himself completely in the way you taste like sin wrapped in chocolate.
When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. His lips are swollen, shiny with a mix of balm and spit, eyes blown black with want.
“Game’s over,” he rasps, voice wrecked. In one fluid motion he stands, lifting you with him like you weigh nothing, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he strides toward the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you with his foot, the sound final.
He drops you onto the bed but doesn’t let go, crawling over you immediately, caging you in with his body. His mouth finds your neck, hot and open-mouthed, scraping teeth lightly over your pulse.
You arch up into him, feeling every inch of how affected he is. “Are you hard?” you whisper, half-teasing, half-breathless.
He huffs a dark laugh against your skin, hips rolling once deliberately, slow, letting you feel exactly how much. “Of course I’m fucking hard,” he growls, nipping at your collarbone. “You kissed me.”
And, while you really do want to remind him that was the exact point of the game, his hand is already sliding under your shirt. Palm scorching against bare skin, and any pretense of the silly challenge vanishes entirely.
— you wanted dessert and a kiss; you got theo’s quidditch monologue and a new tag team against your own boyfriend.
🍏 0.8k — mattheo riddle x fem!reader, established relationship, third-wheeler!theodore nott, mutual roasting → accidental bonding, “shut up mattheo!” duo supremacy
author's note — inspired by babe by @thatdammchickennugget ! everyone go follow her and check out her blog ‹𝟹
masterlist : navigation
gif on pinterest | divider by @/lavendergalactic
You sit at the small, candlelit table in the cozy café, staring at your boyfriend, Mattheo, who is currently giving Theo his undivided attention. What was supposed to be a romantic evening between the two of you has been thoroughly hijacked by none other than Theodore Nott, who sits directly across from you both, ranting about Quidditch—again.
Your jaw clenches as Theo goes on, passionately describing some absurd play he saw during the last match, waving his hands around like he’s delivering a TED Talk. Mattheo nods along, clearly entertained.
“Honestly, Mattheo,” Theo says, leaning forward dramatically, “the way the Chasers were handling the Quaffle, it was like they were intentionally throwing the game! The whole thing was a disaster.”
You roll your eyes, stirring your drink just to give your hands something to do before you snap. You came here for a cozy date with your boyfriend, not to sit through another episode of Theo’s Quidditch Chronicles. Noticing that Mattheo hasn’t looked your way in ten minutes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.
You gently place a hand on Mattheo’s arm, trying to pull his attention back to you. “Matty,” you say sweetly, leaning in slightly, “do you want to order dessert now? Maybe something to share?”
Mattheo finally turns to you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, babe, sounds good. What were you thinking?”
But before you can respond, Theo cuts in—again. “Hold on, hold on, Mattheo, you’re not gonna believe this next part.” He leans forward, effectively blocking you out of the conversation once more. “The Seeker, right? He—”
You let out a frustrated sigh, and Mattheo gives you an apologetic look. You’ve had it.
“Theo,” you say, your voice tight with forced patience, “do you mind? We were in the middle of something.”
Theo, unfazed, looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you saying something?” His tone drips with faux politeness, and you resist the urge to smack him.
“Yes, actually, I was,” you snap, your jaw clenched. “I was talking to my boyfriend.”
Theo raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as if amused. “Oh, really? Because it seems like my best friend here was more interested in Quidditch.”
You blink at him, feeling your temper flare. “Well, my boyfriend was supposed to be on a date with me, not getting sucked into yet another one of your rants.”
Theo scoffs. “Please, I’m doing you a favor. Do you know how much effort it takes to tolerate Mattheo? I’ve been carrying this friendship for years.”
Your eyes narrow. “You tolerate him? I’ve been dealing with his obsession with dark arts books, his constant need to brood, and don’t even get me started on his messy habits.”
Theo snorts. “Oh, honey, you have no idea. He still hasn’t returned the book I lent him three months ago. I think he’s using it as a doorstop at this point.”
Mattheo, sitting between the two of you, looks utterly baffled, his gaze darting between you and Theo like he’s watching a tennis match. “Uh… guys? I feel like we’re getting a bit off-topic here…”
But you and Theo turn to him in unison, voices sharp.
“Shut up, Mattheo!”
Mattheo’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes wide with shock.
You and Theo turn back to each other, both of you now bonded in your mutual frustration. “He leaves his socks everywhere,” you mutter, crossing your arms.
Theo nods in agreement. “Tell me about it. And he’s always late for our gaming sessions. I swear, he takes longer to get ready than anyone I know.”
“He spends hours in front of the mirror messing with his hair,” you add, glaring at Mattheo for emphasis.
Theo sighs dramatically. “And he has this annoying habit of—wait, what’s with the hair thing? He does that with you too?”
“Every day,” you groan.
Mattheo, now completely lost, throws his hands up in defeat. “What—how did this even turn into—are you two seriously ganging up on me right now?”
You and Theo exchange a look before nodding in unison.
“Yes,” you say, deadpan.
Mattheo blinks, looking utterly dumbfounded. “But… this was supposed to be a date?”
Theo shrugs. “I mean, it’s not my fault you’re an equal-opportunity annoyance.”
You chuckle despite yourself, while Mattheo looks like he’s trying to process how this all spiraled so quickly. He glances between you and Theo, his confusion only growing as the two of you continue your back-and-forth, now completely bonded over your shared grievances about him.
“So, what? Now you two are just… best friends?” Mattheo asks, incredulous.
You and Theo look at each other again, then back at Mattheo.
“Obviously,” you both say at the same time.
Mattheo groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Merlin’s beard… what have I done?”
Theo smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Congratulations, mate. You’ve officially become the least important person at this table.”
You laugh, and even though Mattheo’s clearly exasperated, you can’t help but feel like the night just got a whole lot more entertaining.
— theo learns the hard way that the only thing worse than a clingy couple is being roommates with them.
📘 0.5k — mattheo riddle x fem!reader, established relationship, morning fluff, theo nott = romance’s number one hater
masterlist : navigation
gif on pinterest | divider by @/lavendergalactic
The soft glow of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains of the Slytherin dormitory, the faint light painting the room in hues of gold and grey. The quiet hum of the early morning surrounded you, and your eyes fluttered open, instantly drawn to the figure lying next to you.
Mattheo Riddle.
His dark curls spilled messily over the pillow, a few strands brushing against his forehead. His lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. You couldn’t help but study him—your gaze tracing the curve of his jaw, the faint freckles scattered across his nose, and the softness in his expression when he wasn’t wearing his usual smirk.
He looked so peaceful, so unlike the sharp-witted, often sarcastic boy who loved teasing you. Your hand itched to brush away the stray curls, but you didn’t dare move, not wanting to disturb this rare moment of calm.
As if on cue, Mattheo shifted slightly, his brows furrowing as though he could feel your gaze. His lashes fluttered before his eyes opened, hazy with sleep, and he blinked a few times before focusing on you. A lazy, lopsided grin spread across his face.
“Morning,” you murmured softly, your voice still tinged with sleep.
Mattheo’s grin widened as he groggily replied, his voice gravelly, “You know, it’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.”
A laugh bubbled out of you, warm and quiet, as you leaned forward, burying your face in his chest to hide the sudden rush of affection flooding through you. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Do you practice being this charming, or does it come naturally?” you teased, your voice muffled against his chest.
Mattheo chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through you. “Both. I’ve got to keep you around somehow, don’t I?”
You smiled, your heart feeling far too full for this early in the morning. The quiet moment was perfect, the world outside forgotten as you stayed wrapped in his arms, soaking in his warmth.
The peace didn’t last long.
The curtains of Mattheo’s bed were flung open, and Theodore Nott stood there, glaring at the two of you with a look of utter exasperation.
“For Merlin’s sake,” Theo groaned, shielding his eyes with a hand. “It’s not even breakfast, and you two are already sickening.”
“Morning to you too, sunshine,” Mattheo drawled, not bothering to hide the smirk on his face.
“Disgusting,” Theo muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back. “Couples should be outlawed. You’re both revolting. I hope your breakfast is burnt.”
Mattheo chuckled, his lips twitching into a smirk as he tightened his hold on you. “Jealous, Theo?”
“Of you?” Theo shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’d rather kiss the Whomping Willow.”
You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped you as Mattheo grinned, clearly pleased with Theo’s annoyance.
As the curtains swung shut, muffling his footsteps, you and Mattheo burst into laughter.
“Poor Theo,” you managed between giggles.
Mattheo shrugged, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your back. “He’s just mad no one wants to cuddle him.”
You laughed again, feeling lighter than ever. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
Photos: Pinterest by lal here, Pinterest by maiazlife here, mine, divider is from saradika-graphics here
Theodore Nott x Reader
Word count: approx. 2k
Requested here by anon!
Summary: Hogwarts students aren't exactly known for minding their own business. Thankfully, you and Theo speak a language they don't.
Warnings/be aware: slightly grumpy x sunshine, Italian!Theo, Italian!Reader, Hufflepuff reader, google translate Italian, use of Y/N, so fluffy!
With a hurried motion, you leapt away from your table in Potions class, watching flames tear across the desk in front of you. A thick, blueish smoke soon filled the classroom, making students cough as Professor Slughorn attempted to clear the smog with a wave of his wand. The door flew open, sending the cloudy substance out into the hall as your classmates grumbled and rubbed their irritated eyes around you. The average person, you knew, would be frightened by this. But for you, this was just another day in NEWT Potions.
“Che ametre.” You turned to your left to see your boyfriend and brewing partner, Theo Nott, frowning at Ron Weasley in front of you as he attempted to sort out his botched potion. Crinkling your nose at him, you shook your head. (What an amateur)
“Theo, sii gentile.” You eyed him disapprovingly. His lips contorted in displeasure for a moment before he let out a sigh. (Theo, be nice)
“Solo per te." He gave you a resigned glance, though his grey eyes still sparkled gently as they took in the sight of you. (Only for you)
For you and Theo, Italian was like your own little secret code. You’d first connected over your shared culture during your third year, when he’d spotted you reading Uno, Nessuno e Centomilia before History of Magic.
“Tu parli Italiano?” You glanced up to see his dark, curious eyes watching you as you read. “Adoro quel libro.” (You speak Italian? I love that book.)
“Si, mio padre è nato in Toscania.” Your focused expression became a pleasantly surprised grin. You’d never thought you would meet someone else who shared your culture at a British school. “Me lo ha consigliato.” (Yes, my father was born in Tuscany. He recommended it to me.)
As a Hufflepuff, you’d tended to steer clear of Theo and his Slytherin friends before that day, but learning that you shared a second language had changed all of that. You finally had someone you could turn to when you missed your family’s Mediterranean cooking or the sounds of the Tuscany countryside in the summer. As you spent more time around Theo, his friends started to warm up to you, and you soon reached a point where you couldn’t imagine your life without them. Though you got on fine with the other Hufflepuffs, the Slytherins were your real friends.
Even as you grew closer to the others, the bond between you and Theo remained special. It began to transcend your shared heritage and move into other areas of your life as well. When he made the Slytherin Quidditch team, you started attending every match. The two of you sat next to each other during classes and studied together in the evenings. He started spending holidays with your family and took you on a multi-day tour of the art museums in London for your birthday. Exactly no one was surprised when he finally pulled you close and kissed you in the middle of the Slytherin common room at the end of your fifth year. Anyone else interested in Theo had long since learned that he only had eyes for you…and anyone interested in you had learned to keep quiet in order to avoid attracting his ire.
You and Theo discovered as friends, and now especially that you were dating, how useful it could be to share a second language. Even when you were around your other closest friends, there were some things that each of you only wanted to say to the other. And at a school as rife with nosy people as Hogwarts, it was one of the few surefire ways to keep your personal business personal.
As Professor Slughorn dismissed the class, you stood and took Theo’s hand, pulling your bag onto your shoulder as the two of you approached your friends.
“Ugh, what a disaster.” Draco scowled in dismay, looking very much indeed like he was sucking on a lemon. “How did Weasley make it into this class anyway? Snape would have never stood for this.”
“I think he deserves to have room to grow,” you interjected. “Look at Potter. He used to be miserable at Potions and now he’s doing great!”
“Hufflepuffs, honestly.” Draco shook his head as he frowned at you and you laughed, knowing he was joking. As your friends left the classroom, Theo drew you closer to him. His eyes softened as he glanced down at you, kissing the top of your head softly before following them. The two of you walked hand-in-hand in the direction of the Slytherin common room.
“Draco ha ferito i tuoi sentimenti?” Theo lowered his voice as he spoke, glancing at Draco’s back as he walked next to Blaise and Pansy. You shook your head, giggling softly at your boyfriend’s protective nature. (Did Draco hurt your feelings?)
“No, stava solo scherzando,” you assured him, giving his hand a soft squeeze. He looked somewhat mollified, but still glowered at the blond boy’s back. (No, he was just teasing.)
“Non mi piace quando ti parla in quel modo.” Theo shook his head. “Adoro che tu sia un Hufflepuff, sei così gentile e – “ (I don’t like when he talks to you like that. I love that you are a Hufflepuff, you are so kind and – )
“Would you two stop that?” You glanced away from Theo to see Pansy pulling a face at the two of you. “No one knows what you’re saying!”
“That’s the point.” Theo frowned at her. You laughed at his cranky demeanor, giving him a playful little shove.
“He just doesn’t want you all to know his biggest secret,” you teased. “Deep down, he’s actually a huge sweetie who gives me compliments all the t—” Theo cut off your words, clapping a large hand over your mouth.
“That’s enough,” he sighed, grinning down at you as you crossed your arms. You squirmed in his grip and he wrapped his other arm around you, holding you to him as you pushed on his chest. His mischievous laugh made your heart flutter as the two of you tousled in the hall. “You’re adorable.” Blaise raised his eyebrows at the sight in front of him.
“You’re so whipped, mate.”
Theo furrowed his brows at his friend in displeasure, but you just grinned as you watched him. “Don’t worry about it, love,” you said to him gently before turning to Blaise. “We’ll get him back next time he brings a girl around.” You gave him a wink and giggled at his disapproving expression.
“Excuse you, Blaise Zabini is a free agent.” He raised his eyebrows haughtily and you rolled your eyes as he referred to himself in the third person. “You’ll never catch me limiting myself to one woman.” This time, it was Theo’s turn to scoff.
“Right, mate. I’ll go tell that to Alyssa Park then.” You grinned at your boyfriend as Blaise sputtered, his eyes wide. Alyssa Park was a gorgeous Slytherin in the year above you who Blaise had finally worked up the courage to talk to after months of poorly-disguised pining in the Great Hall.
“I-I don’t fancy Park.” You shook your head and took Theo’s hand as he began to walk faster to keep up with the rest of the group.
Once you and your friends reached the Slytherin common room, you all settled in front of a fireplace in the corner, spreading yourselves over the emerald-colored vintage couches and the floor. Theo laid with his back against the armrest of a chaise while you sat in between his legs, your back against his chest and his arms around you. The rhythm of his breathing and the echo of his deep voice in his chest helped you relax as you listened to him tell a story to your friends.
“And that’s how Enzo nearly got mowed down by a Vespa in Rome.” His throaty chuckle and the hints of his southern European accent were music to your ears, making you feel safe and at home as he stroked your hair gently.
“Those things are everywhere!” Enzo’s cry of protest made you giggle. You glanced to your left, where he sat on the floor with his legs crossed, throwing up his hands in dismay. “How was I supposed to know to look out?”
“I don’t know,” Theo drawled. “I figured that after the fifth time I told you to keep an eye out for the Muggles on the fast scooters, you would get it, but perhaps I was mistaken.” Enzo sighed in resignation and the group laughed as he surrendered good-naturedly.
“Berk, you ought to come with a warning sign,” Draco remarked from an adjacent armchair. “I remember one time…”
You lost track of Draco’s story as you laid contentedly back into your boyfriend’s touch. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and you beamed, a hint of a blush gracing your cheeks. “Ti amo, Teddy,” you whispered, leaning your head back to look up at him. (I love you, Teddy)
There was a time when you would’ve never been able to picture Theo like this. Even when the two of you had first become friends, he’d always been a bit stoic and reserved. His unexpressive nature had initially made you wonder whether he actually enjoyed spending time with you, and you’d tried to keep your expectations for your friendship low. But before Christmas holidays during your fourth year, he’d approached you after Transfiguration with a little gift box in his hand. Inside was a silver necklace chain that held the most brilliant, sparkling gem you’d ever seen.
“It’s beautiful, Theo! Thank you.” Your mouth hung open as you stared at the jewelry, struggling for words.
“I hope you like it. I know you said that was your favorite color.” He nodded at the gem in your hand and your heart swelled. You couldn’t believe he’d remembered.
“That’s so sweet,” you gushed. “I love it.”
“I’m glad.” Just for a moment, his ordinarily somber face softened, and you caught the hint of a grin tugging on his lips. “Oh, um, I also have this.” He turned and fished something out of his bag. It was a weathered book that he deposited into your hands. As you read the words, you saw that it was a collection of Italian children’s tales, including some of the ones that your father had told you before bed when you were younger. “I know it’s a bit silly, I just –”
“It’s perfect.” Before you could think better of it, you threw your arms around him. You panicked as you felt him freeze for a moment, but then, slowly, he relaxed. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.
The day before everyone left for holidays, Pansy had invited you to sit with the Slytherins at lunch. When you’d sat down across from her at the table, she’d immediately complimented your new necklace.
“Thank you!” You beamed. “Theo gave it to me for Christmas.” The dark-haired girl’s mouth fell open as she glanced around, looking in vain for Theo, who had not yet arrived. “What?”
“He must really like you.” She laughed good-naturedly. “I’ve known that boy since birth and he still hasn’t got a clue what to get me for Christmas.”
As your fingers played with the necklace that still hung around your neck, you sighed contentedly. Resting your head against Theo's shoulder, you closed your eyes.
“Anch'io ti amo, tesoro.” Theo’s soft breath tickled your ear as he held you close to him. “Sei il mio tutto, sono così felice di averti.” (I love you too, treasure. You are my everything, I am so blessed to have you.)
“No one knows what you’re saying!”
You and Theo both jumped and you jerked out of your relaxed state in his arms, turning back towards your friends to look for the source of the noise. Faced with Mattheo’s smug expression, his hands still wrapped around his mouth to amplify his yell, you pressed your lips together in displeasure.
“It’s called a private conversation, mate,” Theo retorted dryly.
“Yeah, I don’t know about you, Riddle, but I don’t really want to know.” Blaise’s face contorted in distaste and you laughed.
Hiiii I just wanted to say I loveeee your fanfics they are sooo beautifully written like it gets me giggling frrr and I also wanted to make a request if you could write how whc boys wants to have sx with reader but they are on their period??
(Smut if you’re comfortable!!)
Weak Hero Class Boys
WHC Boys x Fem!Reader
Sex during period
Characters: Yeon Sieun. Ahn Suho. Oh Beomseok. Geum Seongje. Park Humin.
Genre: smut. Fade to black smut. Fluff.
Tags: blood. Reader gets periods. Period sex. Bloodplay. Seongje's his own warning. Cunnilingus. Making out. Teeeeeeensy bit of angst. She/her pronouns.
Wc: 3.2k
Yeon Sieun
He's a smart guy, he knows the process of menstruation and he doesn't see it as a bother at all, unlike most guys.
Each month, or few months depending on your cycle, he's there to help you out. His experience solely comes from biology textbooks and science classes.
His mother was barely in his life so his knowledge doesn't go beyond anything textual or factual. He doesn't need you to teach him anything further than what's common sense. The few things he doesn't understand, though, is exactly how painful your cramps get. He knows it hurts, he just doesn't physically know that it's that bad.
Simply put, he knows the basics. He doesn't make a big deal out of it, he expects you to be in pain, and he expects you to need a few necessities. He has whatever you need stocked up in his room for when you stay the night. He is locked in and insanely prepared.
What he wasn't prepared for, though. Was your overwhelming need to fuck him. Admittedly, a lot more than usual.
He always thought that he was the black cat in this relationship. He's so going to lose that title with the fact that you're practically in heat.
"Sieunnnn," you called out, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Laying on your stomach on top of his bed. Sieun sat on the floor, his back facing you as he tried to focus on the books in front of him. Pencil in hand, gripped tightly, on the verge of snapping.
Was it that you were ovulating? He had read about that process; the libido boost, the increase in body temperature. Beginning with your extrogen levels rising, causing your luteinising hormones to surge, and then your follicle ruptures and----
"Sieunnn." You called once again, seemingly much desperate this time. A grin stretched on your face. "Can you like, get your nerdy ass over here." You rolled on your back.
He held up a plain expression, trying his best to keep his breathing steady. He stared to the worksheet to his side. Burning holes through the questions that had been forgotten for over an hour.
"Just for a second." Pleading with your eyes, as if he could even see them. Though, you were sure that he could hear the tone in your voice. Hear the begging in your face. Smell the fucking heat between your thighs.
It wasn't until he heard the sigh of disappointment escape your lips.
"You're on your period.." he started.
"I'm aware." His shoulders tensed under your gaze. "Just come here and kiss me a bit."
The pen clicked lightly on top of his wooden table. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in deep breaths to prepare himself for how insanely insatiable you were. Placing a hand on where he sat, he moved is legs closer to you.
Without warning, he held your shoulders and laid you down on the mattress. The smugness was prevalent on your face. Straddling you between his legs.
You observed the way his eyes narrowed as it stared into yours. Hovering above you, he waited until your breathing was in sync.
He leaned in, relishing in the way your body instinctively leaned into him. As your lips met, your eyes fluttered shut, dilating behind your eyelids.
You wanted so badly to buck your hips up, meeting your clothed cunt with his own. The feeling sent shivers down your spine. Face heating up as you curled your arms around his neck.
Your mouth opened further apart from each other. His tongue creeping into it and meeting your own. His hand drifted to a steady grip on your waist, while his hips grinded further into you.
You parted first, needy for air. "I just meant a sweet little peck." You smiled, clutching his shoulders to keep you in the same position.
He only nodded. "Sure you did." Before diving in and devouring you once again.
-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈
Ahn Suho
Suho is a very helpful man, whenever his beautiful girl would go through it every month, he'd be there and ready to rush to the store and grab whatever you need. And of course, he means grab, not buy.
Being a helpful man, He's certainly allowed to help his girlfriend relieve some stress, no? To make her stop hurting, don't you think?
He's such a sweet boyfriend. He'd give you massages whenever you'd feel sore. Make you some hot tea and the greatest pillow fort you've ever been in.
And that's all while he tries his best not to suggest the most obvious solution. The one that has been on his mind for so long ever since sex became a regular part of your relationship.
"Hiiii," he taunted from beside you. His hand folded in front of him as his chin rested on top. Mesmerised by the way you could so easily take on so much pain. (He's definitely the kind of guy to cry just because you're on your period. He means well).
During the span of an hour, you had asked him to buy some plain bone broth. Extra hot. Accompanied by a piping hot cup of tea. And a hot water bottle to put on your stomach. Plus one of those microwaveable plushie.
He admires to way you act so casual about it, how the excruciating pain is just pushed aside because you were already used to it. It definitely feels performative to say, but he's a firm believer of sympathy pains.
Seeing you thrash around while you tried to push the bottle deeper into your stomach-- to cut it open and place it inside your uterus, if you could.
It made his hurt ache.
You find it extremely adorable, and very interesting.
He found it devastating. Why are you in such a pain and he's allowed to just... relax? Because he's a guy?? How come you get all the pain just because you were born with a uterus? Oh, the horrors of gender inequality (he's getting there).
This led to him googling a very quick 'do orgasms help with period cramps?'
And when he's met with a 'yes, there's no need to avoid sexual activity during menstruation.'
He smiles, very wide. Chewing his lip as he moves his gaze back to you.
"Can I eat you out?" He says bluntly. Refusing to kick around the bush and straight to your remedy.
You blinked at him, "I'm bleeding."
"I don't mind." There was a playful hint in his voice. "It'll make your cramps go away, I promise." He waits until you nod. Running your fingers through his hair.
With your green light, he hurries to move your pajama pants down to your ankles. Met with your panties. Whether you wore a pad, or a tampon, or anything else. He shifts the fabric to the side, taking off what you were using as he looked at you once again in approval.
He didn't give a shit that the smell of iron filled his nose. He didn't care that there was blood in front of him. He really didn't care. He was only concerned about whether or not you felt good.
He licked a fat stripe from your folds to your clit. The blood piling up on his tongue. Whatever pleasure you were supposed to feel, you felt it tenfold. The heat in your stomach was hot as hell.
The sensitivity on your clit was high, the hormones getting much, much more intense as it gathered up in that bundle of nerves.
He closed in your clit and sucked. He was hell bent on making you cum over and over again.
He parted your lips and stuck his tongue inside, plunging in and out, and in and out. He curled the muscle up to the roof of your cunt.
And when you cum, you cum hard. Much more now that you were extra sensitive. Waves of pleasure washed over you. You were heaving on the bed, sweat pooling on your forehead.
"The... ohh-- the sheets, baby." You mumbled, fearing the stains on your bed.
"Eh." Suho shrugs his shoulders, the blood around in chin made him look like a fucking vampire. "I'll pay for it."
-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈
Oh Beomseok
Has no idea what to do.
Beomseok grew up without anyone even remotely resembling a mother figure. He doesn't have the slightest clue on how to take care of you when you're on your period.
He runs from you for a while whenever you have a sudden change in your mood. When you snap at him fairly easily. You turn your head to him and that look on your face. Reminds him of... a lesser person that he knows. Because there's this teeny, tiny, quirky little thing that he has called trauma but you know, it's whatever.
"Do you.. need anything to eat?" He murmurs from besides you on the couch. His hands were placed on his lap, clammy and sweating. He had no idea what to do, he doesn't know how to make you feel better because he's never learned about it anymore.
For a while, whenever he saw you very obviously experiencing so much discomfort, he'd just stand around and not know what the hell he was supposed to do. He'd mostly just order one of your comfort foods and go on a marathon of whatever show you wanted to watch.
Again, because he's never experienced it, he didn't realise how bad mood swings can get.
You were sitting idly on the opposite end of the couch, a blanket draped over you as you clutched the hot pack closer to your stomach. You tried your best to just shove the annoyance back down to your stomach. Not wanting to lash out for no reason.
But everything was just overwhelming you. The pain, the scalding hot, the soreness everywhere in each of your limbs, and the guilt when you looked at Beomseok.
It seemed you stared at him for a minute too long. Taking in the way his back stiffened, straightening up his posture almost immediately. Picking on the edge of his fingernails.
"Do.. you need me to buy you anything?"
For the past hour it was just question after question. A few more questions after, and it seemed that you had finally snapped. "Oh my god, Beomseok!" The sudden outburst made him flinch backwards. Absolutely not liking the very horrifying picture of his father and his own outbursts.
In an instant, much like a snap of your fingers, you switched. Seeing the way he visibly shrunk under your gaze and twitchy eyebrows. Blinking back tears to not show you his vulnerability.
You took a deep breath, calming yourself down. "Sorry I'm just.." you wave your hand side to side. "Everything's just-- fuck!" Before you could move up to his side. You felt that familiar yet foreign pain on the very bottom of your stomach.
Your hands shot down to clutch on it. Eyes squeezed shut as you try to find a position where it would go away.
He moved himself to you, not knowing where to put his hands, he hovered them on top of you. "I-- are..- fuck.." Kneeling down in front of you, on your side. Concern was laced on his face.
"Please, is there a way I can help."
You felt even worse. "You can eat me out or something." You laughed-- tried to. If it didn't stab you.
You didn't expect for him to nod and inch to the waistband of your pants.
"Woah!" You shook your head in surprise. "I was kidding baby, you don't have to."
It was then his turn to shake his head. "No, please let me do this." You shifted yourself to sit upright on the cushion. Softly placing a hand on his head.
"There's blood all over."
He moved you to the hard floor beneath you, lying you down and lowering his head to the top of your pelvis.
"I'll clean up." He kisses your stomach, "I just want to help." He's eager, his eyes glossy and red. He moves to take off his glasses in preparation. Even though he loved it when his glasses fog up from diving in between your legs.
"Please." He whines, eyes twinkling up on you, watery and red.
You felt your lungs getting tighter. He starts to pull down your pants. Kissing along a trail on each inch of skin that shows. Before he reaches to the hem of your panties. Your pants pull up by your ankles.
He rubs his face directly onto your clothed pussy. Inhaling deeply at the insatiable scent of you.
"You'll feel so good, baby. I promise."
-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈
Geum Seongje
This guy has no idea how to deal with you when you're on your period. He throws you a packet of chips and expects you to be able to deal with it yourself.
He doesn't want to assume that you're incompetent of taking care of yourself, especially because you've dealt with it for your entire life. He absolutely refuses to baby you because he sees that as cringe.
Also..
He's genuinely such a sadist that he just gets excited when he sees your blood. He's worried, obviously. But when you're on your period, he knows that you're fine. He sees blood, even sniffing the metallic whiff in the air gets him going.
It honestly throws you off a little bit. Everything is consensual, I mean-- there's always a little bit of blood and knives whenever the both of you fuck--- it's just the fact that he wants to get insanely down and dirty even though you're bleeding. It just a little bit weird is all.
He loves the mess. He brings in a smaller knife in bed, making small, superficial scars on your chest, your stomach, everywhere. He licks it up too. Always making a show of groaning loudly right after he has a taste.
He's technically a hematomaniac, but he likes to classify himself as an insane sadist. That's absolutely obsessed with you.
Obsessed with blood, he wants to consume as much as he can, especially from you. He sees it as the most intimate thing he could ever do. A connection. It's passionate. It's crazy.
You sat on your couch, laptop right on top of your thighs as you finished up your school work. Well, you tried. If it weren't for Seongje breathing down your fucking neck.
It doesn't seem to faze him at all that you'd give him side eyes nearly every second. Shoving him away ever so often if he gets too close.
You hadn't even gotten your period yet. You had speculated that it was coming soon, but assumed it'd come in five to six days time.
You were most definitely wrong.
"Can you move, I'm trying to focus." You grit through out teeth. Having to re-read the same sentence for the third time just because your attention kept on drifting to him.
He grins. "Angry, aren't ya?" Licking his lips as he sees your jaw clench in annoyance.
"Yeah, because you're literally distracting me." You groan, waving your hand to shove his face away from your neck.
"You sure it's not 'cause you're on that time of the month again?"
You throw a pillow at his direction. "It's because you're being a weirdo jerk."
His head ducked down, almost like he was trying to stiffen his laughter in. In a split second, he's moving your laptop onto the coffee table. Moving his hands to grab onto your hips. He shoves your pants down without warning. Causing you to yelp in surprise.
Shoving your panties to the side, he sneaks two fingers and pry your folds open. He then dips another finger into your hole.
It was only after he pulled it out and really looked at it. At the wet, red staining the first inch of his finger. Did his eyes lighten up immediately. He stretches his grin wider.
"What did I say?" Waving his hand in front of you, making a point to make sure that you saw it. "Told ya." Relishing in the way you looked down at him in surprise.
"What the hell.." you furrowed your eyebrows. "How the fuck did--"
"-- Did I know?" He placed his finger in his mouth. "mmmh" moaning at the way you tasted. "Fucking amazing. 'Cause I can fucking smell how desperate you are." He whispers, scrunching his nose at you.
"I wasn't even doing anythi---"
"Oh, but you did." He hovers closer. "You just had to taste so good."
-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈
Park Humin
Does way too much.
This guy over-exaggerates just to piss you off.
You'd casually tell him that you're on your period and in an instant, he's there by your side, rubbing your feet and kissing your shoulders. "Awwwwww, baby's on her period isn't she." And he's use that insanely annoying voice that you'd use if you were talking to a baby.
"Never fucking do that again." And then you'd laugh along with him.
He a hundred percent makes those "I know a way to help you out, heh..."
He'd always say it as a joke, but he knows that a very secret part of him wants to just slide into you while you're on your period.
For a while, he just chalks it up to morbid curiosity. A stupid little thought that he expected to pass.
'What if I got some weird ass blood on my dick lol' was how it started out. Accompanied by 'if I cum in her while she's on her period, would she get pregnant and then it would suddenly stop?'
He's not the brightest person, if you couldn't tell.
'How would it feel if I had sex with her while she's at her most sensitive?' Is how it ended up.
He thought it was just some weird fetish that he didn't want to look too deeply into, because what if it made you freak out. But if he were to think deeply into it. He'd say that what gets him so excited is the fact that you're just so.. vulnerable during your period, every touch would make you more and more sensitive.
Not to mention the absolute trust that you'd have to have in him. To trust that he won't hurt you.
It takes him a really long time to finally bring it up.
"Sooooooooo," he slowly stretches his arm around your shoulders. Before leaning against it to face you. "Wanna know a trick on how to get rid of those cramps?" He winks, biting the bottom of his lip.
"That's like, disgusting." It was more of an inside joke than anything. A monthly routine. He'd make such a scandalous comment you can't help but gasp and cross your hands on your chest. Maybe a small 'how dare you!'
He'd then follow up with some 'no it isn't don't you ever say that you're disgusting you're absolutely amazing and you have that pregnant-period-whatever glow!!!!!!!' Bullshit. And then you'd go back to fucking like rabbits after a week.
Not this time, it seems.
"I'm being serious." Face shifting to a very serious one in an instant. "Let me take away that pesky feeling." Batting his eyelashes at you like a dog. Pleading.
You stared at him in shock. Well no-- not quite. With the amount of times he has brought it up, you just assumed that something was up.
"Oh." You blinked. "Okay." You shrugged your shoulders.
He was definitely taken aback.
"Oh."
He practically crawls to go on top of you, an excited smile on his face. Pants growing heavier as he thinks about what he was to do.
cws nsfw, fem reader, teasing (suho), thigh riding + fingering, unprotected sex (wooyoung), soft wooyoung. not proof read. it's 2:30am guys idk what I'm doing anymore. typos will be fixed tomorrow.
notes I asked my irl what to do for 200 followers and her only reply was "e rated". anyway! thank you guys for 200 followers. for 100 followers I wrote beomseok smut, so for 200 you're getting smut again. normalise only writing this stuff once people glazed you enough. reqs are open
taglist @ylvra @tojivu hmu if u wanna be on here
" we're all trapped in a maze of relationships "
🌿 AHN SUHO !
suho could be so mean sometimes.
he was leaned against the headboard of his bed, arms propped behind his head as he watched you grind against his thighs, head lolled back and some strands of hair sticking to your sweaty face.
desperate sounds escaped your lips every time you dragged your clothed cunt over his thighs, shivering at the contact. you'd been doing this for way too long now, entertaining him while both of you were fully aware you wouldn't be able to make yourself come without his help.
there was an amused smirk on his face at your frustrated expression, and you bit your lip as you whined for suho's attention, no longer wanting to make a fool out of yourself. if suho had been in control right now, he would have made sure you had already reached your third orgasm by now.
"suho-yah, please", you whimpered, leaning to hold yourself up on his shoulders, the fabric of your clothes stopping you from feeling the friction you longed for.
suho didn't let you undress, nor did it seem like he would take off his own pants anytime soon.
you just wanted to feel his skin, wanted to properly drag your cunt across his thighs, spreading slick all over it. you were so incredibly wet already, pulsing for him, and a shiver went down your spine every time he laughed at the condition you were in.
no matter how much you pressed against him, no matter the angle or pace, you just couldn't do it without his help.
your hips were moving in an unsteady rhythm, tears streaming down your face at how frustrated you were. it was embarrassing, but what was even more shameful was that it turned you on.
you weren't able to deny the flush that spread across your face whenever suho made another dumb comment, your body feeling hotter and hotter every time he spoke in his stupidly attractive voice.
"you're doing so well for me, don't you think?", he teased, making you want to wipe the stupid smirk off his face. suho was so good with his mouth if he used it for something good for once. if he wouldn't use his hands, then he could at least eat you out.
you groaned at the thought, the image of suho's head between your thighs flashing in front of your eyes, tongue deep inside of you, actually making you come.
he was insufferable like this. suho was usually so eager to please you, just to sometimes suddenly lean back and make you do all the work, simply because he felt like being an ass right now.
you kept grinding, legs shaking from exhaustion, but your mind already too fuzzy to care about how desperate you were probably looking. the only goal you had right now— the only thought on your mind— was wanting to finally come.
one of your hands moved between your legs, attempting to rub against your clit for more stimulation, but suho swatted them away, a look of disapproval now on his face.
you smacked his chest in frustration, eyebrows furrowed as you whined at him.
"do something then!", you cried out, still rocking against him, your pants soaking between your legs from how wet you were.
suho was good with his fingers, too. he liked to push them between your folds, dragging them in and out for what felt like hours, watching as you fucked yourself on his fingers. you wanted it so badly. any of it would work, as long as it made you come.
you needed suho. there was no way you could keep going like this for much longer, especially if he forbade you any attempts of making yourself come, aside from rubbing yourself against his leg like a dog in heat.
it wasn't like he wasn't hard either. you could see the undeniable bulge in his pants, cock hidden underneath his clothes, waiting to fill you up.
you didn't know how he could be that patient, while you were so frustrated.
"ahn suho, I swear, if you don't do something—!", your head was resting on his shoulder, hips weakly rocking back and forth, exhaustion washing over your body.
you were close to reaching your limit and still hadn't gotten anything in return. suho had been able to watch you— the way your eyes rolled back when you grinded against him at an angle that felt especially good, or how you bit your lip when you tried to hold back a moan.
suho nudged you, laughing at the sight of your body slumped against his, panting in exhaustion.
"sit up again, baby", he said with a grin, and you obeyed, although hesitant.
you would genuinely lose it if he was just playing with you right now.
after sitting up properly, suho grabbed you by the hips, slowly guiding you to move your hips again. it made you whimper— even if the feeling was still the same, it simply felt different when suho was the one guiding you.
you picked up a faster pace again with his help, one of suho's hands slipping underneath your shirt, slightly pushing up your bra so he could have access to your hardened nipples, rubbing one of them between his fingers.
you moaned at the feeling, hands on his shoulders again so you could hold yourself up, eyes closed and your head tipped back.
"you're so pretty like this", suho said, both hands moving to the waistband of your pants now, tugging on them, "you're so desperate for me"
"you wanna take those off, don't you..", it was more of a statement than a question— suho already knew the answer.
you cried out a small yes, whimpering as he lifted you up to pull them down, eyes trailing down to your soaked panties.
he pushed you off to take off his own pants, before moving you back onto his thighs, licking his lips at the sight in front of him.
one of his fingers rubbed over the thin fabric between your legs, a whine escaping your lips as he pulled them down, then pushing you against his thigh so there was no space between you again.
"you better be grateful that I'm helping you...", he sighed, helping you move again, "I could have just let you keep going for another hour..."
he watched the way your cunt dripped over his thighs, his skin already drenched in your juices.
"you gonna say thank you?", he asked, although he knew that you were anyway to gone to properly listen to him.
only as he held you in place, did you listen, whining and squirming so he would keep going.
you sobbed, frantically nodding at him, "yes, suho", you sniffled, still trying to rock your hips, "hmm, so grateful"
it was enough for him to let you move again, even attaching his fingers to your clit, rubbing circles against the skin as you arched into him.
you were so gone again, moaning his name and blabbering about how good he felt against you, fingers playing with your nipples— your shirt and bra had been discarded earlier— tits bouncing with every move you made.
suho's fingers had found their way in between your folds by now, plunging in and out as you whined, clenching around him.
you were close and he could feel it, fastening his pace, your hips moving against him, wanting to feel him even deeper inside of you.
"suho", you panted, lips on his jawline as he hit a particular spot, a loud moan drawn from your lips, "hmm, so close"
it was like a signal for him to push you even more, lips on your neck as he kept moving his fingers, trying to hit the same spot again.
only a few more times were enough until you finally came, head thrown back as you cried out his name, suho working you through your orgasm as he whispered in your ear, sweet praises about how well you had done, kisses planted against your temple as you panted.
he rubbed your back as you collapsed on top of him, chuckling as his hand brushed through your hair.
there was another kiss to your temple before he slightly pushed you back, looking into your eyes.
"I hope you're not too exhausted", he grinned, his hands on your hips again as he kissed you again, "we're not done yet"
good lord.
🌿 KANG WOOYOUNG !
you were pressed against the wall of wooyoung's shower, water dripping down your body as his leg found its way between your legs, making your naked cunt rub against his skin.
it was quite a common thing to happen— wooyoung dragging you into the shower with him after he won a match, lips instantly on your neck and his hand usually between your legs in a matter of seconds.
kang wooyoung wasn't one to hold back, always eager to be alone with you after a win, to the point of ignoring everyone around him just so he could get home and fuck you properly.
but today, it seemed like he wanted to take his time, hands on your hips as he moved you against him, his lips on your collarbone as he sucked on the skin, drawing small gasps and moans out of you.
you leaned your head to the side to give him better access to your neck, hands on his shoulders as you grinded against him, his thighs wet not only from the water, but also the juices dripping down your cunt.
you moaned as he bit into your shoulder, one hand roaming your body as the other held you for support.
he massaged your skin, making you groan in pleasure as he rubbed your thighs, fingers rubbing over your cunt as he pressed his lips against yours again.
the kiss was surprisingly tender— wooyoung really was taking his time today— sloppy but lazy, as if even the high from winning couldn't get him to rush things right now.
his lips moved against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth as you let out a gasp at the feeling of wooyoung moving his thigh up between your legs, the feeling of it sending a shiver down your spine.
he deepened the kiss further, teeth sinking into your lip as he nibbled on the skin, lightly pulling on your hair so you would lean your head back more.
it was rare that he let himself relax like this, focusing on memorising the experience rather than on how often he could make you come.
you liked sex with wooyoung— he was undeniably good at what he did— but this felt even more intimate, even better.
he moaned into your mouth as you stroked his cock, one hand wrapped around it as you pumped up and down, forehead pressed against it so both of you could catch your breath.
his lips found their way down to your breasts, licking over one of your hardened nipples before he put them in his mouth, sucking on your skin as you drew your head back, hands in his hair to press him further against you.
he moaned against your skin at the feeling of your hand wrapped around him, eyes closed and water dripping down his face, wet hair sticking to his skin.
wooyoung looked so beautiful like this— peaceful, compared to the look on his face during his fights, where he always wore a mocking expression, unable to hide his amusement whenever his opponent took a hit.
his arms were stupidly muscular, your eyes fixed on them as his hands were roaming your body again, trying to touch as much of you as he could.
after a while, he forced himself away from your nipples, his mouth on yours again.
you were rocking against him still, but wooyoung removed his thigh from between your legs, making you whine at the loss of pleasure.
"be patient", was all he said, a grin on his face as he nibbled on the skin under your ear, hand moving down to your dripping cunt, before pushing one of his fingers between your folds.
you closed your eyes, moaning loudly at the feeling as you instantly started moving your hips again, trying to feel him deeper inside of you.
wooyoung moved in and out, eventually pushing another finger inside of you so he could spread you open, watching as your head leaned back against the wall, mouth wide agape and moans spilling from your lips.
he kept moving inside of you, making you cry out his name whenever he curled his fingers or hit a particularly spot. wooyoung watched your face during all of it, addicted to the way your expression changed depending on what you did.
you were so beautiful like that, focused only on how he made you feel— a sight no one but wooyoung got to see.
a third finger being added, you arched your back, gripping onto your boyfriend so your legs would give out, body already shaking from the pleasure.
you tried to chase him as wooyoung pulled out eventually, almost crying at the loss of feeling full of him.
he have you a kiss before moving one of his hands underneath your thigh, pushing it up so over of your legs works wrap around your body.
there wasn't much talking when he was like this, always guiding you and showing you what to do.
wooyoung lined up his cock with your entrance, watching as you took a deep breath before he pushed inside of you, slowly so you could get used to the feeling.
both of you groaned, you at how big he was— something you would never fully get used to— and wooyoung at how tight you still were, clenching around his hardened cock.
wooyoung pulled you into another kiss as he pushed further, a hand brushing through your hair to help you relax more, whispering into your ear once you broke apart.
there were a few seconds of him not moving once he was fully inside of you, giving you the time to get used to the feeling, even if you felt like you knew what he felt like like the back of your hand by now.
the stretch was slightly painful, but you couldn't help but like the feeling of wooyoung buried deep inside of you, making you feel so full.
he moved slowly at first, low groans leaving his lips as he enjoyed the feeling of you around him, his pace growing faster the more eager he got to hear more of you, to push you over the edge and hear you scream his name.
you arched against him as wooyoung thrust into you, moaning and whimpering his name as your nails dug into his back, eyes closed and your head rested against his shoulder.
wooyoung's hand found their way to your nipples again, twisting and pinching them to make you gasp, laughing at the reaction it got out of you.
he kept thrusting, fucking you dumb against the wall, lifting you up so your legs were now fully wrapped around him, your bodies pushed even closer now.
"wooyoung..", you moaned, feeling his hand rubbing between your legs as he looked at you, a dazed look in his eyes.
"... so full.."
he groaned at your comment, pushing even further into you, making you throw your head back at how good it felt.
his pace was relentless now, stretching you even further as the sound of skin slapping against each other filled the room, as well as the sounds you both made.
"wooyoung, 's too much", you cried, although both of you knew that you could take it. you had done it many times before, and you were so close.
"you can take it", he whispered between groans, feeling himself get close too, "you're doing so well"
the words made you whimper, leaning against him again as he kept thrusting into you.
both of you were getting tired and you could feel it— wooyoung becoming slower, even if he tried his best to keep up the pace.
a minute more and it was over for you, your orgasm hitting you strong as you cried into your boyfriend's neck, legs trembling as he came inside of you shortly after.
wooyoung set you down after a few seconds and pulled out, before pulling you into a hug, arms wrapped around you so you wouldn't collapse right on the spot.
your legs were shaking as wooyoung rubbed circles into your skin, trying to ease the pain so it wouldn't hurt too badly later.
the two of you stayed that way for several more minutes, before eventually leaving the shower, wooyoung drying your body with a towel and helping you out on your clothes in between small kisses.
yeah. you definitely liked it when he was being more tender.
hit that like and subscribe button for more epic content! reblogs and comments are appreciated, I love talking to u guys.
I need wooyoung so bad jm not even kidding guys oh my god cha woomin js so fine
pairings: Yeon Sieun x fem!reader, Ahn Suho x fem!reader, Park Humin x fem!reader, Go Hyuntak x fem!reader, Kang Wooyun x fem!reader, Geum Songje x fem!reader, Na Baekjin x fem!reader
Synopsis: whc boys when you ride their thigh
genre: smut (minors dni!)
wc: 2,609
Warnings: smut, fingering, masturbation, thigh-riding, established relationships, semi-public, swear words ("fuck"), cock-warming, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), overstimulation
author's note: english is not my first language and neither my second, so I apologize for any mistakes (finally found out how to make gradient text yay)
˙⋆✮ Yeon Sieun
He'd be doing homework, having completely forgotten the girl that's napping in his bed, her own notes long forgotten in her backpack, trusting her lucky charm to get her to pass rather than an actual study session.
You'd get bored after your phone battery runs out, dragging your limbs across the room to kneel beneath Sieun's desk, grabbing his charger. Your about to get up again when your knee brushes his shin. The feeling of his sweatpants' material brushing over your bare skin makes the air sharper around your shorts. Goosebumps runs over your arms as an idea blooms in your head.
Biting back a grin you slowly start to rise, arms traveling up his legs as an excuse of helping you up. He doesn't even spare you a glance as you rub the tip of your nose up his chest, nuzzling his throat before burying your face in the crook of his neck.
"Don't distract me. I have a test.", Sieun warns, voice low. You just hum in response, wrapping your legs on either side of his right thigh. As you place your core directly on top of his muscle, a moan slips from your lips as you feel him flex his thigh through the thick material. You start to lazily rub your lower half over his sweatpants, the growing heat down there turning sweeter with every body roll. It doesn't take long for a familiar coil to build up in your lower stomach. You chase the friction, rutting a little faster to finally make yourself come.
But he's annoyed, clamping a hand between your thighs to make you immobile. "You serious?", he asks you, eyes wide in disbelief. At first you whine at his cruelty, slapping his chest for your lost build up. "You're so mean. I was so close."
But then..
Even if it wasn't his intention, the way his fingers practically grip your pussy makes your eyes roll back in pleasure.
His head snaps to you as you begin to rub your core against his long fingers, shuddering at the sensation of lightning cursing through your core. His eyes are suddenly fixed on you. Your face caught between concentration and pleasure, your hips buckling up and down. He can't help but stare, unwittingly flexing his index finger to help you out. You cry out at the sudden pressure. "Fuck, that's it.", you moan as your toes start to curl.
As your orgasm finally hits, you grip his shoulders, steadying yourself as you ride out the sensation, not stopping until you've calmed down again. You place a kiss on his chapped lips.
"Thank you for your service, I'm heading home now." You stand up but your knees immediately give in again as he pulls you back onto his lap with a lazy flick of his hand around your wrist.
"Because of you I'm out of concentration.", he says, voice hoarse. "You wanted attention so bad, I'll focus on you for the next few hours." Your eyes trail down to where your knee sits. It must've brushed up against his length a lot, because his bulge is unmistakably and painfully hard.
˙⋆✮ Ahn Suho
Suho is on his phone, watching some Youtube videos on how to start drop shipping or something when you stumble in. When he asked you to come over you imagined leaving a few hours later with ripped buttons and messy hair but instead you're sat on his coffee table while he clicks the third part of this stupid video essay. Frustration is a mild word compared to what's bubbling under your skin.
Your wearing a dress so flowy and short than you can see the red panties with every tiny breeze of the wind but here he was, sitting on his ass eyes focused on something else. You decided to take care of it yourself. You didn't need him actively after all. With a tiny hop, you plunge on his lap, straddling him at first. He hums in response, eyes still glued to the screen.
You sigh, laying your head on his chest. One of his hands starts drawing patterns on your back and you flinch at his cold hands. Soon enough you start to draw your pussy across his bulge. The sensation is sweet, stealing a moan from you. Even tho you can feel him get hard, he's still not looking at you. So you get bolder, dragging your clothed clit against his thigh before jumping up slightly, landing on his dick. He closes his eyes at that, taking a sharp breath.
"You having fun?", he asks between clenched teeth. You just nod, going on. At some point you notice that he's discarded his phone somewhere, both hands on your hips instead.
"You can do it.", he assures you as he catches your gaze, pressing you down harder. The pressure of his length pushing your panties way between your folds has you panting. Your hole spasms, clenching around nothing as you come. You throw your arms around his neck, steadying yourself as the pleasure washes over you. He removes some loose strands of hair that cling on your sweaty forehead, pecking at your neck.
Suho caresses your cheek, resting his forehead against yours."You like using me?", he asks as a mischievous grin plays his lips.
"I love it.", you respond.
˙⋆✮Park Humin
Baku is busy shooting hoops and you? Thighs pressed together, water bottle between your legs, enjoying the pressure the cold plastic leaves against your core. Here and there you lift your hips slightly, burying the bottle just a little underneath your hole.
It feels so rough against the delicate silk of your underwear.
Hadn't you worn a skirt today, the heat from watching your sweaty boyfriend run around across the basketball pitch from the bleachers might've not been so impossible to ignore. So here you were, using the dark of the evening to hide the fact that you're literally rutting against plastic from watching your boyfriend play with his friends.
After a while the boys start to spread, heading to different spots on the field to take a sip from their water bottles. It doesn't dawn down at you in that moment that Humin is jogging towards you, climbing the bleachers, for exactly the same reason.
"You want an audience or what?", he starts, immediately spotting the see through plastic underneath your skirt. "Huh?", is all you can get out. He tugs the bottle from under you, making you clamp a hand over your mouth as a moan tries to slip due to the container grazing your wet slit. "I could hear you panting you from all the way over there, babe.", he murmurs taking a sip from his water.
Your eyes are fixed on the way his jaw moves, the way his throat throbs with every sip. Your hole aches at that. "Humin.", you groan. He hums, searching your distressed face for your need. That's when his gaze travels down your body, halting at your painfully pressed together thighs. He barks out a laugh, the sound too loud in the quietness of the night. His teammates crane their neck to see what his deal is, but his eyes are fixed on you.
"Do you need your boyfriend to help you out?", he whispers into your ear, face hovering so close to yours that you can feel the way his lips curl into a smile. You can't get a word out, so you just nod. He grips your waist, hoisting you up at once before sitting down on your spot and placing you on his thigh. His big hands drag the hem of your skirt up and you grunt at the feeling of his bulge directly on your hole. Your thin panties and his basketball shorts are barely enough material to be called a barrier.
"Alright, where do you want me?", he asks, feeling you squirm on top of him.
You rest the back of your head against his shoulder, his chest like a brick wall behind your back as you guide his hand between your thighs. He chuckles, grabbing his backpack off the floor and placing it onto your lap, hiding how his hand is buried underneath your skirt. He hisses when he pulls your panties to the side, feeling your wetness ooze onto his fingers. You grab his arms, steadying yourself as he peels you open, already so wet he eases in without any restrain. He starts working immediately, relentlessly picking up the pace until you can hear the wet sounds emitting from your squelching pussy.
It's dirty, it's sinful, it's in public. But none of you care in that moment.
He just wants to make his girl come and you're in some real need for release.
Your vision explodes when he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure on the bud. His other hand clamps over your mouth as you fail to keep quiet. "Shh, baby.", he coos. "They're gonna hear." It doesn't take long for your climax to hit. Your whole body rocks as your orgasm arrives and he fucks you through it, pulling out his fingers when you threaten to fall off his lap. "Good?", he asks as he licks his fingers clean. You just stare at him, eyes wide.
"What? I can't get back there covered in you." He just shrugs, gives you a kiss on the temple and hurries back to his friends. Gotak tosses him the ball, irritation painting his features.
"You guys done? Did you make your girlfriend come? Then get your ass back in the game." Baku laughs at that, voice so loud it makes you chuckle.
˙⋆✮ Go Hyuntak
The TV is loud, the animated crowd cheering as GH sends a ball flying into the basket in a perfect arch. "You play real life basketball, why do you have to play digitally too?" He just shushes you, manically pressing down on the controller's buttons. You groan, crawling over to him on the beat up sofa in his room. He lifts his arms without missing a beat, allowing you to sit on his lap, your face buried against his chest. He brings down his chin, resting it on your shoulder.
"Are you seriously using me as a pillow?", you protest. Your boyfriend just chuckles. "Can I use you as a feeder too?" You sigh but comply, grabbing a long forgotten cold fry from the pile on the plate and plop it into his open mouth. You're about to call it a day and leave when a losing sound erupts from the screen, making Gotak tap his leg up and down in frustration. You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from moaning as his thigh keeps hitting your clit through your thin layers of clothing. This might be easier than expected. You just relax against him, enjoying the pleasure that forms in your abdomen as his leg keeps up the rhythm. When he lets out a grunt of success, pulling his knees up, you actually see stars.
The way his thigh flexes underneath his shorts, rubbing just the right part of your pussy, has you clench down as you dig your fingers into his sides, riding out your orgasm before limply falling back against his chest. Gotak, oblivious to your masturbation process for the past ten minutes, cheers, tossing away his remote. He plasters kisses along your face.
"I won. Now we can celebrate.", dimples dig into his cheeks as he beams at you. His expression falters a little as he takes in your disheveled appearance. "What's with you?", he asks, only then noticing the sticky wetness that's covering a part of his shorts. "You already came? From that? And I missed it?" You laugh at his disbelieving expression.
˙⋆✮ Kang wooyoung
You're fingers are starting to prune with the time they've been buried in your wet cunt.
No matter what angle you're trying, it just doesn't hit the right spot.
You're about to give up when the door slides open. Sweat tousled wild hair, reddish sticky skin and the clothes cling to his chiseled body. You can feel the slickness pooling between your legs at the sight of your boyfriend.
"Hi.", you muse, adjusting the old tee that's barely covering up your lower half, as you stand up. His eyes roam your body, breath still heavy since he probably jogged home like he always does after training.
"Hi. What's up.", he answers, hands already gripping the hem of your shirt before slowly dragging it upwards, revealing your flushed skin. The smell of the sweat clinging to his body is enough to make your hole throb. "I want you.", you mutter against his chest.
"You in heat?", he asks, chuckling at your unusual behaviour. "I'm desperate.", you mouth, guiding his hand beneath your navel. He cusses at that. "Okay, let me catch my breath first.", he proposes but you're already dragging him towards the couch. "I don't need you to do anything. Just sit still." He does as you ask him to, nothing but his ragged breath emitting from him.
Since you've already worked yourself open, it takes only a few circles of your lips for the build up to return. You close your eyes, letting the slow pleasure rise inside of you until your abs turn hard with anticipation. Your eyes snap open at a sudden stretch that's just hitting the right spot. Glimpsing at your boyfriend between fluttering lashes, you see him pump two fingers in and out your gushing cunt. "Just wanna help my girl out.", he shrugs, acting all innocent as he goes faster, thumb pressing down on your swollen clit. You chase his hand, falling into his rhythm as you feel your stomach tighten.
Toes curling, fingers digging into his shoulders and a cry escaping your throat, you come. The orgasm washes over you but his fingers work relentlessly. "Let's do one more.", he proposes, pupils blown at your fucked out face.
The second orgasm crashes even harder, stealing your vision for a moment. "Let's continue this in the shower." With that he heaves you up, walking over to the bathroom.
˙⋆✮ Geum Songje
You're on your phone arms draped around his neck while GS just sits there, eyes fixed on his computer screen while sounds of gunfire blast through his headphones. The first drag is not intentional. You slip from his lap when he kicks at his desk for having missed a shot, at which he immediately wraps his arms around your waist, dragging you back up. The video on your phone is suddenly irrelevant. You push your ass back, rubbing your core back up his thigh to get that exact sensation back. Songje reacts at once.
"Don't distract me, I have people to kill", he mutters, but you can't stop. It's too sweet.
"I swear if I die because of you.", he warns.
"If you lose, I'll cheer you up.", you propose. "If you win, I'll reward you." You swipe your tongue along his neck.
"So, it's a win-win for me anyway.", he concludes.
You chuckle, riding him faster. As you chase that sweet release, you fail to repress your moans. His headphones emit noises and part of those noises are voices. "Is that a chick?" "Whose mic is that and can you open the camera?" GS curses, shutting off his microphone before chasing the guys' players, shooting them dead even though they're in the same team.
You're oblivious to the scene, hips rocking as lightning courses through your veins. "Fuck, yes.", you pant. "I'm-"
You cry out as the orgasm washes over you, your cunt spasms as it clenches around nothing. You fall limp against your bf who has grown quiet, jaw clenched but you can't make out why as your post orgasm fogs your mind.
He sets his controller on the table, lifts you up and rips your pyjama shorts and panties down in one go.
Before you can say anything he already frees himself, eyes glinting as he slams you down hard on his cock. A mischievous smile dances on his lips.
"Now stay like this.", he orders, grabbing his remote and turning his mic back on. "If you move, I'm not letting you come for a week."
Hii this is my first request so srry if im doing this wrong i was wondering if you could do shy but clingy fem reader head cannons maybe fluff and smut if your comfortable 💝
SHY BUT CLINGY GF | headcanons
pairings: Yeon Sieun x fem!reader, Ahn Suho x fem!reader, Park Humin x fem!reader, Go Hyuntak x fem!reader, Kang Wooyun x fem!reader, Geum Songje x fem!reader, Na Baekjin x fem!reader, Oh Beomseok x fem!reader
Synopsis: whc boys with a shy but clingy girlfriend
genre: fluff, smut (mdni!)
wc: 1,481
Warnings: smut, established relationships, fingering, pinv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), oral (fem!receiving), oral (male!receiving), public
author's note: english is not my first language and neither my second, so I apologize for any mistakes
@anon: your anon was super respectful so no worries and feel free to request more (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
❀࿐ Yeon Sieun
- doesn't really understand how shyness and clinginess could go hand in hand
- would always freeze whenever you clung to him, interlacing your fingers with his. he'd hesitate for a moment, flexing his fingers before relaxing
- he's shy too so sex with him is sweet, on his knees on the duvet he's lying on top of you after he made sure that his weight is not crushing you as you're on your back, your chin resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in the crook of your neck. He's not thrusting hard, the grip on your thighs loose as he draws patterns on the limbs that press into his back. This way you don't have to worry about the faces you make.
❀࿐Ahn Suho
- you occupy his lap like that's your designated seat
- if you sit anywhere else he will look at you like you're possessed, jutting his chin towards his thighs to wordlessly tell you to resettle. "That's better, babe.", he'd coo into your ear, the second your back hits his chest
- you'd rest your cheek on his chest, enjoying the cozy polyester of his hoodie but also the steady rhythm of his heartbeat
You're straddling his lap. Moving up and down his length as he occasionally slaps a flexed palm against the fat of your ass, obsessed with the moans you fail to keep in. This was the only thing he figured could make you slip.
Your face is resting in the crook of his neck, chest on chest and he occasionally guides you to go faster by groping your hips to control your movements. Whispering "good girl" into your ear makes you clench around him. He found that out a few nights ago and is eager to test how long it's gonna work.
❀࿐Oh Beomseok
- likes it because it's direct proof that you want him, that you haven't grown sick of him yet
- shy too but he plays the extrovert part on your behalf
- always holding his hand, thumb caressing the back of it which soothes you both
- he respects your diffidence, giving you backshots as he loves the view of your ass
You're scrolling on your phone, your grip faltering every two minutes as your eyelids steadily grow heavy. "Are you tired?", Beomseok asks, a hint of excitement painting his words. You can't muster up anything more than a hum, leaning into the softness of his hand that cups your cheek. He hesitates a second before continuing. "Can we?" His voice is quiet and wary, but you nod, burying your head into the fluffy pillow as you lazily toss away your phone. You feel the mattress dip on either side of your hips.
He raises from where he's lying next to you to settle behind your sprawled out form. As he slides down your pajama shorts, palms kneading your ass as he starts lining himself up at your entrance. You lift your hips, spreading your legs to give him more space. His thrusts are eager, pushing your body up and down the mattress.
Sometimes you'd both fall asleep before finishing and he'd just collapse on top of you, mantling you with his complacent weight, still buried inside you. On nights like this you'd usually just finish in the morning. Great way to start the day.
❀࿐Park Humin (Baku)
- owns it
- he's carrying you anywhere, one arm always lazily slung around your waist
- stopped bringing a backpack bc you're always slung around his shoulders, knees digging into his ribs but your head is still buried in the crook of his neck, avoiding eye contact with everyone who might stare too long
- adores the way you cling to him
- loves watching your reaction when he's fingering you but you've found a way to ruin his view by passionately making out with him, making sure that his eyes are closed.
His fingers hit all the right spots, crooking just the proper way to make stars explode behind your eyes. You can't suppress your moans, biting your lip in a futile attempt. Baku chuckles, littering kisses across your face. "You like that?", he teases. Your hands are gripping the muscle in his shoulders as you crash your lips on his. Baku grunts in surprise, kissing you back just as passionately. He swallows your moans as he picks up his pace, eager to make you cum faster as his dick is painfully straining against the crotch of his sweatpants.
❀࿐Go Hyuntak (Gotak)
- when meeting new people, you'd hug him from behind, kinda hoping to disappear behind his tall frame as you press your face into his back
- he'd pry your wrists away and yank you forwards, caging you with his arms and rest his chin on top of your head
- finds your shyness super adorable but believes that it can be healed through social interaction
- you pull his hair, running your nails over his scalp as he loves going down on you. You like how he can't see your face from down there
He's buried between your knees, eyes glinting as he his tongue darts patterns on your clit. Your nerves spark and you arch your back, digging your hands into his scalp. His grip on your calves tightens as you pull his hair, the burn in his scalp sending straight electric through his veins.
You can feel him smirk against your folds as he draws a moan out of you by adding a finger, crooking it to hit a particularly sweet spot. You glimpse down, meeting his unyielding gaze as he takes in your pleasure stained expression. Heat rises in your cheeks. You sigh, tugging on the hem of your skirt to cover your lower part. Gotak's face disappears behind the light fabric and you can relax again.
❀࿐Kang Wooyoung
- loved getting you all flustered with his teasing at first
- it was like a little experiment, how much can I say before it gets too much and she tries to leave
- was super taken aback when you started getting touchy in the very beginning
- you got super good at sucking dick, making him throw his head back in pleasure instead of remaining eye contact
One thing about him: he loves watching his girlfriend choke around his dick. The way you peek out between his thighs, avoiding eye contact as he stares at you through lidded eyes, it makes him feral. But you've grown to practice to become better. If the attention he was giving you got too much for you to handle, you'd know exactly what spot across his nerves to give extra attention to, to make him look away.
The stare seems to burn a hole into your face so you flick your tongue over his tip, making him take in a sharp breath. He curses under his breath when you start sucking on separate spots of his shaft. He throws his head back in pleasure, gripping your hair with his hand to keep you in place.
❀࿐Geum Songje
- loves getting a reaction out of you
- the clinginess makes him proud as you show everyone who you belong with (not to!)
- can't get out of bed without waking you up because your literally lying on top of him, arms slung around his shoulders and cheek resting on his chest
He sighs. He has places to be, didn't you know? He lightly slaps your cheek unsure how to softly wake you instead of startling you. He gives up after a few more shoves, deciding that you're coming with him.
- sex: you're hiding your face behind your hands? He's bringing handcuffs the next time. Trying to suppress your moans? He knows just the right spot to make you scream. "Yeah, I like that much better."
❀࿐Na Baekjin
- not annoyed but startled by it at the beginning
- doesn't know how to give affection back so when you rested your head on his shoulder whenever he sat close to you, he tensed, only relaxing when you brought his hand to your hair to make him run his fingers through your locks
- you suck him off beneath his table and he can't look down at you, especially not when he's having company
Your knees are starting to hurt from your position underneath the desk. The tenseness in your jaw is starting to cramp and your nails are digging into Baekjin's thighs, but you concentrate on not making a sound.
There's distinct chatter in the room, but the frantic beating of your heart drowns it out. Baekjin carries it off well, his jaw tenses sometimes when you suck his tip too strong or when he feels the slight graze of your teeth along his shaft. That's when his cold stare meets your eyes and you squirm, stopping whatever boldness had overcome you, just to make him break eye contact.
He's gotten pretty good at coming into your mouth without making a sound. It's on you to not choke audibly.
If you ever got caught, you'd wanna fall off the earth so you make an effort to be as quiet as you're efficient.
