word count: 1193 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)
Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist
warning:smut
Aaron’s apartment was shrouded in shadows as the night grew late, the air thick with tension that had been simmering all evening. You’d returned home after a night out, and despite your reassurances, Aaron’s eyes burned with a jealousy you could no longer ignore. He stood in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed and jaw set, every inch of him vibrating with barely contained anger.
“Who the hell were you talking to?” he demanded, his tone rough, cutting through the silence.
You tried to explain, “It was just friendly banter, Aaron. Nothing happened.”
But his glare was unyielding. “Friendly banter? I saw you laughing, the way you smiled at him. Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t enjoy every second of it.”
Before you could protest further, his frustration and possessiveness exploded. With a sudden movement, Aaron grabbed you roughly by the wrist, yanking you toward him. His heated eyes bore into yours. “You think I’m stupid? That I don’t know what you’re capable of?” His voice, equal parts anger and desire, sent a shiver down your spine. In that charged moment, the sting of his jealousy ignited something dark and irresistible within you.
“You’re jealous,” you whispered, voice trembling yet laced with a provocative defiance. “And it turns me on.”
A bitter laugh escaped him as he pulled you against the cool wall. “Oh, you like it when I get this pissed off, don’t you?” he growled. “You love watching me lose control—knowing that I’d tear you apart if you ever slipped away.”
Your heart pounded in response. “I love it, Aaron. I love it when you call me every name in the book—even when it’s raw and angry.” Your words were a tease, daring him to unleash every ounce of his jealousy and need.
His eyes flashed with a mix of fury and lust. “Then show me how much you want it,” he snarled, his tone low and dangerous as his hands roamed over your body. “Prove that you’re mine—and only mine.”
The air in the room crackled with tension as you met his gaze with burning desire. “I’m yours, damn it. Take me—make me feel every bit of your jealousy.”
Without another word, Aaron’s anger transformed into a fierce, animalistic hunger. He roughly tugged at your top, tearing it away to reveal bare skin, his hands sliding over you with a possessive urgency. “You’re driving me insane,” he hissed, his voice thick with raw emotion as he pushed you toward the couch. “I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. It makes me want to fuck you so hard, I’m gonna drown you in my need.”
Your breath hitched as you replied, “Then fuck me, Aaron. Show me how much you hate the idea of losing me.”
The transformation was instantaneous. Aaron’s eyes darkened as he pinned you against the back of the couch, his fingers gripping your hips with a mix of rough passion and unmistakable possessiveness. “You’re mine, you hear me?” he spat, his voice a venomous blend of anger and desire. “I’m gonna make you scream so loud, you’ll never forget that no one else can have you.”
His words, raw and unapologetic, sent shivers coursing through your body. “Yes, Aaron,” you moaned, your voice trembling with anticipation, “I need you to own me. Call me your bitch, your dirty little slut—whatever it takes. I want you to tear into me with that jealous fire.”
Aaron’s response was immediate and savage. His lips crashed down on yours in a searing kiss that was both rough and demanding. His tongue wrestled with yours as his hands fumbled with the hem of your skirt, discarding it along with the last remnants of your restraint. “Fuck, you drive me wild,” he growled, his hot breath caressing your ear as he murmured, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight, you won’t know what hit you.”
As he moved behind you, his touch was relentless. With one hand, he cupped your face roughly as he whispered, “You love it when I’m like this—raw, angry, and completely obsessed with you. Admit it.” His other hand found its way between your legs, stoking your already raging desire.
“Fuck, Aaron…” you panted, arching into his touch, “I’m burning for you. I want you to use that jealous anger on me, make me feel like I’m the only one in your world.”
Aaron’s dirty talk filled the space between your gasps and moans. “That’s it,” he barked, each word laced with a potent cocktail of lust and fury. “You’re mine, and I’m gonna show you exactly what that means. I’m gonna fuck you so fiercely, you’ll beg for every agonizing, beautiful second of it.” His tone hardened as he resumed his rhythm, the pace fierce and unyielding.
Every thrust was a declaration—a bitter promise born from a heart that couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. “You like it when I get rough, don’t you?” he growled as he pounded into you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You love that I’m so damn jealous, so fucking possessive.”
Your voice came out in a ragged whisper, “Yes, Aaron, I need it. I need you to own me, to mark me as yours with every angry, passionate thrust. Make me yours completely.”
As the tension escalated, his words grew louder, each one a raw command. “That’s right, bitch,” he spat, alternating between rough exclamations and tender, desperate pleas. “I’m gonna make you scream—scream for me, for the fact that no one else can have you. I’m gonna fuck you until you’re nothing but mine.”
The room vibrated with the intensity of your hate-fueled passion. Every thrust, every whispered curse and declaration was a testament to the complex fire that burned between you—where jealousy transformed into a heady, unbridled lust. Your bodies moved in a fierce, imperfect rhythm, every motion fueled by the desperate need to reclaim possession, to assert that despite everything, you belonged to him alone.
“Fuck, Aaron!” you cried out, your voice a blend of ecstasy and raw emotion. “I’m all yours—take me harder, make me forget everyone but you!”
With one final, powerful thrust, the storm of jealousy and desire reached its peak. Aaron’s gritted teeth and the guttural edge in his voice marked the culmination of your heated encounter—a moment where all the anger, the hurt, and the burning passion merged into one explosive climax.
As the intensity subsided, leaving behind a trembling silence, Aaron’s rough hands gently cradled your face. His eyes, still smoldering with the afterglow of rage and desire, softened as he whispered, “I hate how much I need you, how much it hurts not knowing if you’re really mine.”
You met his gaze with equal tenderness, the raw vulnerability in your eyes belying the wild passion of the night. “I’m here, Aaron. No matter how fucked up it gets, I’m yours. We’re in this together—even when everything’s raw and ugly.”
In that quiet, charged moment, the embers of jealousy slowly cooled, replaced by a fragile peace—a reminder that even in the midst of hate sex, the undeniable truth of your connection burned brighter than any jealous flame.
Give him a fucking break, for fuck's sake, please.
Just one. One break. That's perfectly fine. Enough.
James has known you far longer than he wants to have. Truly. But there's only so much pretense he can take when it comes to you.
He can pretend he doesn't know you when you shoulder past him in the hallways on your way to class, but only when you're unforgivably late. If you're not, you move to accommodate others.
He can pretend he doesn't remember you when Trelawney asks for those with deep-seated past bonds to come forward in order to show how timelines can branch and intertwine and branch out again. Trelawney instead chose Sirius and Pandora, whose families had known each other almost as long as James' and yours.
He can even pretend he doesn't see you snogging that Slytherin that's got you acting like you've been marinating in amortentia or summat.
But he cannot pretend like he doesn't see you now. Not when you're essentially deciding his future in the Ministry of Magic.
"Potter, James. That's P-O-T-T-E-R, correct?"
You're fucking infuriating. Yes, it bloody is. "Yes."
"Alright. You may proceed."
He looks around for a moment, half-expecting someone to come and detail everything he's been doing this year, showing him the Marauder's Map, the Dungbomb casings, all of that shite. But no one comes. So he assumes you're talking to him. "Sorry?"
You frown, looking down at your notes, before looking up at him. "You are here to apply for the Auror internship for the summer, yes?"
"Well... yeah."
"Did you not read the instructions?"
"Yes, I did. Professor McGonagall's classroom, 2:00 pm sharp, November 20th, 1976. That's today."
He feels stupid. You're looking at him like he's a child getting his ABC's wrong. "Right, well, there was also another set of instructions on the back. You had to prepare five of your best spells to show us, and then a three page essay as to why you should be considered for this internship.", you inform, as patiently as possible. Personal detestation aside, he really did have a good chance. "Do you need a reschedule?"
James looks up at you, eyes like saucers. "I can reschedule?"
"Well, no. But if you come up with a good enough reason — with evidence — then we'll see what we can do. We really can't do much else."
We. That statement. Narked the hell out of him. "So, what, I can write a whole bloody apology letter, come up with a fake reason, then fabricate evidence to corroborate that reason, and I still only may get a reschedule?"
You shrug. "Best shot. How serious are you about the internship?"
This had been building up for six years, really. Every time he saw you in the halls of Hogwarts, every time he heard shite about you from whispers floating and prancing through the common room, every time your name came up in conversation and every pair of eyes would fix on him, it all led to this very moment, when he blew up at you.
You stand up almost immediately, chair toppling behind you at the force, before you dodge the red beam emanating from his wand with a yellow one of your own.
He just doubles down. As is the Potter way. No, actually, you adore his parents. As is the James way.
More and more red paints the tiny room scarlet, the spells chanted bouncing off his tongue, across the walls, and into your ears as the beams continue, bending and stretching as you move to avoid them. "James!"
He doesn't stop. So, you decide you'd make him.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Your shriek echoes through the room so much you're sure it's travelled through the jagged gap beneath the oak of the door, out to all the other candidates, waiting, excited, prepared, and now, after James' little stunt, probably a bit terrified.
He stills (not like he's got much other choice), before his frozen body hits the floor with a thud, and he briefly wonders if your bloody dead body may fall this way when he gets out of this buggering body-bind and gets to finally kill you!
Until then, though, he's stuck lying pathetically on the floor as you kneel by him. "Are you stupid or acting like it because you think it's charming?", you ask, tapping on his mouth before muttering a tiny incantation that even he doesn't know, that allows him to speak while still being embarrassingly paralyzed everywhere else.
"What?", he hisses, battling a cough. His vocal cord's not entirely unfrozen.
"Are you stupid , or do you think your usual 'cute and dumb' bit is a good approach to getting selected for a prestigious Auror internship with the actual Ministry Of Magic?"
"Not stupid."
"Then why'd you attack me?"
"Pissing me off.", he spits out, with aggravated emphasis on the 'p'.
"'Pissing you off or not", you retort, mockingly emphasizing the 'p' the same way he had, "I am the interviewer and recruiter of this internship."
"You're younger than me. How— buggering hell — how are you my interviewer?", he coughs out, eyes watering as he strains to get his words out with as much dignity as he can mortifyingly afford to scrape up.
"Been interning with the Ministry since Fourth Year.", you reply, tilting your head with such palpable smugness that he realizes he's really not above hexing that serpent-boyfriend of yours to have perpetually bad breath. He's thought of it once before, but Moony discouraged him. 'You're above that, Prongs.' The hell he is!
"How?" He's in Seventh Year, trying his arsed-up luck at this internship, that he'd only been informed of this year, and you — a SIxth Year — are telling him you've been at this for two bloody years?!
"Talent. Intellect.", you state, before shaking your head in faux-apology. "Sorry, that means being good at something and being intelligent."
That's yet another thing he hates about you. Your condescension. When you're good, everyone sees that. You don't have to go parading it around like a beacon to karma — which, unfortunately for him, hasn't humbled you yet.
"Sod. Off.", he grits.
"I'm going to unbind you now. Will you—", you stopped yourself, wrenching his wand from his limp hand. "Will you attempt to attack me again?"
"You have my wand."
"Right, but you're not averse to animal-like physical altercations, as I've heard."
Great. His little spat with Mulciber and that lot was now school-wide knowledge, then. It was simple, really. Mulciber had made a statement. Claimed it was a joke. It, in fact, was not. James charged. Mulciber dodged. James fell. Mulciber laughed. Sirius punched. The rest is Ancient Runes.
But something about that sentence was severely, catastrophically off, and he couldn't tell what. Maybe it'd come to him in a dream.
"I won't."
You narrow your eyes at him for a moment, before mumbling out a 'Finite Incantatem', and his limbs spring back to life. He scrambles up in sheer uncoordination, a direct contrast to the grace with which you stand.
"Wand.", he growls, clenching his jaw.
"Apology.", you retort, crossing your arms across your chest. Eurgh. He forgets, sometimes, how infuriating you are. It's been that way since birth, actually, and he can't, for the life of him, figure out why his mother describes you as a "sweet child". You are neither.
He snatches the wand out of your hand, and is mildly surprised when there's no struggle. And then he realizes. You knew he was going to do that. You wanted to make him feel shite about himself for being like this to you. Buggering hell.
You walk jovially back to the desk, setting the chair upright in the process before you clear your throat. "I suppose you know you're not getting the internship, right?"
"Sod off, this is why you've got no friends!"
Well, he got his wish. He'd finally wiped that smug grin off your face. But he'd never wished to replace it with that look of hurt.
That's what's so fucking annoying. It's not like you've started talking to him less or avoiding him because that's how it always has been.
"Not enough sugar to go around today?"
"What?"
"That's Wormy's roundabout way of asking if you've had sugarless coffee."
"What?"
"Bitter, James, you look bitter.", grumbles Remus, rubbing at his temples. "Honestly, you have to be faking the daftness."
"I'm fine."
"There's that party tonight. Should do well to get you back to normal, yeah?", grins Sirius, jostling their shoulders together.
"I dunno if I'm going. Not in the mood for dancing and music and all that shite."
"It's in our common room. You'll float toward it like one of those cartoons where the fat bloke levitates towards the smell of pie.", teases Sirius, flicking the back of his head.
"What'd you suppose it is, anyway, that makes her so bloody obsessed with the bloke?"
"Which 'her' and which 'him' are we talking about today?", questions Remus in between chews of the thick oatmeal the elves have placed onto the table today.
The other three stare at him, and he shrugs in question. Ugh. The only person eating that gruel is Remus "I feel bad for them" Lupin, and it's obvious.
James juts his chin in your general direction to point without actually pointing, causing his hair to fall into his eyes. Good, because at least they'd be shielded from the vomit-inducing sight of your little boyfriend kissing your temple.
"Who are we looking at?"
"Wh— Eric Vanity and his girl? Ooh, what was her name, you hated her!", hisses Peter, pointing at him as though he'd just changed his loyalty from Gryffindor to Slytherin or summat.
"Don't hate her. Just can't stand the bird."
"Well, yeah, happens when you grow up together."
He loves Sirius, he really does, but he's got to learn when to zip it. The other two turn to him. "You what?!"
"Yeah.", snorts Sirius, oblivious to James' glare as he spreads some jam onto his toast. "Every pureblood knows there's certain alliances that go further than loyalty and shite."
Peter's mouth's agape. James is about to jump into the Black Lake and let the Giant Squid do what it wants with him. Remus is barely holding back laughter at this new, evidently hilarious information. Still, he manages to be the one to speak first. "What?"
"Like, how do I explain this without sounding like my mother?", muses Sirius, before taking an unnecessarily huge bite of his toast, and then speaking through chews. "Right, it's like the Blacks and the Rosiers. Or us and the Lestranges. Peas in a pod, we are. 'Least, we're supposed to be."
The other two nod slowly, as though multiple puzzle pieces were clicking together at once. James, meanwhile, cannot stop glaring at you. He'd hexed you. You'd had a full-blown duel a week ago and instead of being livid, you're just... you.
A snap of fingers in front of his eyes is what rips his gaze away from the two of you. "Mm?"
"I asked : 'Are the two of your families close, then?'"
James shrugs, so Sirius, apparently brimming with generosity this morning, offers to help. "It's a trifecta, if I'm not wrong. His family, her family, the Longbottoms."
Oh, phenomenal. Now they're bringing Frank into this.
"So why the animosity? And most importantly, does Frank know?", asks Remus, his voice low and hushed.
"Know what?"
"That you hate each other.", squeaks Peter, scooting closer to the rest of them now.
"Hate is a strong word, I mean—"
"No, she's said on multiple occasions that she hates you and you've expressed the same sentiment." Why was Remus so utterly unbearable this morning?
"Just... a spat." Of sorts.
"Familial?" Sirius needed to shut it, actually.
"Personal."
"Ooh, what about?" All three of them now either have their palms on their tilted cheeks or their fists under their chins, and he wants to blow their heads off.
No, his first.
Because how can he tell them he'd abandoned you in your first year as soon as you joined Hogwarts, because he didn't want to be seen with you? How could he tell them he knew you had a hard time with some of the other girls but still turned a blind eye to whatever cruel taunts they'd say to you? How could he tell them he'd been scared since third year — when he'd finally come to his senses — to talk to you in case the damage was irreparable? And how could he tell them about how you hadn't begged or followed him or even tried to ask him what was wrong? How could he tell them you acted like you'd expected this switch-up?
"Personal is personal, alright?", he grits out, glaring at the three of them. They know him better than to feel threatened. They snicker.
"My life's a joke to you lot, isn't it?"
They pinch their fingers together. "A tiny bit, yes."
Sundays always bore him tremendously, especially when they're not Hogsmeade Sundays, and he's not exactly jumping in joy at the thought of speaking with his best mates, who'll just take the mick out of him for getting his arse handed to him by a sixth year.
So, he decides he'll actually get some work done. He finishes the last page of his five-page essay for your stupid internship, just in case you'll let him reschedule. Then, he writes a letter to his parents, cleverly leaving out the part where he attacked his childhood best mate, and the "daughter they never had" (their words, not his). Finally, he finishes up his apology letter to Professor McGonagall for swearing when Gryffindor lost the match last week.
He shoves the first and last parchment into Frank's hands as he passes by and asks him to get them back to his dorm as he makes his way to the Owlery. Bloody Owlery.
James has always had this thing about owls. He wouldn't call it a phobia, per se, because he's cooler than that, but he hates them with a passion. Except for his own owl, who he knows is only nice to him because it's bonded with his Dad. Him and Glacier — his bloody owl — simply tolerate each other's presence. It's you and him but more cordial.
And, as if to disrupt his entire cool-guy act, in flies an owl, bigger than any he's ever fucking seen before, all feathers and hoots and wings, messing up both his rhythm and his hair. He's not proud of it, but he shrieks. He counts his lucky stars that no one else heard that, or he'd never hear the end of i— no. Did he just hear footsteps?
"Was that you?"
He spins around at the quiet question, to see that you're standing at the doorway of the Owlery, a sharp contrast to the dull browns of the stone wall and the soft feathers floating around the length of the place.
"Was what me?"
"That scream. I thought a first year girl had got attacked by one of the more ancient owls or summat."
A first year girl. Even when you're not trying to insult him, you're very good at it. Props.
But James is tired. Tired from the past week of overthinking what he said and how you might have felt and his potential career going down the drain and— he's just exhausted.
So, he doesn't lie. "Yeah. The Weasleys' owl just attacked me."
"Who, Errol?", you ask, gently stroking the back of Errol's neck. The flying rat has settled nicely onto your arm, James notices. Eurgh.
"Yeah. That one.", he mumbles, swiftly turning to look for Glacier. She's sound-bloody-asleep, at the exact moment where he has to show how well-behaved and astounding his own owl is.
Dude, wake up.
"Hi, Glacier, hi, sweet girl.", he coos, hoping that would wake her up, and it does, but she simply recoils, because their mutually beneficial system has never included terms of endearment or petting, both of which he's attempting to normalize, to show you he's not a scaredy-cat.
She nips him. You don't notice. He hisses very quietly before he places his letter into her beak. "Home, please, Glacier." She immediately takes flight, and he watches her soar towards the setting sun.
It's bittersweet. On one hand, he's glad the letter's going home to his parents as well as the fact that she didn't do more than nip him. On the other, he's alone in a setting in which every living organism — you included — has a vendetta against him.
You've got nothing in your hands, meaning you're here to receive a letter. This is odd for many reasons. One : the owls usually come to the Great Hall to deliver. Two : you've got mock NEWTS going on, you have. He'd think you'll be wasting no time and studying, like the swot you are.
"Receiving?", he asks, though he doesn't know why. He should be gently shouldering past you, getting to work on studying for his own real NEWTs. Or at the very least, catching up with his mates and seeing if the party will include alcoholic beverages or if they had to sneak out to Hogsmeade once more and purchase it.
"Mm? Oh. Yes.", you nod, biting your lip as you watch Errol clumsily fly back to his little cubbyhole, clearly deep in thought.
"Listen—"
He's not allowed to conduct his already-very-embarrassing apology, because in comes your little barn owl, swooping smoothly from the sky down to your arm, a letter in his beak.
"Thank you, darling.", you smile, holding out a treat for him before letting him settle into his cubby.
Great, now he feels like a prick for not being this close to Glacier.
"You were saying?"
"What's his name again?"
"My owl? Barnaby. Get it?", you smile, waving at your owl Barnaby as the two of you make your way to the exit of the Owlery. Barn-aby, barn owl, yeah, he gets it.
"Barnaby."
"Why's your owl called Glacier? I've asked your Dad, but he says you named her."
James raises both brows, looking around in sheer confusion. "Me?! When did I name her? We don't even get along! She wouldn't respect any name I give her!"
"Don't shoot the messenger, mate, that's just what your Dad told me.", you laugh, softly, hands up in mock defence.
He watches you skip down the stairs, before he reluctantly leaps down after you. "Are you coming to the party tonight?" It's a good place to apologise, he'd wager. The alcohol may make you more likely to forgive him, and make it easier for him to get his words out.
"Uh, I dunno, I've got loads of prep to do. Mock NEWTs are next week. Especially the practical component in COMC."
Care Of Magical Creatures? You watered down your subjects (as everyone does for sixth year) and you chose Care Of Magical Creatures? Since when did you even take it? Have you really had it since third year? Has he forgotten?
It hits him like a bludger to an oblivious quidditch-rookie's stomach.
He doesn't even know your electives.
He remembers your favourite colour. Your favourite Muggle concept — toasters. Your favourite magical creature — cornish pixies. He remembers your favourite soup, from the many times his Mum's sent him over to give you some when you'd come down with a flu.
But no, he doesn't know your electives. He doesn't know your favourite professor. Doesn't know your favourite subject. Your Boggart from that one Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Your career plans. He doesn't know your favourite shops in Hogsmeade. Hell, he doesn't even know your order off the Hogwarts Express trolley.
James still powers through this snowstorm of guilt and nostalgia. "You should come. Relax. The gang and I are bringing Ogden's Old from Hogsmeade." He's just made those plans. He already knows the other three will grumble about now having an errand to do on a Sunday evening.
You pull your coat tighter around you as the November wind pummels the two of you, and he fights the urge to give you his scarf or summat.
"Is it just a Gryffindor thing?" Ah, there it is. The reason it'd not be in his place to give you a scarf. Your bloody 'boyfriend'.
He rubs the bridge of his nose, his already-fogged-up spectacles lifting momentarily to allow it before settling back down. He could lie to you, but it seems that Sirius invited Pandora and her boyfriend Xenophilius — Ravenclaws — and he can't really tell you anything about it being a Gryffindors-only affair. "Uh, no. Reckon anyone's allowed. Why, you bringing Eric?" He tries not to throw up as he says it.
"I was thinking I could. I can, can't I? Or is it too scandalous? Slytherin in Gryffindor Tower?"
"I'm sure other Slytherins are coming." He knew for a fact that a couple were.
"Then great.", you cheer, smiling in that way where you can tell someone's borderline frostbitten. It nearly sticks to your face like a tongue on a pole.
"Phenomenal.", he mutters, rubbing his gloved hands together.
The two of you awkwardly shuffle through the snow, biting back whatever questions you may have for each other as you watch your footprints embed themselves in the cushy snow below.
"How's your NEWTs prep going? Since you lot have your actual-proper-real ones this year?" It's an olive branch, of sorts, and even he can admit that it's wrong that you're extending it.
"Oh, phenomenal." Terrible. "I'll pass with flying colours. Red and gold, of course, but still." He'll fail.
"Well, that's wonderful! Brave choice, though, choosing Divination as an elective. Stupid, but also brave.", you tease, matter-of-factly. Great. So you know his electives.
"Those two toe a gossamer-thin line, you'll find."
"Is that seventh year wisdom I detect?", you ask, grinning. He returns his dimpled one to you in response.
"Perhaps. Maybe the only thing that I've learnt from all this time here."
"That, and what detention looks like every day of the week."
"Heard about that, did you?"
"When teachers want to threaten us with detention, they say 'would you like to spend time with Potter and Black?'"
He can't help it. He snickers at that. "You lot have it easy, though. McGonagall loves your batch."
"She adores you four, though. I'm pretty close with her, and all she talks about is you four. What is it you call yourselves? The Mar— something."
James' ears perk up at that, and he stands momentarily frozen as he watches you settle down onto the Great Hall table. He sits down next to you. "The Marauders, yes. She adores us?"
You nod, handing him a bowl of soup before taking one yourself. It's fucking delicious. "I'll tease her about it later. Meanwhile, how much Ogden's Old d'you think you'll down tonight?"
"Mm, stress : alcohol ratio-wise... a fuckload.", you whisper, conspiratorially, and he smirks.
"Fuck yeah!"
He loves this conversation now, suddenly. It's going well, he thinks, to let you know he just had a bad day that day. He's really not the same cheeky brat who let you flail about in first year instead of helping you find your footing in the school he'd already had a year in.
Until you excuse yourself because your boyfriend's come back from his group study at the library. Eurgh.
James fucking loves Gryffindor Tower when it's like this. Everyone works together. The Muggle-borns bring in summat huge called a jukebox, and the Halfbloods make sure it can a) stay hidden, and b) keep going without needing new pennies in it. The Muggleborns also bring in 'spliffs', which Sirius is the expert in — James really doesn't know what they are. The Purebloods are in charge of alcohol, seeing as they grew up in families with a rich history of the best wizard shite to consume.
And the entire common room's somehow engulfed in a deep scarlet haze that might be partly because of the magic charms added to the 'spliffs' and partly because of the sheer fucking vibe of the place.
You stand in the middle of it all like a flower in drought.
James doesn't know when this happened. He hasn't been entirely truthful up until this point. He only pretends not to see you, notice you, or remember you. But since fourth year, he's been unable to look away. Subconsciously, his gaze rips through crowds for you in the stands during quidditch matches. His gaze forages around until it lands on you in the Great Hall each morning, be it at the Slytherin table with Eric or at the Gryffindor table with your mates. He's developed a sort of superstition that he cannot have a good week if he doesn't see you every day of it. One Friday you'd left early for some Slug Club meeting and didn't come back until evening. He'd fallen off his broom and broken a bone.
He's left to take a long, long swig of his firewhisky, before his shoulder's nudged. "Vanity's gonna beat you up, mate."
"Yeah, alright, laugh it up."
"I'm not joking, Prongs, you're being insanely obvious with your staring."
"I'm not staring.", he spits, chugging the rest of his drink before reaching to refill it. Sirius waits until the tinkling sounds of transferring liquids comes to a pause before giving James his signature scoff of derision. "I'm not!", hisses James.
"Alright. But if these walls could talk, they'd screech : 'Prongs wants to shag her !', just saying."
"Don't listen to him, James, I think you should go talk to her.", advises Remus, showing up at James' other side, like the angel on his shoulder to Sirius' devil. Or maybe it's the other way around.
"If you don't, I will. Vanity's not around, meaning she's fair game."
"She's not fair game, you idiot!", cries Remus, smacking Sirius up the back of his head. "She's taken. And besides, this is a platonic pursuit. To mend whatever bonds were severed. Right?"
"Right. Clean slate for graduation and all that.", mumbles James.
"Right. Well. Go on, then."
"This is clearly a romantic pursuit, Moony, are you insane?"
"Is it, James?" At this point, even James doesn't know. "Is it?"
"Does it matter?!" Peter. Great. This was officially a Marauders thing, now. "Go talk to her! Feelings or not, at least you clear things up! Apologise, and you're on good terms. And then, if she and Eric break up at some point, you're the shoulder to cry on and you can date her if you'd like!"
Okay, he liked that plan.
"I'm doin' it.", he declares.
"Let's go, Prongs, that's the spirit!"
And so, he makes his way to you, already stumbling just a slight bit, but not enough to make him shed his cool-guy persona, but just enough to make him remember he's only young once, he only gets one life, yada-yada-yada, all that shite that you end up remembering solely during that sweet spot between tipsy and drunk.
"Hello."
You turn to him, obviously on the tipsy-giggly stage of inebriation. "Hi! James, oh my god, this party is amazing! Couldn't find any of that Ogden's Old you'd promised, though!"
"Got some right here, darling.", he grins, teeth twinkling in the low lights of the common room as he offers the bottle to you. "Where's Eric?"
"He's studying. Library's open for extended hours due to mock NEWTs and he jumped on the chance." Eurgh, what a loser.
"Can we go somewhere quieter? I need to talk with you."
"About?"
"Can we just...?", he trails off, thumbing at the door. "C'mon.", he yells into your ear over the jukebox music, closing his fingers around your wrist and holding for a moment, just to make sure you didn't scream and kick and protest in your slight-tipsiness. You don't, and he's relieved.
The portrait-doorway of the common room shuts, and James is immensely appreciative of whoever cast the silencing charm, because you can hear a pin drop outside. With a sideways glare at the Fat Lady who was prying, he moves a little ways away, to a pillar.
He takes a breath. "Listen, about the interview—"
"James, no, can we not talk about that? I'm... I'm only at this party to relax. Difficult conversations are not on my bucket list tonight."
"Listen. Hey. Listen.", he calls, grabbing at your shoulder for you to stop your stalking back to the common room door to turn to him. When you do, his breath catches for reasons unbeknownst to him. Probably nerves. "I'm... I'm sorry. For last week. The interview. It was unacceptable and I hope I didn't seriously hurt you because..."
Great. This is why, James is realizing, that he needs to be humbled more. He doesn't think he's ever really apologised to anyone in his life before. "Because... it was wrong. I was over the line."
You nod. "You were stressed. Happens. And I'm sorry I said you won't be able to make the internship. I've spoken to them and they allowed you to reschedule."
Whoa, wait, what? "How?"
"You know your Great-Aunt Ophelia died a week ago, right?"
No. Who the hell was that? "Yeah."
"Well, she's a very good friend to many at the Ministry, and I told them you were close, and you were grieving. So. That's the excuse and evidence covered."
Were you doing this on purpose? To make him feel like shite? Because it was absolutely working. 'Kill them with kindness' isn't just an expression, he's slowly coming to realize.
"Uh-huh, so I'll get told when I can reschedule?"
"Yes. But, um... will you allow me to offer a bit of advice?"
"Sure."
"Don't try out again."
"Beg pardon?"
"I won't be your interviewer next time, and you might get through. And while I acknowledge your talent and expertise in spell-casting, I'll say that if you're this easily triggered and prone to violence, it should be up to your own conscience whether you think you're actually a good fit for this internship or not."
Great. One more very good point from a very annoying character.
"Just food for thought. Think about it."
And then, you disappear back into the portrait hole as if you didn't just shred his self-concept to tattered bits.
And now, he has to go through an entire party with this in his head. And you. You're always there, somehow, too.
Just a little drabble with Pietro Maximoff whom I cannot stop fantasizing over🤭
A/N: nsfw, smut, 18+ f!reader, fwb w/ pietro maximoff, simp(ish)!pietro, cocky!pietro, overstimulation, what i am introducing as cool girl!reader
The open refrigerator dimly lights Xavier’s kitchen, casting everything around her in a soft glow as she fixes a bowl of cereal. The mansion is mostly asleep, junior and senior X-Men resting from a long day of drills and training and classes. Meanwhile, Y/N sat cross-legged on the counter, eating cereal as she contemplated whether or not she actually liked this oat milk Jean had bought. She was halfway through reading the label on the box when a gust of wind whooshed through the room. “Could’ve sworn I heard the sacred crunch of Cocoa Puffs.” Pietro’s voice came as he stepped into the kitchen.
She didn’t look up, just jabbed the cereal box next to her with her spoon, mouth full as she said, “Guilty. Call the X-Men.”
Pietro, barefoot and shirtless, smirked as he stood in those grey sweatpants that had once or twice made her brows raise. He peered into the fridge and pulled out a can of whipped cream. “A balanced meal.” He said, shaking it before tipping it into his mouth.
“How gourmet.” She muttered, smirking. “How’s insomnia treating you?”
“Same old,” He said, leaning against the fridge across from her, his eyes scanning over her tank top and bare legs in her sleep shorts. “Ran around the lake five times. Watched every season of King of The Hill. Figured I’d see who else couldn’t sleep.”
She swirled the little dregs of milk at the bottom of her bowl around and shrugged. “Guess we’re both restless.”
There was a comfortable silence. Neither of them rushed to fill it. That was part of the weird, easy thing between them - they could be quiet together. Pietro broke the stillness with a slow grin. “Y’know,” He said, hopping up to sit on the counter next to her, “We could make things…less boring.”
She gave him a side-eye, amused. “That a proposition, Maximoff?”
He gave her an amused look. “It’s more a mutually beneficial suggestion for exercise between hot and consenting adults.”
Slowly, she licked off her spoon and looked at him, really looked at him for a second. He wasn’t trying too hard. He wasn’t pretending this was anything serious. Just a moment between two people who knew what this was. And hell, she was curious so why not? Lazily, she leaned over and kissed him. Her hand rested on his thigh as she tilted her head and he followed the other way, encouraging the exploration with a playful nip at her lip. They grew a little bolder, testing the water. Pietro smirked a little as he licked her bottom lip and felt her smile.
When she pulled back, he blinked once and then grinned. “So that’s a yes?”
“I mean,” She began, hopping off the counter and setting her bowl in the sink before glancing at him over her shoulder, “You’re the only one up.” He slid off the counter smoothly and followed her out of the kitchen like a shadow, still holding onto the can of whipped cream, still grinning like a troublemaker. She didn’t take his hand to lead him or look back, she knew he was following.
What they assumed would be a one time thing quickly became a regular and convenient occurrence. It was easy. Pietro wasn’t looking to slow down for a relationship and she wasn’t exactly searching for love. Their friendship had always been light and flirty, her ability to slow the momentum of objects or people - once a challenge to his very existence - made for a playful back and forth.
“You ever just walk somewhere?” She huffs as she smooths her hair down when he zips into her bedroom one afternoon, crashing on her bed with a smug smirk and his signature gust of wind.
“That’s the least attractive thing you could say to me.” He quipped making her roll her eyes as she continued searching through her clothes for an outfit. “Got enough time for a quickie before your little brunch?”
“Isn’t every time a quickie with you?” She teased, tossing a denim skirt onto the bed without looking.
Pietro chuckled and then zipped to stand right behind her, his large hands on her hips as he pulled her back against him as he murmurs in her ear, “Never hear you asking me to slow down when I’m in you, Speed Bump.”
The roll of her eyes couldn’t hide the amused smirk on her lips as he kissed corner of her mouth and slid a hand underneath her tank top. “You’ll have to wait until I get back, Jackrabbit.” And Pietro always did because no one felt like she did - comfortable, yet exciting. Hot and cold, playful and uninterested. She was the only girl that gave him whiplash which he was usually very good at avoiding.
It was far too late for a hook up, much later than she usually allowed, but it was starting to become an unspoken routine. Pietro stayed for a movie in her bedroom and it began as things always did between them; sarcastic commentary on the movie, playful banter when they didn’t agree on the logistics of an action scene, an impromptu tumble that ended with her wrists pinned at either side of her head. At that point, it wasn’t long before the sheets were kicked down to the floor, sweat clinging to their skin like silk.
The room is illuminated only by the dull glow of the movie playing on in the background. Pietro has her on her back, one hand pinning her thigh up, the other braced beside her head, and he’s fucking her like he’s chasing something. The kind of rhythm only he can deliver - fast, deep, precise - designed to unravel her completely. She’s already come twice; once from his mouth, the second from his fingers and that ridiculous speed he uses in bursts that hit all her nerves at once.
Her voice is wrecked, body is shaking, fingers are dug into his shoulders, holding him close like she’ll fall apart if there’s even a millimeter of space between them. He knows she’s on the edge, he can feel it in how she scratches desperately down his toned back, how her thighs clench around his waist as she whines. Pietro’s breathing hard against her ear, his voice nothing but a husky, ragged murmur as he drives into her.
“Look at you. Fuck, you’re so damn pretty. Letting me ruin you.” His teeth nip at her cheek and she chuckles weakly. “Tell me you love it.” She moans, nodding frantically, too far gone for words and he moves faster, just a little, just enough to make her sob his name. Her legs wrap tighter around him, her hips rising to meet every thrust like her body needs it. “Third one, baby,” He groans, watching the way her brows furrow upwards in distress. “C’mon, give it to me. You can do it - do it for me. My good fucking girl.”
Her hands fly to his hair, clutching, fingernails biting into his scalp. “Pietro!” He slows just enough to drag the next thrust, deep and devastating, lips grazing hers. “Oh, f-fuck, I’m-”
“That’s it,” He growled as her core tightens around his throbbing length. “Let me have you.”
And that’s when it happens. She gasps, high and trembling, and it breaks out of her right as her whole body clenches around him, tipping over the edge. “Baby,” She says it in a soft, breathless, unguarded tone of voice. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just a plea. Pietro freezes, cock still buried deep, eyes flying open.
That little pet name hits him in the chest like a punch, like he wasn’t expecting it, like it cracked something wide open inside him. She’s never really called him anything outside of his name, a playfully affectionate dumbass here and there, but baby? That’s new and he adores it.
“Say it again,” He whispers, stunned by her vulnerability. “Say it again, please.” But she’s shaking, panting, completely spent, her arms still wrapped around him like she needs him right there. Her face pressed to his neck as she shakes her head. She doesn’t say it again. She doesn’t need to. She meant it and he knows. He lets out a shaky breath, pressing kisses to her cheek, her temple, her shoulder as his own release creeps up his spine as he watches her soften. “You’re gonna ruin me,” He says breathlessly, grinning against her skin. “Like, really ruin me.”
And this time, she doesn’t tease like she usually would, doesn’t deflect by calling him clingy or obsessed. She just hums and holds him tighter. “Good.”
Late the next morning in the X-Mansion’s gym, Logan and Gambit are mid-workout. Logan is at the punching bag, Gambit is lifting at the weights when Pietro speeds in for his usual post-run cooldown. He’s already flushed from exertion, hair damp and curling at the edges. He stretches his arms over his head, then peels off his clingy t-shirt with a grunt and tosses it on the bench.
That’s when Logan freezes mid-punch. Gambit pauses with the barbell halfway up and whistles low through his teeth. They both notice Pietro’s back which is a map of scratches. Long, red, fading into bruises near the top of his shoulder blades. One or two near his ribs. Some deeper than others. All unmistakably fresh.
“Jesus,” Logan grunts. “You wrestle a damn cat last night?”
Pietro grabs a towel, wiping his neck, not even trying to hide his grin. “Nah. Just my girl.”
“Looks like she tried to climb you.” Gambit laughs, full-bodied and impressed.
“She did,” Pietro says, too casually. “Twice.”
Logan snorts, shaking his head. “Kid, we don’t need the play-by-play.”
Gambit squints, teasing. “She do all that with those pretty little nails of hers?”
“Mmhmm,” Pietro throws the towel over his shoulder and heads for the free weights, still grinning like a man who barely survived the night and can’t wait to do it again. “And I’ll take the damage every time.”
Logan mutters, “Back in my day we kept that shit to ourselves.”
Pietro flashes a wicked smile, before saying, “Back in your day, sex was probably still in black and white.” Gambit loses it, dropping the barbell back into place before he doubles over laughing while Logan grumbles under his breath about Maximoff having a mouth faster than his feet.
I don’t know if I enjoy Pietro Maximoff as a character or if I enjoy Aaron Taylor-Johnson as the character🤔 Either way, I’m hot and bothered by him lately😩
"I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”
Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader
Genre: smut
Word count: 4.6k
Summary: You’re Sergei’s closest (and only) friend, one night things become more than just friendly.
a/n: as always send any request you have my way! I’ll get to them asap
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the foliage above, you felt an eerie presence nearby. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught a flicker of movement among the trees. It was Sergei, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
You'd found him in this very forest when he had first left home, and now, years later, he remained a silent guardian.
Sergei stood amidst the shadows of the forest, his form blending seamlessly with the surrounding foliage. His gaze lingered on you, studying your every detail. The familiar scent of the forest and your presence filled his senses, stirring a mix of nostalgia and concern within him.
"You've been here a while," he observed, his voice a low rumble. "Looking for something?"
"Just watching," you murmur, standing as he approaches your side. you brush your hands over your jeans, grinning as you look up at him.
Sergei, towering above you, stands close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes study your every movement, taking in the way your hands brush over your jeans. A faint smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"Watching, eh?" he remarks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate through the forest around you. "Find anything interesting?"
"Not particularly, well at least not before you showed up," you observe his strong features in the sunlight, hands aching to touch him.
Sergei's smirk widens as he notices the way your eyes roam over his features, taking in the play of sunlight on his chiseled face. He can feel the subtle tension rising between you, a familiar pull that has always been there.
"Is that right?" he responds in a low, amused tone. "So, I'm more interesting than the scenery then?"
"But of course," you glance around, "the forest doesn't exactly talk back, does it?"
Sergei's lips quirk into a crooked smile as he considers your retort. His eyes follow the movement of your gaze, taking in the peaceful surroundings.
"True, the forest is a silent spectator." he muses, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But I happen to be a little more engaging than a few trees and squirrels."
Then, his tone shifts slightly, a touch more commanding yet laced with an underlying softness. "You should join me for dinner. It's late, and I doubt you've eaten anything substantial."
"What's on the menu?" you grin, linking your arm with his as he begins to guide you to his home.
As you link your arm with his, Sergei lets out a chuckle at your question. It was never a struggle to get you to come along when food was involved.
"Nothing fancy, just a simple meal," he replies, his hand instinctively resting on top of yours as he guides you through the trail he and his family had made years before. "Some stew from a rabbit I caught earlier, fresh bread, and maybe a few berries if I can find any."
"Sounds perfect, Sergei." you lean your head against his shoulder, enjoying the heat that's radiating off of him.
As your head rests on his shoulder, Sergei glances down at you, a warm smile playing on his lips. The familiarity of your touch and the way you lean into him stirs emotions within him. He'd always been protective of you, seeing you as someone he needed to keep safe.
He continues to guide you along the path, the sound of nocturnal creatures filling the night air. "You're quiet tonight," he notes, his voice gentle. "Everything alright?"
Your eyes widen as he catches on to your distracted mind, thoughts filled with the idea of being in his home and surrounded by his scent rather than making conversations. "Of course..." you murmur, "Just a little.. preoccupied." you grin up at him
Sergei narrows his eyes slightly, a mix of concern and curiosity in his gaze. Your vague answer and the hint of a grin on your face pique his interest, making him even more curious.
"Preoccupied, hm?" he muses, a hint of humor in his voice. "With what exactly?" His arm tightens its hold on you, pulling you closer as if to physically keep you from drifting away in thought.
"That's a secret," you retort, eyes glued on the building ahead of the both of you, Sergei finally guiding you inside his home.
Sergei's smirk only widens at your response, your words fueling the curiosity further. He watches the way your eyes dart towards his home, knowing exactly what you're thinking. With a slight chuckle, he leads you inside.
The interior is cozy and warm, lit by a few oil lamps that cast a soft, flickering glow over the room. The scent of woodsmoke and herbs fills the air. Sergei closes the door behind you, locking it securely.
"A secret, huh?" he muses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now you've got me genuinely intrigued."
You take a seat on the couch, relaxing into the plush fabric. "I'll tell you after dinner, I'm too hungry to wait." you pull a blanket over your body, instantly making yourself at home in the familiar environment.
Sergei watches as you settle into the couch, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Your ability to make yourself at home in his space doesn't go unnoticed, and he finds it almost endearing.
"Fair enough," he smirks, moving towards the small kitchenette area. "Dinner won't take too long. I promise I'll have you spilling your secrets soon enough." He grabs a few items from his cupboards and sets to work on preparing the meal.
"Take your time pretty boy," you murmur, eyes glued to his back as he moves around the kitchen.
Sergei's shoulders visibly tense for a moment as your voice drifts over to him, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. Your playful nickname causes a familiar heat to rise up within him, and he can feel your gaze on his back.
Without turning around, he responds in a low, teasing tone, "Careful, I might get used to the praise."
"Youre right, I cant inflate your ego too much." you giggle softly. He finally finishes the meal, bringing you a bowl of the stew.
Sergei carries the bowl of warm stew back to the living area, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he sets it down in front of you. He doesn't miss the way your eyes light up at the sight and smell of the food, and it only adds to his amusement.
"Here," he says, placing the bowl gently in your hands. "Be careful, it's still hot."
Once you have the bowl securely in your grasp, Sergei takes a step back, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He watches you closely, his gaze taking in every movement, as you bring the spoon to your lips and take a tentative taste of the stew.
"It's perfect Sergei, amazing." you hum in satisfaction, your eyes meeting his while you enjoy the meal he prepared.
Sergei's smirk blossoms into a satisfied smile as he watches you relish the meal. Hearing your genuine praise and seeing the contentment on your face brings a sense of satisfaction to him.
"Glad you like it," he replies, leaning back a bit as he observes you. His smirk morphs into a wry grin, and he adds, "I promise I didn't poison it."
"Well of course not, you can't go poisoning your only friend." the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish your meals. Once you place the empty bowl on the coffee table you feel the intense stare boring into the side of your head, Sergei watching your every move.
As you set your empty bowl aside, you can feel Sergei's intense gaze on you. His eyes meticulously watch you, cataloging every movement, every flicker of emotion that passes across your face. Being the center of his unblinking attention is a sensation that never fails to awaken the butterflies in your stomach.
After a moment, he breaks the silence. His voice is low, with a hint of huskiness in his tone. "So... about that little secret you've been holding onto..."
"Well, I was thinking.. about asking you if I could stay here for the night." you turn to him, expression pleading. "Look I know it's a little inconvenient-" he interrupts you.
Before you can finish your statement, Sergei cuts you off. You sense a hint of surprise mixed with something else in his expression, but it's quickly concealed behind his usual smirk.
He crosses his arms over his chest, a slightly challenging look in his eyes. "Let me get this straight," he says, his voice taking on a dry edge. "You want to... crash here for the night, no explanation?"
"Well I was going to explain but you interrupted.." you murmur, voice soft as your gaze falls to your hands. "It's just I really like spending time with you.."
Sergei's expression softens as he hears the note of disappointment in your voice. The hint of challenge in his eyes fades, replaced by a touch of guilt. He doesn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on your lowered hands.
After a moment, he sighs heavily, his voice holding a hint of resignation. "So, that's your big secret then? You just want more time with me?"
"Yes.." you whisper, silently cursing yourself for ever bringing it up. You always knew that your affections were one sided yet the confirmation of it hurts more than you were anticipating.
Sergei's eyes are unreadable as he absorbs your words, his expression neutral. A moment of silence follows, the only sound in the room the soft crackle of the fireplace. His gaze is fixed on you, studying your expression and the subtle change in your demeanor.
When he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, a hint of sympathy lacing his words. "Is that the only reason? You just... want to be around me more?"
"I like your company, you're comfortable, *familiar*." you carefully gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes.
A muscle in Sergei's jaw clenches as he looks down at you, your big, pleading eyes meeting his. The sight stirs something within him, but he's not entirely sure what it is.
After a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh, his expression a mix of resignation and something else. "Fine," he mutters, looking away. "You can stay here whenever. But only on one condition."
"Anything you want." you smile, moving closer to him, your eyes filled with excitement.
Sergei notices the way you shift closer to him, the gleam of excitement in your eyes making it obvious how much you want to be close to him. He lets out a huff, pretending to be nonchalant.
"Anything, huh?" he muses, his voice a low rumble. "Careful, you're giving me free reign to make all sorts of demands now."
"You're free to make any demands, it is your house after all." you bring your hands to his knees, fingers gently digging into his clothed skin. "But what is your condition?"
As you place your hands on his knees and dig your fingers into his skin, Sergei can feel a slight shiver run down his spine. The mixture of surprise and a sudden flare of heat takes him momentarily off guard, and he has to force himself to focus on the conversation.
He takes a moment to reply, eyes flickering down to your fingers before fixing on your face again. "My condition..."
He pauses, swallowing back a sharp reply and instead opting for a straightforward request. "You're not sleeping on the couch."
"Then where will I sleep?" your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you move closer.
Your closeness causes Sergei's breath to hitch ever so slightly, his eyes roaming over your face as you approach. He takes a deep breath, attempting to steady himself.
"You can take my bed," he says bluntly, his gaze not wavering from yours. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"No," you begin to protest, "can we share the bed? I don't want to steal it from you..."
Sergei blinks, clearly not expecting your response. The idea of sharing his bed with you had never occurred to him before, but now that you've suggested it, he can't deny the spark of heat it ignites within him.
He clears his throat, trying to maintain his cool composure. "You... want to share the bed?" he repeats, his voice a touch huskier than usual.
"Yes.." you grin sweetly, "I'd love to." Sergei can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as you grin sweetly up at him, your eagerness obvious. The thought of sharing his bed with you - of having you that close to him for an entire night - is suddenly far more appealing than he wants to admit.
He swallows, trying to regain some sense of control. "Very well," he manages, his voice rough. "You can share the bed with me, then."
"Shall we head to bed then? It is getting a bit late.." you yawn quietly.
With your yawn catching his attention, Sergei glances at the nearby clock. It was indeed getting late. The thought of sharing a bed with you is still on his mind, but he has to admit, he's also feeling rather tired.
"Right." he agrees huskily. He stands from the couch, offering you a hand to help you up. "Let's get some sleep then."
"Lead the way, handsome." you follow close behind as he guides you into his bedroom.
As you follow behind him, your light footsteps echoing quietly against the wooden floorboards, Sergei leads you into his simple yet cozy bedroom. The space is just big enough for a queen-size bed and a small dresser, but it's kept tidy and neat.
He steps aside to allow you to enter first, gesturing towards the bed. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmurs, his eyes on you the entire time.
"Thank you, Sergei." you silently creep into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed before sliding out of your pants, folding and placing them on the nightstand. You're blissfully unaware of his tense gaze, watching as you pull your bra off from under your shirt, placing it off to the side.
Sergei stands in the doorway, watching every one of your movements with unblinking intensity. His eyes seem to follow your every gesture like a hawk tracking its prey. Your casual actions - stripping off your pants and then your bra - are like a slow, torturous reveal to him.
His jaw clenches, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggles to maintain his composure. He cannot deny the effect your presence in his space - in his *bed* \- is having on him.
With a final small stretch you slip beneath the covers, eyes wandering to look at him in the doorway. "Are you coming in?" you murmur, not wanting to steal his space from him.
Sergei's eyes remain glued to you as you slip beneath the covers, a mixture of desire and restraint clearly visible in his gaze. At your question, he snaps out of his trance, realizing he's just been standing there staring.
He clears his throat slightly, steeling himself before slowly approaching the bed and pulling back the covers on the other side. "Yeah. I'm coming in."
He slides into the bed beside you, trying to maintain a distance but finding himself drawn to your warmth.
"Good night Sergei.." you whisper in the silent and dark room, eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into the sheets. The sound of your soft voice whispering goodnight only serves to heighten his senses, the intimacy of the situation making it difficult for him to even breathe.
"Good night," he mutters in response, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment longer before he turns his gaze to the ceiling. It's going to be a long night.
As the minutes tick by, Sergei finds himself unable to sleep. Your body is a mere arm's length away from him, causing the most primal part of his brain to struggle against the temptation to pull you flush against him.
He tries to think of anything else - anything that could distract him from the overwhelming desire surging through him. Yet, no matter what he tries, his mind drifts back to you, lying so close but still just out of reach...
You shift in your sleep, soft incoherent murmurs slipping from your parted lips as you move closer to him, craving the heat of his body, the feel of his skin against yours.
As you shift closer to him, unconsciously seeking his warmth in your sleep, it takes every ounce of Sergei's willpower not to react. He feels the heat of your body as you press up against him, your murmurs sounding like a soft siren's song to his lust-fogged brain.
He grits his teeth, his muscles coiled tight as he struggles to resist the urge to pull you even closer. "Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, his heartbeat increasing with every inch that separates your bodies.
Your bare leg wraps around his thigh as you pull yourself flush against him, your cheek pressing into his chest. You stir slightly, eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly.
You place your hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his abs as you turn your head to look at him. Your lips curve into a gentle smile as you make eye contact with him, "Is everything alright?"
As you stir and awaken, the innocent brush of your fingers against his chest sets his nerve endings ablaze. His skin tingles wherever you touch, the feel of your bare leg wrapped around his sending a jolt of heat through him.
He meets your gaze, his own eyes dark with poorly concealed desire. "It's... fine," he manages to rasp out, trying to ignore the way his body is reacting to your touch. "Just... can't sleep, that's all."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" your eyes lock with his, full of sleepy affection.
Your sleepy gaze, full of warmth and affection, only makes Sergei's self-control slip further. He swallows roughly, his hand itching to reach out and touch you, to pull you even closer to him.
"I... I don't... know..." he whispers hoarsely. His gaze drifts down to your parted lips, the temptation to lean in and claim them nearly overpowering. "You're making this very... *difficult* for me, you know." Your eyes widen as you realize his implication, your body tensing slightly.
Sergei can feel the tension in your body as you realize the meaning behind his words. He curses himself silently, hating the way your slight recoil makes him feel.
He loosens his grip on your hip, shifting to create a small gap between your bodies, his voice dropping to a more soothing tone. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just... your presence here, in my bed... it's stirring up some unexpected... *desires*."
"Do you.. desire me?" your voice is a breathless whisper as you scan his features, your heart pounding rapidly inside you.
Your quiet question hangs in the air, and Sergei finds himself hesitating for a moment, the weight of his answer almost too much to bear. His gaze fixates on you, unflinching, as his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your hip.
"Yes," he finally responds, his voice a rough, low rumble. "I do. More than you could possibly understand."
You take a shakey deep breath, gathering the confidence to make a move on this gentle giant. You slide the blankets off of your bodies, moving to straddle his hips, your eyes full of desire as you gaze down at him.
Sergei's eyes widen slightly as you remove the blankets and boldly straddle his hips, your unexpected move taking him off guard. The sight of you looming over him, your eyes full of desire, sends a sharp thrill of heat through his body and straight to his core.
His hands fly to your hips, gripping them with a possessive force. "What are you doing...?" he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with restrained desire.
"Sergei.. I want you." you press your palms to his chest, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his.
As you begin to rock your hips against his, Sergei feels a growl rumble in his chest, his fingers digging further into the flesh of your hips. The pressure builds between your bodies, the friction of your movements driving him wild.
He grabs your wrists, pinning them down on his chest as he looks up at you, his eyes full of a primal need. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he hisses, his voice barely recognizable.
You continue to grind against him, soft unintelligible noises falling from your lips as you get lost in the feeling of his hardness pressed into your cunt.
With each movement of your hips, Sergei's control unravels further. The feel of your body, grinding against his hardness, sends a surge of raw need through him. He groans loudly, his grasp on your wrists tightening as he fights to maintain some semblance of restraint.
"Fuck... You... You're going to drive me insane," he mutters, his voice rough and hoarse. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?"
Sergei's eyes flare with a wild, almost desperate hunger as he watches you, his restrained power a stark contrast to your unbridled passion. He releases your wrists, allowing his hands to glide up your arms, feeling the softness of your skin against his calloused fingers. "If we do this..." he warns, his voice strained with need. "There's no going back." His words hang in the air, a silent question and a promise wrapped in one.
"I know.. know but I need you, Sergei please." you whine, lost in the intoxication of his body against yours.
Sergei's eyes darken further, the raw desire in them unmistakable. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and for a moment, it seems like he's fighting an internal battle. Then, with a low growl, he surrenders to the need, his hands sliding up to cradle your face.
He leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss that steals your breath away, his tongue demanding entry as your bodies become one in a tangle of heat and passion. The bed beneath you creaks as he rolls you over, his strong arms holding you firmly in place as his hips surge up to meet yours.
Breaking the kiss, Sergei's eyes never leaving yours, he reaches down to tug at the hem of his shirt. With a swift motion, he pulls it over his head, revealing the defined planes of his chest and abs, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
His gaze is intense as he watches you, his movements deliberate as he undoes the button of his pants and slides them down, his erection springing free. Without breaking eye contact, his hands move to your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt and lifting it up over your head.
His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to expose your bare skin to the cool night air. The anticipation is palpable, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down further, exposing your wet, eager cunt.
He groans low in his throat, the sight of your nakedness driving him closer to the edge. With one swift move, he rids himself of his own underwear, his cock bobbing heavily with desire. His hand moves between your legs, his fingers sliding through your slickness before he lines himself up, his tip brushing against your entrance.
"Ready?" he asks, his voice a harsh whisper, his eyes burning with need. At your nod, he pushes into you with a slow, agonizingly sweet motion, filling you completely as he buries himself to the hilt.
You nod, unable to find words as his cock slides into you with an agonizing slowness that makes you quiver with anticipation. Your eyes never leave his as he continues to fill you completely, stretching and claiming every inch of your body with a passionate dominance that sends shivers down your spine.
His grip on your hips tightens as he starts to move, his powerful strokes setting a rhythm that echoes through the quiet night. Each thrust is punctuated by a guttural groan, his eyes never leaving yours as you both get lost in the moment.
The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, mingling with the faint aroma of the stew from dinner. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the coolness of the sheets, creating a delicious friction that sends sparks of pleasure dancing across your skin.
As he moves within you, Sergei's eyes burn with an intensity that you've never seen before, and you can't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that you are exactly where you're meant to be. His every touch, every kiss feels like coming home, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly alive and desired.
With each powerful thrust, Sergei's control frays further, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. His hands grip your hips, guiding your body to meet his with a perfect rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.
You moan his name, your nails digging into his back as your body arches off the bed, begging for more. The room is a symphony of your muffled cries and his feral grunts, the sound of flesh slapping together in an intimate dance. Your eyes are locked in a silent conversation of passion, the fire in his gaze igniting a fierce need within you.
You can feel yourself inching closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as the pressure builds. "Sergei, I'm... I'm going to cum," you gasp out, your body trembling.
He responds with a low growl, his strokes becoming faster, deeper, pushing you over the precipice until you shatter in his arms, your climax ripping through you like lightning in a summer storm. He follows close behind, his own release a powerful wave that crashes over both of you, leaving you breathless and spent, your bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets.
He falls to the bed next to you, satisfaction filling his body as you cuddle into his warmth. As you both lay there, the night's passion still lingering in the air, Sergei's thoughts whirl with conflicting emotions.
He can feel your gentle breath against his chest, the weight of your body against his own, and a sudden realization hits him like a punch in the gut. He can no longer deny the depth of what he feels for you.
The way he had just made love to you - as passionately, hungrily, almost desperately as he had - betrayed his true feelings. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he tries to make sense of his thoughts.
"Sergei," you breathe out his name, your eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into him.
As you breathe out his name, Sergei's arms tighten around you instinctively. He feels a sudden wave of protectiveness wash over him, a fierce need to keep you safe and loved.
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Yes, my darling?" he mutters into the darkness, his voice thick with an emotion he doesn't dare name.
"That.. that was good," you murmur sleepily, body slowly relaxing.
A small smile tugs at the corners of Sergei's lips as he listens to your sleepy murmur. He can hear the contented exhaustion in your voice, the way your body is melting into his embrace. "Good, huh?" he replies, his tone soft and faintly teasing. "Just good?"
"Perfect." you correct yourself, causing a satisfied and cocky smirk to rest on his lips.
A cocky smirk forms on Sergei's lips as you correct yourself, his ego swelling at your praise. "Perfect, hm?" he repeats, his voice laced with self-satisfaction.
He leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”
Req, Anon: "Happy holidays! Can you please do Sergei kravinoff x female reader smut? Reader is taking care of him post hunt by sharing a bath together and it gets 🔥 Ty!"
Genre: Smut
Summary: Y/N takes care of Sergei after a hunt and things get a little hot and heavy
Warnings: Cursing, Oral, Porn with a plot (barely), google translated Russian
The thud of the glass door closing is what jolted me away from the book that I was currently nose deep in. Looking up I'm met with the beautiful sight of my fiancé Sergei who's been out hunting.
I watch as he walks from one end of the little home to the next as he puts away his hunting gear, his skin glistening in a beautiful sheer of sweat.
"You know I can feel your gaze on me моя принцесс (my princess)?" I hear a deep and thick Russian accent pierce the silence. The heaviness of his voice is enough for me to clench my thighs together in hopes of relieving the tingle at my core. Every time Sergei talks, it's like something in me just sparks and I have to jump on his bones and fuck him until the sun comes up. It could be his accent or the way he just knows his way around every crease and crevices of my body or maybe it's the way his gaze on me makes me feel small against him.
Gosh, everything about Sergei right now makes me want to do some unspeakable thing to him. "I'm talking to you" It makes me blink, how long have I been staring at him? I mean this is an everyday occurrence but it's still embarrassing to get caught.
"Hmm?" I said as I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my heads in hopes of clearing my mind from all the thoughts that are currently fresh in my mind.
"What are you thinking of? I can tell there is something going on in that pretty mind of yours." The compliments. If he doesn't stop soon we're gonna have to call his brother and tell him that he's going to be an uncle.
"I was just thinking about how much I need to take a bath," Sergei quirks a brow as a tiny smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as I speak "And how I would love for you to join me- just to save water." I see his eyes darken with lust as a low almost inaudible growl gurgles at the base of his throat.
Sergei lowly strides towards me peeling his sweat drenched jacket off his body, his eyes still staring in mine "Really, мой невинный (my innocent), just to save water?" he's closer now, so much so that I can start to feel his breath on my neck as he leans into me.
My heart pounds against my chest as Sergei's lips near my ear before seductively whispering "And don't even think about lying to me драгоценный (Precious)." his palm comes up to caress my cheek before he grips my chin with enough force not to hurt but to make my eyes shoot open after not realizing they'd fluttered shut. "because you know how much I hate liars." something about the way he's talking to me right now is just so hot, sending shivers down my body and heat traveling to my core. His big muscular arms are the only thing on my mind as my hand goes up to caress the back of his.
"I-I just want to see you naked," hearing my confession makes a full smile break out on his face "and wet." Sergei could tell that I wanted to say more but he didn't want to push like he always does enjoying the way I shrink in embarrassment, instead he gave in almost immediately.
"What are we waiting for котенок (kitten)?" within milliseconds of him saying that does he pick me up and swing me over his shoulders as if my body weight was that of a feather. His long legs striding towards the bathroom and once in, he kicks the door shut before setting me down as he walks over to the shower and turns in on, steam quickly filling up the small room.
Sergei turns to face me, his hands tugging at the bottom on his shirt pulling it up and over his head, before unbuckling his pants and kicking those off, his eyes still never leaving mine as he does so. My eyes rake over his body almost unsure of where to look first. Without thinking I rush in front of him, my hands cupping either side of his face before crashing my lips flush against his. I can taste the faint saltiness of his sweat on my tongue as we start devouring the taste of each other. I pull away needing air, using this time to strip myself of my clothes leaving me more exposed than Sergei, who is still in his boxers.
"You look so sexy Моя любовь (My love), I need you now" without a second thought, I pressed my lips against his again with enough force to have Sergei stumble backwards. I feel his arm snake around my waist as he pulls me into the shower with him, his tongue licking my bottom lip, asking for permission which I grant him at an embarrassingly fast speed.
My hands find his hair as his roam my body, our lips never leaving each others. One of my hands travel south and feels up his hard on, wrapping my hand around his shaft, slowly pumping it while sucking on his tongue. My hand jerks him off faster before I get the sudden urge to wrap my lips around his beautifully long and girth cock.
The urge becoming too strong that I drop to my knees, the water hitting my face as I looked up at him, silently asking for permission as I lick my lips and continue jerking him off, Sergei give a slight nod which was enough of confirmation for me to wrap my lips around his cock, so needy that I forced all 9 hard inches of him down my throat, my one hand kneading his balls while my other hand travels down to my aching clit, rubbing hard circles around the sensitive bud before feeling a hand grip my hair and yank me off his cock. A groan of disappointment leaves my throat as I look up at Sergei, "Don't rush it baby, take your time." he says, leaning down a little to place a quick peck on my lips.
"I want it rough, I need you to ruin me Sergei. I need it, badly." my voice sound pathetic but I'm too horny to actually care. I didn't have to say much because the second those words left my mouth, the hand that Sergei has wrapped in my hair quickly guides my mouth back to his cock before shoving it down my throat, Sergei's other hand coming to the back of my head forcing his cock further down my throat even though my nose is flush against his pubes. I flatten my tongue as a way to let him impossibly further down my throat, my eyes watering and lungs burning as I am unable to breathe. I tap on his upper thigh to signal to Sergei that I need air which he was happily able to oblige to.
A few gasps of air and a wipe away of my saliva later, he's shoving my mouth back on his cock only for him to keep my head stationary and he thrusts his cock in and out of my throat, furthering himself down my throat with each thrust. I feel his cock twitch in my throat signaling that he's about to cum which prompts Sergei to pull my mouth off his cock before yanking my body up and into his arms as he pushes me against the shower wall before reaching between us and grabbing his cock before mercilessly shoving it into my dripping wet and aching core.
Sergei's thrusts are hard, rough and full of need. He's determined to fuck every drop of his cum so deep in me that it would have a 95% chance of fertility, not that it's what he's going for but he doesn't want any drop of his liquid gold to go unused.
Not that I let any drop of his cum go to waste on the regular anyway, whether he cums in my tight pussy or he cums down my warm throat it always stays in me. Who knows maybe if Sergei deserves it, I might let him use my other whole. Only three times in the year and a half that we've been together have I let Sergei fuck my ass and boy does it make him go feral each and every time.
I feel his hips shudder which means that he's close again, I've thought about it for a minute now and I think I'm just gonna do it, "Baby, fuck- you feel so good. I need to cum, are you close too." I whimper through my moans
"Fuck yes, I'm going to cum" Sergei says as he captures my lips in a searing kiss. "Hmm, cum in my ass" I said as I rest my forehead against his. Looking at him, I see his eyes shoot open, his eyes raking my face as if he's trying to find a hint of a joke in my expression, once he finds none he quickly yanks his cock out of my pussy before slowly pushing it into my asshole.
The stinging pain was enough for me to want to tell him that I regretted saying that he could cum in my ass but the pain went away as fast as it came after only a few thrusts. It wasn't long before the pleasure became too much for me and I came undone, my lips attaching to his neck, sucking on the skin, sure to leave some bruising later. About 10 thrusts later does Sergei's hips come to a halt and I feel him shoot long and warm ropes of cum in my ass. I hear a string a nothings coming from Sergei's mouth, the water still hitting us.
After a minute of silence and slight overstimulation, does Sergei pull out and set me down before cupping my face a placing a long and loving kiss to my lips.
Hi! Would you ever consider do anything that was Aaron Taylor Johnson x reader? (his celeb self I mean.) Maybe something like they’re working on a movie together (y/n is younger) and get to be friends and then something transpires between them? Ahh!!
Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Fem!Reader (Young Actress Reader - Request)
MY MASTERLIST! - EVENTS! - HOME!
This is an original story and may not be copied or translated into another language without permission!
warning: claustrophobia, age difference, dirty language, nickname, divorce, coworker, action scene, car accident, creep, expectation.
summary: You're doing test shoots for action scenes with the lead of your new movie. You always thought you were like a sister to her until you find out that he is now a single man.
(2632 word)
Hope you like it sweetie, I try the write as soon as possible :) @smallmarvel
It was one of the new weeks in your new project. The reading rehearsals had been over for a few days. But post-production had taken a long time. Or maybe it's because it's your biggest project and you've never experienced this kind of crew and work discipline before.
The cast had been in camp for months and all of them had been working out constantly to change their bodies for their roles. In the last days you have been working on your choreography. Your screen time would be about fifteen to twenty minutes, but the opportunity to work with such a cast made it all worthwhile.
You had two fight scenes, one big and one small. Although it wouldn't be right to call them both fights. Generally the bad guys were chasing you and our hero was there for you, but there were still moves you had to memorize.
When you first read the script, you thought that since it was an escape scene, it wouldn't challenge you and you would just run. But it wasn't like that. You had to jump, jump, sometimes crawl and even fight one-on-one. To make the scene more realistic, you were choreographed to fight for your life. At first you hated it, but once you learned the moves and started doing them much faster, you started to enjoy it.
Today was the day of the test shoot.
It was the first time you and the rest of the crew would act out the scenes together. Of course you had all met each other. You had rehearsed readings, the director had organized some nights for you all to get along better. One of them was a movie night where you watched some of the old crappy horror movies. It was a milestone day when you couldn't be afraid to laugh and you started to feel comfortable around each other as a team. Another night was a silent movie night. It was through events like these that you formed good friendships.
Aside from being friends with the crew and spending time together, today was the first day you were going to be in front of the camera. And it was for the fight scene. You were the last name in the cast and you were the least famous of them all. In direct proportion to that, you were not the main female character of the movie, but all your scenes were with the hero of the movie, the leading male character. Aaron Taylor-Johnson, who is going to save you from the bad guys in today's the test shoot.
Aaron was a very funny and kind man. He would come to your workouts to make you feel comfortable, give you feedback and often praise you on how well you were doing. In addition to these interactions, he was usually quiet on set. He would share a laugh with certain people, but he was very kind to the whole set and the staff. A true English gentleman.
When you arrived on set, you put on something comfortable. Leggings, a sports bra that covers your breasts and makes the whole action scene easier for you, and a loose t-shirt with the logo of your favorite band. Since it was a test shoot, you were wearing air force sneakers. You were determined to at least make this test as comfortable as possible until the main shoot.
Aaron came into the field right behind you. He was similarly dressed in comfortable clothes. He arrived in gray sweatpants and a basic t-shirt. They rocked back and forth with their hands in their pockets, talking to the director about the scene. You'd have to be blind not to notice the movement of his muscles with each sway…You reminded yourself that you were a married man and tried to focus on your scene.
After he finished talking to the director, he came up to you and said, “Good morning, baby.” He pulled you into a hug. You knew he gave you that nickname because of the age difference. You reminded yourself that there was nothing to be excited about and accepted his hug.
When he pulled back, with an energetic smile on his face, he asked, “Are you ready for today?” His smile must have been contagious because you were smiling back. “As much as I can,” you replied, shaking your legs - in a pose as if you were about to run a marathon.
His grin was still on his face. “We'll try not to push you too hard today, but we still want to go through all the scenes. But if there's any scene or movement that makes you uncomfortable, we'll definitely stop shooting,” he explained with great care. You had to admit that you were very lucky to be working with someone so kind and understanding. “Thanks Aaron, I really appreciate it, but I don't think we'll have any problems, we've been rehearsing these moves for weeks.” You reassured him. “Honey, the shot might feel different though, remember to stop if you have trouble.” He insisted. “I promise I will stop the scene if it feels uncomfortable,” you reassured him. All the while trying not to get hung up on the new nickname...
The first test shoot went quite well. The more complicated scene was next, but you decided to do it tomorrow. Or rather your director decided so. This decision was made because he wanted to shoot tomorrow with full make-up and clothes. Because it is necessary to decide whether the costumes in the movie will cause any problems in the scene and choreography and what precautions should be taken if necessary. So tomorrow you will enter the set as if you are shooting the first scene of the movie. Lights, camera, makeup, hair, costume… Everything you can think of will be prepared. To be honest, you're very excited about it.
But this was tomorrow's subject, today's subject and a new movie night. The leading lady of your movie had invited everyone who was doing a test shoot today to a movie night at her house because her house was quite close to the set.
You decided to change at the set before going back to the hotel and go with Aaron. Because he had arrived by car and you didn't want to waste time looking for a taxi.
The ride was peacefully silent until the sound of Aaron's cell phone connected to the car filled the air. “Excuse me, this is important. If you don't mind-” As soon as I saw the word lawyer appear on the screen, I said, ”No, no, please. I don't mind at all.”
When he picked up the phone, the loud, booming voice of the lawyer on the other end filled the car. “Hey, buddy, how you doing?” Aaron's fingers were turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. His grip on the steering wheel was tighter than it had been since he'd called the lawyer. “Please give me some good news Kev,” his lawyer, Kev - you probably think it was Kevin - noticed Aaron's nervousness and started to chuckle. “Relax man, you're a single man now. Sam accepted the deal and signed all the papers. Congratulations man, enjoy your new life.” Aaron let out a deep breath at the sound of the phone hanging up. “I'm sorry this is really-” before you could finish the sentence Aaron's laughter filled the car and you heard him say something like 'oh shit' but you didn't dwell on it. His happiness was contagious and the awkward silence in the car was gone.
You couldn't say the same about movie night, though. They had chosen a really terrible movie this time and you were constantly screaming and disturbing the whole crew. One or two people who were really enjoying the movie were a bit annoyed by this, but the crew was having a lot of fun with your reactions.
When the lead role was finally placed alive in the coffin, you felt your breath catch in your throat. “I think I-” the incoherent words came out so quietly that no one even realized you were about to have an attack of claustrophobia. As soon as you started to fidget on the couch, an arm grabbed you around the waist and pulled you towards him. You couldn't see who it was in the dark room. With one hand still on your waist, he grabbed your neck with his free hand and held you against his chest. You immediately inhaled the familiar scent. You relaxed yourself in the safety of the warmth. “Shh, calm down doll, I'm here.” His low voice and the sound of him moving around your waist were enough to calm your nerves. But his lips barely touching your ear sent a shiver down your spine. You were about to remind yourself that this was wrong when you remembered that he was now a single man.
When you arrived on set, you went straight to your trailer for makeup. While you were lost in the memories of yesterday, your makeup was finished and your hair was being done.
Shortly after the movie ended, you and Aaron said goodbye to your friends and left. You were staying in the same hotel, so you went on the car ride together again. He made fun of you a little during the ride and finally you agreed to watch a comedy movie together. When you arrived at the hotel, he insisted on escorting you to your room even though your rooms were not on the same floor.
After opening the door to your room, you wished each other good night. Before you parted, you shared another hug. It was the longest hug you had ever shared. Sure, it was a minute hug, but it usually lasted no more than a few seconds and no, every time you hugged Aaron you didn't calculate how long it lasted. “Good night, baby,” he whispered in your ear as his hand circled your back. Then he left after leaving a vague kiss on your burn.
While your hair was being done, you were drowning in memories. You told yourself you were exaggerating, after all, he always called you baby. You were like his little brother, that's what you had been telling yourself for weeks, except you didn't know then that he was about to get divorced and that he was now a single man. Yes, there was an age difference, but it wasn't twenty years. You were just a couple years younger.
You came out of your daydream with Aaron's voice. “Hello baby,” he winked at your image in the mirror. ‘Good morning Aaron,’ you smiled. When you were called from inside to put on your costumes, you waved “See you in a minute” and headed towards the cabin.
After changing your clothes, you took one last look at your image in the mirror and went to the set area. It wasn't a superhero movie so there were no weird tights and uncomfortable costumes. It was a chase scene where you would be chased by the 'bad guys' after you left work and then it would take place on the streets of the city. He was wearing tight fabric pants, a white shirt and stilettos. When the scene first started you would run in heels. Then you could switch to sneakers because they would not be visible in the camera angles. But neither the shoes nor the shirt made you unhappy. The only thing that bothered you was the lacy bra. You were looking for the comfort of your sports bra from the day before.
On the director's orders, you started the test shoot. You came out of your model building, realized you were being followed while walking down the street and jumped into the first taxi you saw. The team chasing you rear-ends your taxi with the car they are driving and you get stuck in the vehicle. At this moment, Aaron arrives and performs the fight scene with the men chasing you. After he rescues you from your trapped position, you take him by the hand and run together. At this point you were planning to change your shoes but you didn't want to stop shooting and you wondered how long you could go on.
After all, it was a test shoot. If you failed, you wouldn't try something like this next time. As you ran hand in hand, your heel caught on some fake stones. As Aaron checked you were okay, you gave him a sign that you could continue. As you continued your scene, you realized that the shoe was hurting you now. And the more you stepped, the more it hurt. But you were still shooting and you didn't want to give up on the first try.
You squeezed the hand that Aaron was holding. Immediately he turned to you and a low whimper of “Aaron,” escaped your lips. He immediately checked you with his eyes and tried to figure out what was wrong. “I don't think I can go on in these heels much longer,” As he was about to signal the director to stop the scene, he shook his hand once more and said, “Please don't stop the scene, we are almost finished. I don't want it to be cut because of me.” As you were quickly looking for a solution, the camera was coming towards you from the backstage area.
As you wondered what to do, you felt yourself being swept off your feet. As you let out a little scream of surprise, you could tell that your director was enjoying the moment and was pleased with the image that was being captured on camera. Aaron embraced you bridal style. And he was running towards the area where your final scene would take place. “What are you doing!” you whispered after your astonishment had subsided a little. “I couldn't let you writhe in pain Y/N,” she said, giving you an angry look. “Oh, I thought you would enjoy watching me writhe in pain…” you snapped.
When you got to where you needed to be, he took you off his lap and you did the moves you had memorized for your scene. With the fake explosion planned on the set, you ducked down and crawled together to where you were supposed to hide. The camera went back to filming the extras fighting. You had time to lie down for a few minutes.
You tried to forget the pain in your feet as you lay on your back where you were crawling. You were a little stressed by the narrow space you were in, but your breathing was regular.
As the shouting and explosions continued in the background, Aaron crawled to where you were. Since you had decided to lie on your back, he was now standing over you, leaning on his elbows. He never took his eyes off your eyes for a moment. “I enjoy you squirming Y/N” he said, and you realized that he had returned to the previous conversation. “But I'll make sure it won't be in pain.” Your breath began to betray you as his gaze slid to your lips. He leaned in even more, closing the distance between you a little more. “But I will also show you that we are away from the cameras,” his words sent a shiver down your spine and a warmth to your core.
He immediately noticed when you involuntarily squeezed your legs together. He leaned down until his lips touched your earlobe before leaving his spot for his scene. “I knew you were made for me, baby.” He said. And he left his location to continue shooting. Leaving you there to daydream with all your wetness and anticipation.
could you please do a tangerine x reader fic where reader falls asleep on him mid-mission and he just short circuits and lemon is having a field DAY because he knows what’s up 🥹🥰
Nap Time on a Bullet Train ♡ | Tangerine 𖦹°
"She fell asleep on me mid-mission, and somehow... that was more dangerous than the bloody target."
pairing : Tangerine x fem!reader
summary : A mission, a nap, and one very flustered assassin. Things get complicated—in the cutest way possible.
warnings : Mild swearing (mostly from Tangerine, never directed at reader), Light violence mentioned (off-screen, mission-related), Excessive teasing from Lemon, Tangerine being emotionally constipated and down bad, Extreme fluff and mutual pining, One (1) dangerously adorable nap on an assassin. Please let me know if I missed any.
author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.
della's note : THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE!!! I LOVE MAKING STRONG AND COLD MEN FLUSTER, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE IS FRUITY MAN!!! THANKS FOR REQUESTING LOVIE!!! Oh and btw, I tried giving him a British accent!!! Let me know if it's alright.
word count : 1.1k
navigation <3
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The train rattled beneath your feet as you leaned your head back against the wall of the quiet carriage, your eyes fluttering with sleep. The mission was... dragging. No high-speed chases, no bullets (yet), just an annoyingly long wait-and-watch with Tangerine tapping his foot like it personally offended him to be this bored.
"Keep your eyes open, love," Tangerine muttered beside you, glancing over with that sharp, cockney bite that usually came with his impatience. "We're meant to be watchin’ for the bastard, not takin’ a bleedin’ siesta."
You hummed, eyes still closed. “I am watching. With my ears.”
"That’s not how that works."
But his voice wasn’t annoyed—not really. It was the voice of a man trying very, very hard not to sound like he was smiling. Which, he was. Smiling, that is. Just a little. Just when he looked at you.
You shifted your weight, and before he could process what was happening—you leaned fully against his shoulder. Soft. Warm. Peaceful.
And completely unconscious.
Tangerine froze.
Not like, cool secret agent “freeze and assess the threat” frozen. No. This was full-on system reboot. His hands hovered in mid-air like he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore. His body went stiff as a damn lamppost. His breath stopped in his throat.
You were... asleep. On him.
On. Him.
His eyes darted around the carriage like someone might arrest him for being blessed too suddenly. And then—
“OH my god,” came Lemon’s voice from the next row, loud and gleeful as the devil himself. “No. Nooo. Don’t tell me.”
Tangerine looked up like he’d been caught downloading illegal files.
“Lemon—"
“You absolute bloody muppet, she’s sleeping on you like you’re a goddamn Disney prince. Look at you. You’re—you’re blushing!”
“I’m not f—blushin’, shut your mouth.”
Lemon leaned over the seat like a nosy aunt at a family reunion, watching with the widest grin known to man.
“You’re not even moving, mate. You’re terrified if you breathe too loud, she’ll wake up and realize she accidentally snuggled up to a human popsicle.”
Tangerine hissed, eyes darting to you, still soft and sweet and peaceful on his shoulder. A single strand of your hair tickled his neck. He tried not to combust.
Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I—we’re on a bloody mission!”
“Yeah, and she’s straight-up napping on you like you’re a Tempur-Pedic. Face it, mate. You’re the safe spot.”
The safe spot.
That... that shut him up.
Lemon watched the war on Tangerine’s face play out like a drama. Soft disbelief. Panic. Awe. Immediate emotional constipation. He even saw the moment Tangerine very gently lowered his head so it rested against yours—like a shy little tilt, just barely enough to touch.
It was so stupidly tender Lemon had to physically walk away to avoid yelling.
The train rattled on. You snored. Softly. Like a sleepy kitten.
And Tangerine—lethal, short-tempered, Gucci-clad Tangerine—sat there like someone had lit a candle in his chest and he was afraid even blinking too loud might blow it out.
He didn’t move. Not even when the target showed up three cars down. Not even when Lemon returned ten minutes later with a smug smirk and two coffees.
“I took care of him,” Lemon whispered. “Figured you had your hands full.”
“Piss off.”
“You’re welcome, lover boy.”
Tangerine just stared down at you, the edges of his heart folding inward like warm pastry.
“…She’s gonna make fun of me when she wakes up, ain’t she?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
And god help him—he couldn’t wait for it.
Your eyes blinked open slowly, the rhythmic hum of the train lulling your senses. You shifted, head still warm against—
...Wait.
What was...soft, solid...and wearing cologne that probably cost more than your entire paycheck?
You lifted your head just enough to see Tangerine, completely still, staring out the window like if he acknowledged your consciousness he might combust.
“...Did I fall asleep?” you asked, voice hoarse with sleep.
Tangerine tensed like you’d just pulled a gun on him.
“No.”
You blinked.
“I’m...pretty sure I did.”
“Well. I didn’t notice,” he said, too fast, too high-pitched. “I was watchin’ the mission. The bloody train. The—window. The clouds.”
“Inside a tunnel?”
“Right. Shadows. Very tactical shadows.”
From a few seats away, Lemon let out an audible wheeze.
You turned to him suspiciously. “...Why do you look like you’ve been holding in a laugh for an hour?”
“Oh I have.” Lemon was nearly bouncing. “You should’ve seen this prick when you nodded off. I thought he’d short out like a faulty toaster.”
Tangerine shot him a look that could've curdled milk.
“Don’t. Start.”
“Wouldn’t move, wouldn’t breathe, wouldn’t blink. Like you were a baby deer or some shit.”
You turned to Tangerine, biting back a grin. “Aw. Did I break you?”
He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. Not with the heat burning up the back of his neck. “You didn’t break me. I’m not some soft, squishy—”
“You literally didn’t move for 20 minutes.”
“That’s strategy.”
“That’s cuddling.”
Tangerine’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
He looked at you like you’d just hacked into his central nervous system and changed the language settings to “Emotional Clown.”
“I’m deadly, alright? I’m not some—some—romantic bloody pillow.”
You raised a brow, pretending to consider. “You were very comfy, though. Surprisingly warm.”
“Oh my god,” Lemon gasped, clutching his chest. “She’s teasing you. You’re done.”
“I am not done!”
You smiled sweetly at him. “You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered, y’know.”
Silence.
Absolute, devastating silence.
Tangerine blinked. Once. Twice. Then stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed him.
“I need to get off this train.”
“It’s a moving train, mate,” Lemon snorted. “Nice try.”
You reached out and gently bumped Tangerine’s shoulder with your own. His eyes flicked to yours—guarded, confused, soft.
“I trust you, you know,” you said, voice low, warm. “Even if you are grumpy and dramatic and a walking cologne bottle.”
He didn’t answer at first. His jaw flexed. Then:
“…I’m not that dramatic.”
You gave him a look.
“…Alright. A bit.”
You smiled. “You’re cute when you’re pretending not to care.”
He looked at you then—really looked. And god help him, there it was: the softness, the warmth, the genuine, maddening affection in your gaze.
He sighed, finally, the tension falling off his shoulders like rain off an umbrella.
“…Don’t fall asleep on anyone else, yeah?”
“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Jealous?”
He met your eyes with a tired little smile.
“Bloody absolutely.”
Lemon groaned in the background. “I hate you both. Genuinely. From the bottom of my heart.”
You laughed—and that was the worst part. Because the moment you laughed, Tangerine knew he was completely screwed.
