I understand the "I will die for you" ship dynamic, but what about the "I will not let you die, I will not let myself die- we will, at any cost, survive" kind of couple?
Lars visits your store after Sunday's church and asks you to dinner. But when you're both at your place to change out of your uniform, a kiss turns into pathetically needy sex.
18+ MDNI - smut with plot, slightly dom fem reader, slight age gap, blood mentioned, p in v, creampie, biting, etc.
The evening shift was nearing to a close when you noticed the usual suspect pull into the parking lot of your grocery store, paired along with your favourite regular. You've become accustomed to his daily visits and throughout the weeks you've gotten used to his schedule. You stood by the nearest till waiting patiently for your odd friend to exit his deep blue car and to peer over to watch his bright smile greet you on the way inside.
As per the routine, he was coming to visit a bit later in the afternoon on a Sunday, in which he was never empty handed. He ritually would wave to you and then proceed deeper into your store. Sometimes he was actually buying groceries, baby food or just something light. All in all he couldn't let himself to not buy something. The perfect excuse to talk to you.
It started all a month ago when his brother's wife ran out of formula and the closest store to him wasn't in stock. He had driven from his side of town in a panic to the end of town just trying to find the right thing for his niece when he stumbled into yours. Ever since then, he was a regular.
He would tell his family as reassurance that your store was more reliable, even given the extra distance and in return you had always made sure the correct formulas were on the shelf and always in supply.
Your eyes always followed his nervous pacing around the aisles, his demeanour seemingly shaken. Now and again he would make small glaces over to you, then break to ponder for what he should buy. With his trips being so frequent, he often didn't truly need anything. But routine is routine and he had to find something fast as the place was closing soon.
He gripped onto the roses in his hand for comfort. Even though he brought flowers after church weekly, the tension never seemed to subside as it was always boiling under the surface. It took quite a bit of courage to come and see you, but somehow even after all the non conspicuous visits, it still wasn't easy.
The first time you met, he had come into the store right before closing. Instead of feeling slighted, you noticed how stressed he was and had given him a hand with finding everything he had needed. You've always welcomed him, always brought him a sense of warmth that he had needed for far too long.
This time would be different, not the small item he had picked to purchase, but that he had gained enough courage to ask you to dinner. He could've gone far longer at a distance but his sister in law had been encouraging him for days after he broke clean about his daily trips. She wanted to meet the girl he's been so enamoured with.
His grip tightened further onto the roses he held after he landed on choosing a single chocolate bar. He liked to think that maybe just maybe you'd appreciate one alongside the flowers. With that, he sighed and scrunched his face for good measure and made his way to your till.
He had spent a whole ten minutes wandering the same couple aisles, but you didn't mind. In all honestly you had become far more than accustomed to him, but felt yourself yearn. The atmosphere had become lighter with him around, you'd even found yourself waking up earlier in the mornings to feel more presentable for work. Just by him stopping in things had started to change for you. You felt sated by him, which in turn made the days easier. While, yes, your coworkers thought it was odd that a slightly older man had his eyes on you, they saw your performance at work and stopped pestering you not long after.
Intently, you watched as he sauntered over. He placed the chocolate and the roses in front of you onto your till gently then glanced to his shoes, in fear of looking at you directly. He thought to himself about how nice you looked today and his heart raced even harder. Without the thorns of the roses to grasp onto, he searched for his wallet in his coat and rubbed the leather with this thumb. Taking a deep breath, he quietly spoke, "You look lovely today..."
You had smiled in response, it's not often he had the strength to compliment you as such. "Thank you Lars!" He moved his eye line to match yours as just saying his name with such kindness had eased him.
Tensions returned as you ran the single item through, "Hey Lars, are those for me?" you said in a quiet yet encouraging tone. You thought that the roses looked lovely, but couldn't help see his struggling and it was a twinge painful. With a deep breath he seemed to snap back into the conversation, "W-would you go to dinner with me?"
He intently looked for your reaction, seconds feeling like minutes passing by, but the only true substance of emotion he could latch onto was your surprise. It was shocking to have him break character as such, to have his mask slip and to see such vulnerability. Maybe shock wasn't the right word, it had become quite evident of his affections for you, but knowingly you let him come to you at his own pace.
He watched as your muscles relax and for your warmth to return, but this terrified him. He wanted so desperately to know what was on your mind. Did you think he was out of place? Did he take things too far? Please agree to dinner. Please.
You slowly reached out for his trembling hand, inching closer and closer. His breathing hitched and time seemed to stop for him. "Yes of course I will!" Once physical contact was made and the words had parted from your lips, something had deeply changed within him. "Tonight?" you softly asked, but he wasn't paying mind to it. He was purely attentive to your hand on his. It didn't burn, it didn't make him lock up and cringe. He thought about how incredibly soft your fingertips where in comparison to his rough skin. For far too long he wasn't comfortable with touch of any sort, and for him this was a large improvement.
You tried to wait patiently for a response but felt yourself pull back your hand and observed his calmer manner. Was the hand too much for him? Anxiety set in for a mere moment before he reached back for your hand and held it with a warm smile, "Yes, tonight. At mine... Karen has been asking about you."
The tension settled and while still holding onto him softly you walked around the till to meet him. "The shop is closing in fifteen, does that work well with you?" As you hadn't smiled this hard in some time, you felt your muscles around your lips strain. It felt good to feel so close to him, even him just standing near. He nodded, "I can put your bike in my car."
He was looking adorable watching you chat with the other customers as you wrapped up your shift. You'd sometimes peer over to him in between cleaning and counting the registers . He looked so content and soft with his wool jumper, once again holding your roses for you. Words struggled to describe how pure he felt, how honest you felt about him, and how enamoured you are.
As you locked up the front doors to the store, you noticed how giddy he looked and your heart sped. He motioned you to his car a few feet away, revealing that he had already moved your bike into the back. He opened the passenger side door for you, as expected with a man like him, yet still appreciated.
He turned on the engine and handed you the flowers and chocolate with a smile. You both felt so lucky and content as the sun started to lower, creating deep pinks and purple hues. Then it hit you, you were still wearing your work clothes. In a slight panic you moved your hand toward his, lightly gripping. "Can we make a stop to my place?" you questioned.
He had held your hand so delightfully throughout the whole ride to yours. Exchanging grins and small talk. Mostly about church went for him and if you'd ever join him. Anxieties seemingly slipped from the both of you.
You apologised for the slight mess of your apartment, as you had picked up extra shifts and hadn't had as much time to tidy up but all he could see where the dried flowers you collected from him on your walls of your kitchen. Bashfully he pointed to them, "You really liked the flowers?"
From in your bedroom you answered, "Of course," opening the closet doors to find a suitable dress. He pivoted towards and leaded against the door frame observing your room. It was very you, and that made his heart feel larger than before, to have been trusted to be in your space with you.
You plucked a floral dress from your closet and sized it to your frame, facing toward him, "What about this one?" In all honesty, he wouldn't mind anything you chose to wear, even the work clothes you protested against. He thought you were the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. "Sure," he flustered.
Placing the dress on the bed, you inched toward the door. Closer and closer you got to him. He tensed his shoulders and followed your movements as you placed both hands on his stubble. In a sense, wanting to thank him for the date or tell him you do truly like him and out of curiosity, you asked, "Lars, can I kiss you?"
His breaths became heavier, his eyes avoiding and his hands trembling. He so desperately wanted to, but the guilt had bit him and he started to feel so so anxious again. Maybe things felt too soon for him, too forward. But his affections prevailed, he closed his eyes and raised his arms from beside him to reach your hands, holding them warmly.
"Y-yes... please..." With that you inched forward and landed a kiss against his lips. As small as the kiss had been, it drew out a whine from him. You wondered if that was his first. You looked at him lovingly, at his clear embarrassment. Then he returned a kiss, a kiss so sloppy that it had caused you to leave a wet spot in your underwear. He pulled you in closer to him by your waist, gripping onto your shirt tightly. As the kiss continued on, his whimpering intensified. His lips were soft, with his moustache grazing your top lip.
Usually he couldn't with stand any pain, but when you bit his bottom lip he moaned. While this had thrilled you further it had in turn panicked him. Breaking the kiss, he pulled away from you. Instead of guilt for going to far, you wanted to embarrass him more, you wanted to hear him whine. To see him struggle.
"I-I ah.. um. I'm sorry," his breath and hands shaking. He slowly tried to back away from the bedroom to calm himself. He couldn't look at you, could barley even think. His nerves had all gone to his tented jeans, and you noticed. You noticed the small wet spot coming from the bulge and you fell short of pity. "It's okay, Lars. It's okay I promise," you pulled him closer to you once again. "I liked it."
He was blinking hard, going back and forth in his head, did he ruin everything? He worked so hard to ask you to dinner in the first place and you both haven't even gone to his place yet. "Sh sh sh, it's okay Lars," you eased, rubbing circles into his palms. Trying to focus his mind, he asked, "Y-you liked it?"
Reassuringly with a smile, "You did too... didn't you?" You cupped his face, trying to recenter him. "Y-yes but-" you interrupted him, "It made you feel really good... didn't it, Lars?" Nearly choking on your words he felt defeat, "Mhm hmm." Moving your touch to his strong shoulders, rubbing them, you tried to ease him further. "Tell me, do you want to feel good?" You so desperately wanted to hear him say it.
It took him a long minute to gather all the strength he had, "Please touch me more..." Good, you thought to yourself. You pulled him close and helped him to relax on your bed. It comforted him, as his legs felt so so weak and he was throbbing so hard.
Targeted kisses lined his neck and collar bone as you had him straddled underneath you. They were gentle, at the start at least, to get him used to it. But eagerness got the best of you, and you were determined to hear him whine for you again. With a soft nibble of his earlobe he bucked his hips up into yours, with a loud whimper escaping him. Fuck, you muttered as you felt his sheer size against your core.
With more and more nibbles of his neck, he couldn't help but grip your hips tightly. He wanted your friction but you wouldn't give in until he begged for it. You kissed him, hard, but even then in between it all of his sloppy neediness he was still so delightfully loud. You lowered your hands down to the hem of his sweater and other layers, lifting up slightly. He complied and helped you remove it from him. Running your hands over his chest, so delicately you felt him up. Pushing his hair behind his ears, you closed the space between you both and whispered in his ear, "what do you need, Lars?"
In a physical response he lifted his clothed groin to yours and gripped your hips tighter to forcefully match his pace. He looked into your eyes with such need and hoped for understanding. He wanted you, anything you were willing to give him. He needed to feel good, by your doing. In a deep whimper he pleaded for you, "p-please... please."
You slowly removed yourself from him, standing next to the bed. He looked devastated until you lifted your uniform over your head and pulled your pants down to your ankles and off onto the floor. He was so intensely in need when you returned to his side that he unbuckled his own belt as you teased at his neck, biting and sucking along his skin.
Once his jeans were pushed down to his thighs you didn't hesitate to cup him over his briefs. He and his cock twitched and flinched in reaction. Grazing his clothed head with your thumb, you noticed just how much he had leaked all over in anticipation. He looked so beautiful staring at you so intently as you lapped his precum with said thumb, tasting him deeply. He shuttered.
He covered had to cover his mouth to keep his noises from escaping when his once covered length touched the crisp air, with his other hand gripping the covers so hard his knuckles turned white. But you quickly removed his hand, "I want to hear you, lovely."
Returning to your position on top of him, you then pulled your underwear to the side, grinding your slickness against him. Going back and forth against him, rocking your hips in absolute bliss, you moaned. It slightly startled him, hearing you moan because of him. But then it turned into further desperation, in one quick motion he angled you perfectly in a way that he easily pushed himself into your entrance.
"Lars!" you moaned and bit your lip hard, merely by accident. Blood lightly dripped into your mouth, as you paid no mind because of the absolute girth of him filling you, stretching you. You had no real time to adjust, the needy man under you was rutting into you with such strength. He was coming undone, losing himself inside of your warmth.
He moaned so loudly, so eagerly with such desperation that it was overwhelming your senses. Then he went harder, selfishly using your body to chase his own high as you felt yourself crumble around him. He had taken control, but didn't mind. At all. "So good! So good!" he panted.
You threw yourself over his steady frame, holding onto him as he continued to bruise your insides. You felt so so close, and guessed that he would soon too. "So good, baby!" you praised. Your walls tightened around him so so delightfully. He couldn't last much longer like this, at his feverish pace.
"I-I-I um..." He tried to warn you, but before you could even pull off of him he gripped even harder, body flinching hard, he painted your insides with this warm thick cum. Even then he was still riding out his high and you followed suit. "Fuck," you trembled over him.
He released his tight grip from your hips to your back and held your head pressed against the crook of his neck. You both panted, grappling to catch your breath. It took a couple minutes, as he was still twitching inside of you to calm down.
"I- um. Thank you..." he nervously praised. With your mind still so cloudy, you just kissed him softly. Words couldn't properly grasp how you felt, especially after that.
You both laid in bed, side by side until energy was regained to clean up and get redressed.
In your floral dress, your muscles strained once again from smiling to hard as he drove you to his house, hand in hand.
headcanon: "i have decided that this is true about the character, and it doesn't matter to me if the canon text supports my idea or not."
interpretation: "after considering elements present in the canon text, I have decided that this might be true about the character and here's why."
subtext: "I can show you strong evidence in the text and context of the work that this interpretation could be the actual authorial intent."
EDIT: reblogs are off AGAIN, because the copy that's being reblogged around now is once again the "divine revelation" goof which is completely against the spirit of actual education the post is intended in.
Please see this post for further information:
"it's true to me because I want it to be true" is great and fine and wonderful in the context of fiction, but you cannot under any circumsta
when the destiel fic has both religious guilt AND internalized homophobia tags so ik whatever im about to read is going to destroy me emotionally for days to come
Summary: You’re a shy, careful Hufflepuff with little experience and even fewer confidantes. When the Marauders invite you to work on their assignment, you don’t realize you’re signing up for lessons far beyond charms.
Tags: MaraudersEra, BlackReader, Hufflepuff!reader, Innocent!reader, Virgin!reader, First time, Corruption kink, Marauders x reader, Polyamory, poly!marauders, Fluff and smut, Touch exploration, Overstimulation, Shy!reader
You’d been watching them from the far side of the pitch for the better part of half an hour, the autumn wind tugging at your Hufflepuff scarf while you waited. Quidditch practice for Gryffindor always seemed to go on forever, though maybe it only felt that way because you were standing there, gripping your books like a shield, rehearsing what you were going to say.
The Marauders — James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin — were not the sort of boys you usually sought out. In fact, up until this week, your interactions with them had been limited to polite nods in the corridor and the occasional “sorry” when you passed them in the library. You preferred your small circle of friends, your neat stack of notes, and the quiet hum of the Hufflepuff common room over their noisy, chaotic orbit.
But now you were stuck in it.
Professor Flitwick, in what you could only assume was a moment of cruel whimsy, had paired the four of you for the midterm Charms project due in just a few days. And so far, the Marauders had contributed precisely nothing except a string of excuses and an invitation to “not stress, love, there’s loads of time.”
There was not, in fact, loads of time.
So here you were, waiting until they finished flying around like madmen so you could corner them.
James spotted you first as he swooped down, broom in hand, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Oi, Hufflepuff!” he called, grinning like he’d just scored the winning goal. “What brings you all the way out here?”
You straightened your spine. “We need to work on the Charms assignment. It’s due in two days.”
Sirius, landing just behind him, ran a hand through his long, damp hair. He had at least three silver rings glinting on his fingers and that lopsided smile that was somehow both charming and dangerous. “She’s so organised it’s terrifying,” he said to Remus, who was strolling over, broom slung over one shoulder.
Remus’s mouth quirked. “Terrifying? Or admirable?”
“Both,” Sirius said, tossing you a wink.
You felt your cheeks warm but refused to be distracted. “Can we please meet tonight? After dinner? We can work in the library—”
“No, no, no,” James interrupted, shaking his head. “The library’s a death trap. We’ll just end up getting kicked out for laughing too loud.”
You clutched your books tighter. “Fine. Where, then?”
“Our dorm,” Remus said easily. “After dinner. We’ll be perfect little model students, promise.”
Something told you that “perfect” wasn’t exactly the right word for them, but at least you had an agreement.
You’re almost hesitant to knock on their dorm door later, your palm hovering just short of the wood. The seventh-year Gryffindor boys’ room is off-limits to most people, you’ve never had reason to be here, and the knowledge that you’re about to step into their space makes your pulse race.
The door swings open before you can even knock. Sirius leans in the doorway, hair loose around his shoulders, smelling faintly of smoke and whatever cologne he wears that’s sharp and warm at the same time.
“Come in, Hufflepuff,” he says with a crooked grin.
Inside, it’s exactly the kind of mess you expected: broomsticks propped in corners, stray socks on the floor, posters of Quidditch teams and scantily-clad witches stuck to the walls. James is sprawled on his bed, tossing a Snitch lazily between his hands, while Remus sits cross-legged at the foot of his own bed, a book balanced on his knee.
You set your bag down at the small desk shoved between two beds and start unpacking your notes. “Right, so—if we split up the charm components, we can—”
You get maybe three sentences into your plan before Sirius derails the entire conversation.
“Did I tell you about that girl from Ravenclaw?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, voice low and teasing. “Absolute stunner. Kept me up all night last weekend.”
Your fingers tighten around your quill, eyes glued to your parchment. “That’s… nice,” you murmur, trying not to picture anything.
“She had this way of—” Sirius starts, but James cuts him off with a laugh.
“Oi, don’t corrupt our poor Hufflepuff. You’ve never slept with a bloke before, have you?”
You freeze. The question hangs heavy in the air, your quill stalling mid-stroke. “I—We should really focus on—”
Remus’s head snaps up, his eyebrows lifting. “Wait. You haven’t?”
Heat prickles at the back of your neck. “That’s not—It’s none of—”
“Hard to believe,” Sirius drawls, reaching forward to catch a curl of your hair between his fingers. He twists it slowly, watching the dark coil spring back. “Someone as pretty as you… untouched?”
Your cheeks burn hotter. “Can we please just work—”
But James is leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with curiosity. “You must get urges, though. Everyone does. How d’you deal with them?”
You shake your head quickly, desperate to divert the conversation. “James—”
Sirius smirks. “She’s got toys, obviously. Plays with herself when no one’s around. Virgins always do.”
Your mouth goes dry. You give a small, frantic shake of your head.
The room stills. Sirius’s smirk falters just slightly. “Wait. You’re telling me you’ve never—”
James’s eyebrows shoot up. “Not even once?”
You shake your head again, looking anywhere but their faces.
For a second, there’s only silence, and then Remus lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “Merlin’s beard.”
Sirius leans back, grin returning in full force. “That’s… unexpectedly hot.”
“Very,” James agrees, his gaze sweeping over you in a way that makes you want to squirm. “You’ve never even been curious?”
You swallow hard. “I mean… maybe. I’ve heard the girls in my dorm talking about it.”
Sirius tilts his head. “So you’ve just… never tried. Never touched yourself.”
You shake your head again, embarrassed beyond belief.
James whistles softly. “That’s criminal. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Good thing we’re practically professionals,” Sirius says lightly, though there’s a dangerous edge to the glint in his eyes.
You blink at him. “What?”
Remus’s voice is smooth, almost coaxing. “We could show you. If you wanted.”
Your stomach flips violently. “No, I—we have to finish this assignment—”
“We will,” Remus says, leaning forward slightly. “Later. Right now… maybe you should let go a little. Let us show you how to feel good.”
You open your mouth to refuse again, but the curiosity you’ve been denying for years is whispering at the back of your mind. You’ve imagined what it might be like hands on you, mouths on you but never let yourself linger on the thoughts for long.
James must see something in your face, because his grin turns slow and knowing. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve trusted us with a school project. You can trust us with this.”
The heat in the room feels suffocating.
Sirius’s fingers are brushing the hem of your skirt now, not lifting, just tracing the edge. “All you have to do is say yes.”
You hesitate, then nod — once, barely.
“Atta girl,” Sirius murmurs.
The moment his hand pushes your skirt up, instinct flares and you draw in a sharp breath. “Wait, I—”
Remus is already moving, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle, stealing the rest of your protest. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek as if to anchor you.
Sirius’s palm presses between your thighs, warm even through your panties, an experimental rub that makes your stomach clench.
Somewhere to your right, you hear James shift, the quiet click of buttons as your shirt begins to come undone under his sure fingers.
Remus doesn’t pull away.
If anything, his mouth presses more firmly to yours, the kiss deepening by slow, careful increments. It’s not rushed, not hungry in the way you’d imagined boys might kiss there’s patience in him, a measured control that makes it all the more dizzying. His lips part, coaxing rather than demanding, his hand still cupping your jaw like you’re something fragile he doesn’t want to break.
You’d expected kissing to feel… different. Wet, maybe awkward. Instead, there’s a warmth curling in your chest, in your stomach, a steady hum that’s making your knees feel strange even though you’re still sitting.
Somewhere in the background of that warmth, you register James’s fingers working their way down the front of your shirt. The soft click of each button coming undone is louder than it should be in the quiet of the room. The cool air nips at your newly exposed skin, but the heat in your cheeks more than makes up for it.
“Easy, love,” James murmurs, his voice low and smooth near your ear. “Just want to see you.”
Your breath catches. You want to close the shirt again, to keep it together — but Remus’s mouth is moving against yours with such careful insistence that you can’t bring yourself to stop him.
Meanwhile, Sirius hasn’t moved his hand from between your thighs. His touch is steady, palm warm through the thin cotton of your underwear, his thumb stroking idle, lazy patterns that make you tense without meaning to. It’s not invasive, not yet, but there’s something unbearably intimate about how unhurried he is.
“Relax for me,” he says softly, and the roughness in his voice makes your skin prickle. “Just let it happen.”
You try, but the awareness of his hand is like a pulse of its own, a steady reminder of what’s about to happen or what could happen.
James has reached the last button now, the shirt parting fully under his hands. You feel his gaze sweep over you, lingering where your bra covers the curve of your breasts. His fingertips trace along the fabric there, almost reverent, before sliding back to your shoulders to ease the shirt down your arms.
“Merlin,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.
Remus finally pulls back from your mouth, though he stays close enough that his breath mingles with yours. His eyes flick briefly to Sirius’s hand, then back to your face. “Still okay?”
You nod, though it’s a little shaky. “Y-Yeah.”
That earns you a small, approving smile.
Sirius chooses that moment to hook one finger under the waistband of your panties. You flinch at the movement not from discomfort, but from the sudden intimacy of it. His eyes are on yours as he slides the fabric to the side, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. You don’t.
The cool air hits your bare skin, and you can’t stop the small shiver that runs through you. Sirius notices, of course he notices and his grin takes on something sharper.
“Pretty little thing,” he says, almost under his breath, before returning his attention to the task at hand.
He doesn’t plunge in with fingers, doesn’t rush. Instead, his thumb resumes its slow circles, only now there’s no fabric between you. The difference is startling. The touch is softer and sharper at once, every movement sending little sparks dancing low in your stomach.
You let out a sound you didn’t mean to, a tiny, breathy gasp that you try to swallow down. Sirius’s grin widens.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold back.”
Remus’s mouth finds yours again, and it’s almost overwhelming now, the way they’re both on you at once one coaxing your lips open, the other coaxing something deeper from you entirely. James is still close, his fingers brushing along your arm, your side, tracing the edge of your bra as if committing every line of you to memory.
Sirius’s pace is maddening. He keeps his movements small and deliberate, circling slowly around that sensitive spot until your legs tense without your permission. Every time you start to tip forward into something sharper, he eases back, dragging it out until your breathing turns uneven.
You didn’t know it could feel like this, warm and fluttery and tight all at once, the tension coiling low in your belly with each slow press of his thumb.
“Breathe,” Remus murmurs against your lips, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath without meaning to. You exhale shakily, and Sirius takes advantage of the moment to press just a fraction harder.
The sound that escapes you is embarrassingly needy.
“Good girl,” Sirius says, and for some reason the words send the tension in your stomach snapping. It washes over you in a hot rush, your thighs trembling as you try to stifle the sound rising in your throat.
Sirius doesn’t stop. If anything, his movements smooth out, guiding you through the strange, rippling aftershocks until you slump slightly against Remus’s steady frame.
“First one?” James’s voice is warm with amusement.
You manage a breathless nod.
Sirius chuckles low. “Let’s see if we can make it two.”
Before you can protest, his thumb is moving again not as slow as before now, but still deliberate, still maddening in its precision. You’re already sensitive, the skin there tingling from the last wave, and the new stimulation makes you jerk involuntarily.
“It’s okay,” Remus murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Let it happen again.”
You’re not sure you can or maybe you’re too sure you can, too quickly. The second crest builds faster, Sirius’s focus unrelenting, his free hand bracing lightly against your thigh to keep you from squirming away.
It’s almost too much, but the way they’re all watching you, James’s eyes fixed on your face, Remus’s gaze soft but unyielding, Sirius’s smirk growing with every sound you make keeps you rooted in place.
When it hits, it’s sharper this time, a flash of heat and release that makes you cling to Remus without thinking. Sirius slows only when your thighs press together in reflex, easing you back down until your breathing steadies.
You sag against Remus, your head spinning, and somewhere above you, Sirius gives a satisfied little hum.
“Two,” he says simply, like he’s keeping score.
You don’t have the energy to glare at him not when your body still feels warm and liquid, the air thick with the mix of your breaths and theirs.
You’re still melting against Remus, your chest rising and falling unevenly, when James shifts beside you, sliding closer with a soft, teasing smile.
“Alright,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “I want to see how many fingers you can take.”
Your breath hitches at his words, a flush creeping up your neck and spreading through your chest.
“W-What?” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.
Sirius’s grin turns wicked, but there’s something gentle in the way Remus squeezes your hand, steadying you.
“It’s okay,” Remus says softly. “We’ll go slow. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
Sirius leans in, brushing a loose curl behind your ear. “We just want to make you feel good. Promise you’ll tell us if it’s too much.”
The nervous flutter in your stomach twists tighter, but their calm words, the way they’re watching you with nothing but care and patience, help quiet the rising panic.
James shifts again, carefully moving so that he’s directly beside you, his fingers warm as he gently parts your thighs.
“Just breathe,” he whispers, thumb brushing the delicate skin of your inner thigh. “We’ll take this as slow as you need.”
Your heart pounds as his hand moves lower, the heat radiating from his fingers making you tremble.
Then, with the softest touch, James presses the pad of one finger to your entrance.
You’re tight, impossibly tight and the sensation is unfamiliar, sharp and strange, but not unpleasant.
“It’s alright,” James murmurs, barely moving, letting you adjust to the pressure.
You bite your lip, blinking up at him, unsure but willing to try.
Slowly, carefully, he slides that one finger inside, inch by inch.
A sharp gasp escapes you, a mixture of surprise and intensity, and your hand shoots out to grip Remus’s shirt for support.
“You’re doing so well,” James encourages, fingers gentle but confident.
Sirius leans forward, fingers deftly undoing the clasp of your bra. The cool air hitting your exposed skin makes your nipples harden, and your body tenses, caught between nervousness and something deeper, something raw and alive.
He trails his fingers lightly over your breasts, careful not to rush, teasing your skin before slipping a single finger inside the cup, circling the tender skin beneath.
The contrast between James’s slow intrusion and Sirius’s teasing touch is electric, your body reacting in ways you didn’t expect.
James gently moves his finger, the motion slow and deliberate. You wince slightly, tightness wrapping around him like a velvet glove but the ache in your lower belly is growing warmer, softer.
“Feels good?” Remus’s voice is a soothing balm next to your ear.
You nod, breath trembling. “Y-Yeah…”
James, encouraged, tries to ease in a second finger.
It’s harder this time. Your muscles instinctively clench around him, tight and protective.
“Okay, okay,” James murmurs, pausing to let you adjust. His thumb strokes slow, comforting circles on the outside of you.
You close your eyes, steadying yourself with shaky breaths.
The pressure grows, stretching, unfamiliar but not painful, and the heat blooming inside you pulses deeper.
Sirius shifts, lips trailing down your neck, warm and teasing, distracting you from the tightness with whispered promises and soft nips.
You gasp softly as James gently presses the second finger further in, but it’s clear you can’t take more than that right now.
“It’s alright,” Sirius says, voice low and reverent.
Your body is a coil of tension and warmth, every nerve alive with the subtle, exquisite teasing James and Sirius are giving you.
James keeps his fingers moving inside you with a slow, patient rhythm, the barest glide in, then a small circle, barely touching the most sensitive spot. His thumb rubs gentle, feather-light patterns against your skin outside, keeping you balanced between ache and delight.
You’re so wet, it’s like a warm flood pooling beneath you, the slick heat making every touch feel electric.
Sirius, never far from you, lets his fingers wander freely now, tracing lazy paths over your bare breasts. His touch is slow and deliberate, teasing your nipples until they tighten and peak beneath his fingers.
His breath is hot against your collarbone, and every time his hand squeezes gently, you bite your lip to stop a soft moan from escaping.
Sirius’s voice drops to a low murmur, teasing. “That’s three, love. You’re amazing.”
You blink, startled at how fast your body is reacting — how quickly you’re coming apart beneath their touch.
James slips his fingers a little deeper, careful to keep the pace patient but insistent. Every slow stroke feels like a secret promise, like you’re unraveling just enough for them, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
Your breaths come faster now, shallow and shaky, chest rising and falling under Sirius’s hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening just slightly on your breast, then releasing with teasing softness.
James’s thumb strokes faster for a moment, light flicks over your swollen clit, and the coil inside you snaps.
Your muscles clench tightly around his fingers, and a moan escapes you — soft, broken, utterly real.
Sirius chuckles low, lips brushing your ear. “That’s four.”
You want to protest that you can’t take much more, but the way their touch feels so deliberate, so slow and full of care it makes you want to keep going, to see how far you can fall into this sensation.
James pulls back just enough to give you a moment, then pushes in again, a little deeper this time, fingers curling in a way that has your back arching off the bed.
Sirius’s hand slides down to cup your hip, steadying you, while the other keeps playing with your breast, rolling your nipple between thumb and finger with teasing patience.
The heat in your chest builds, the ache in your belly growing sharper, a delicious tension that makes your legs tremble.
“Let go,” Remus’s voice whispers from behind you , steady and grounding.
You do.
Your body trembles violently as your fifth orgasm crashes over you, breath hitching in ragged gasps. The world narrows to the warmth flooding through you, the gentle touch of their hands, the sound of your own voice breaking the silence.
Sirius grins wider, brushing his lips softly over your temple. “Five.”
You cling to Remus’s shirt, your skin tingling, still sensitive and raw from the waves rolling through you.
James doesn’t stop.
His fingers move again, slow and sure, coaxing you back from the edge teasing, holding, building until your breath comes in shallow pants and your legs quiver uncontrollably beneath them.
“You’re incredible,” James murmurs, voice rough with admiration.
Sirius’s hands keep roaming your body, one hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, thumb circling the hardened peak with teasing patience, the other trailing soft kisses along your jaw and neck.
“Six,” Sirius says, his voice a soft purr.
Your chest tightens again, the last sparks of sensation igniting in a firestorm that leaves you trembling and breathless in their arms.
They’re not just touching you, they’re learning you, memorizing every sigh, every twitch, every flinch of pleasure and hesitation.
And you’re letting them, even as your cheeks burn with embarrassment and your heart pounds fiercely in your chest.
Because with them, everything feels different.
Safe. Sacred.
James’s fingers don’t stop. They keep moving, teasing, coaxing, and you feel yourself spiralling, dizzy with pleasure and overwhelm. Your breaths grow shallow, your body trembling in ways that feel both exquisite and impossible to control.
But suddenly, it becomes too much.
Your chest tightens, and a sudden rush of panic flashes through your mind. You try to pull away, to free yourself from their hold, but their hands are gentle yet firm, keeping you cradled and safe.
“I—I need—” Your voice falters.
Remus, sensing your distress instantly, leans in without hesitation, lips capturing yours in a soft, grounding kiss. The kiss is slow and steady, calming like a balm, pulling you back from the edge of overwhelm.
Sirius’s hand stays warm and steady on your breast, fingers moving with tender care, easing the tension rather than adding to it.
You try to focus on the steady pressure of their touches, the softness of Remus’s lips against yours, the way Sirius’s thumb circles your nipple with infinite patience.
But the waves crashing inside you don’t stop.
Your vision blurs, the room spinning gently, and your body, overloaded and trembling, finally gives out.
Darkness claims you.
When you wake up, it’s to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room.
You blink slowly, your head heavy but strangely peaceful.
You’re in Sirius’s bed, the sheets tangled around you, the faint scent of him still lingering in the air.
Panic flares briefly in your chest, memories from the night before rushing back in a chaotic flood.
You sit up carefully, feeling the cool breeze against your flushed skin, and notice something resting on the bedside table: a parchment neatly folded.
Heart pounding, you reach for it, unfolding the note written in James’s familiar handwriting.
“Hey! we had to head out early for Quidditch practice. We finished the assignment, so don’t worry about a thing. We’ll catch up later. — J, S & R.”
You bite your lip, cheeks burning as you glance down at the parchment lying next to it — the completed charms assignment, all neatly written and corrected with their notes and doodles in the margins.
A mix of embarrassment and warmth floods through you.
Last night feels like a secret world you stepped into, one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for, yet don’t regret in the slightest.
You take a deep breath, smoothing your skirt and pulling your shirt back over your shoulders, before disappearing through the door.
cw: nsfw MDNI, sexually explicit content, oral (m. receiving), no use of y/n, established relationship, lil bit of subby!clark
summary: clark comes home from work upset and wound up, you fix that.
wc: 1.4k
You’d been waiting for Clark to come home for what felt like hours, curled up on the couch with one of the many books stacked along his living room shelves. The spine creaked in your hands, but the words refused to stick; you found yourself rereading the same sentence over and over, your attention slipping away. The tick of the wall clock filled the silence, marking each minute he stayed away.
Your gaze drifted around the room. The shelves were overflowing, Clark never had the heart to get rid of a single book, even the ones he didn’t like. A coffee mug sat abandoned on the side table, half full and cold. The space felt lived in, warm, but without him there, it carried a restless energy.
You tried to anchor yourself in the story on your lap, but your thoughts kept circling back to earlier in the day. Those girls at work, their eyes darting toward you, their whispers sharp and mean. You could still feel their stares prickling the back of your neck. Jimmy had noticed, of course, and cracked some ridiculous joke to make you laugh, but even that hadn’t managed to shake the unease completely.
You wondered how you’d bring it up to Clark when he finally got back. Maybe you’d frame it as a funny anecdote. Maybe you’d admit how much it had actually gotten under your skin. You weren’t sure. But you wanted to tell him, needed to tell him– because if anyone could make the world feel safer again, it was Clark.
When Clark finally comes home he slams the door with a huff, “Clark, honey what's wrong?” You call from the sofa. Clark flops down next to you, shoulders tight and his brows drawn into a stormy line. He lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh.
“The editors refused to even read my article!” he burst out breathless with frustration. “Three weeks- I spent three whole weeks on it, and they wouldn’t even look at it! Why? I-I thought they’d love it! It was good! I could write the whole paper better than those losers.” His voice cracked as he stumbled over his words, anger and disbelief tangling together.
Clark had decided to stay late and pitch his article to the news editors, he had worked really hard on this article and was desperate for it to be more than a forgotten piece shoved on the last page.
“Oh, honey,” you murmured, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I’m sorry. I know it was good. Your articles always are.”
But your words barely reached him. He barreled on, his leg bouncing up and down, fingers curling into restless fists. “And the way they dismissed me- so rude! They didn’t even…” He trailed off only to start again, circling the same wound.
You let his voice fade into the background, part of you listening, part of you watching. The way his hands trembled slightly, the way his hair curled down onto his forehead in disarray, the flush creeping up his cheeks. He was working himself up more and more, trapped inside the spiral of his own disappointment.
That was when the thought came to you– sudden, uninvited, but insistent. An idea flickered in the back of your mind, and before you even realized it, you were half-smiling to yourself. You tuned back into his rant, humming softly in acknowledgment, but your attention was already shifting, your plan quietly forming.
You eased yourself off the couch and settled onto the floor between Clark’s knees, humming faintly in rhythm with his rant as if to reassure him you were still listening. When you glanced up, though, his eyes were far away, fixed on the carpet as he kept working himself up.
Two can play at that game, you thought with a sly flicker of amusement.
Clark’s legs bounced restlessly, his frustration radiated off him in waves, so strong you could almost feel it in the air. That stubborn curl of hair had fallen loose again, sticking to his damp forehead, the same one you’d brushed aside earlier with all the gentleness he hadn’t noticed.
And as you studied him, your idea solidified, tugging at you with more certainty than before.
You unbuckle the belt on his jeans, metal clinking softly as you tug at it. "What are you doing, are you even listening to me” his whole face scrunches into confusion, and his eyes finally flick down at you.
You briefly meet his gaze, letting the glint of mischief answer for you, “Hm i’m listening ‘they didn't even acknowledge you’.” – you quote his few last words back to him.
“YEAH and!-” you set him off again. Clark isn't paying attention to you tugging the zip down on his jeans until your nails accidentally scrape his lower stomach whilst you were clumsily undoing his jean button.
A startled noise catches in his throat. “Ow! What are you doing?”
“I was going to give you a blow job… is that okay?”
“I-oh, uh thats- yeah thats okay” Clark says suddenly speechless, chest rising and falling quickly- now shocked out of his ramble.
You smile up at him with false innocence and tug down his pants, Clark quickly pulls out his half hard dick for you. With a gentle grip, you work your hands up and down his length, until you can feel him getting harder under your palms. Your thumb circles his slit, Clark's hips buck into your hand and pre-cum leaks from his flushed tip.
Before you bow your head down you look at Clark through your eyelashes, wordlessly asking for permission. When he nods eagerly you allow your lips to tease the head, suckling slightly, savoring the salty taste of his pre-cum. You swirl your tongue over his slit and Clark whines.
“Hon- baby, pl- please” he pants,
You hollow out your cheeks and widen your jaw until it clicks– you had to because of how big Clark was. Then you force his dick as far down as you can, not stopping until you feel his head pushing against the back of your throat. The vibration of your moans has clark using all his will power not to buck his hips up and fuck your face until you break.
Clark's fingers cautiously tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck guiding your head up and down his length. Clark knows how big he is. His movements are soft and gentle, he really doesn't want to hurt you. His cock is thick and heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth when you take him deeper, your nose brushing against his crotch.
“Oh- keep going, ah~feels so good” you look up at Clark, his head lolls back against the couch, a sheen of sweat glistening along his throat, the warm lamplight sculpting him into something achingly beautiful.
You move your head up and along his length skilfully, flattening your tongue against the bottom of his erection, feeling each pulse of his veins. Clark's groans motivate you to bob your head faster, drool running down your chin. On the length you can't fit in your mouth, you slowly stroke him with your hands. Your palms grow slick, the drool smearing along his cock, making every stroke glide so easy.
Your jaw aches from the strain and your fingers tingle with numbness from holding him so tight, but none of that matters when Clarks soft whines and low purrs wash over you, each sound a raw note of his pleasure. His cock is throbbing and pulsing under your tongue, and you feel the throb between your legs. You can taste him getting nearer to finishing, feeling his pre-cum start to coat the back of your throat.
Clark lets out a shaky breath as his abs contract and his hips stutter, his grip on your hair now desperate. You give him a hungry look of approval, before forcing him as deep as you can. He whimpers when he spills his load down your throat, and you greedily swallow it all as he empties his balls into your mouth.
When you pull off him, out of breath and with slick lips you tease “Still upset about work?”
“No.” Clark sighs and his mouth curls into a lazy smile, his mind so foggy from his orgasm work is a worry he can't even remember. You pull yourself up onto the coach and melt into Clark, smiling into his neck when he presses a tender kiss to the crown of your head.
