dels

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[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

SO HIGH SCHOOL MASTERLIST steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you’re jonathan byers’s best friend. you live in hawkins, indiana, and you know everyone in the small town. you work two jobs to help your mom with bills while also managing to be the top of your classes. everything is normal until the day will byers goes missing, and the world as you know it is flipped upside down. and because of that, you form an unlikely friendship with the ‘king’ of your high school, steve harrington.

tags/warnings: steve harrington x fem!reader, use of y/n, mostly canon-compliant reader insert (maybe a few minor changes here or there), swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to ??? to lovers, seasons 1-5, mentions of child abandonment/neglect, mentions of dead parents, minor eddie munson x fem!reader, reader lowkey has attachment/abandonment issues, minor miscommunication, i hate murray bauman, writing might be shit idk.

masterlist !

wattpad link , ao3 link

–

PART ONE – tell me ‘bout the first time you saw me chapter one chapter two chapter three

PART TWO – you know how to ball, i know aristotle

PART THREE – are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

PART FOUR – i want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you

PART FIVE – no one’s ever had me, not like you

EPILOGUE – you knew what you wanted and, boy, you got her

–

a/n: this series was originally posted on wattpad on christmas 2025, and i’m writing the last few chapters right now so i thought this was the best time to start posting it on here + ao3! idk i hope you guys like it. and don't worry, this series is basically completely written so i will still be focusing on writing other fics while posting this! more spidey steve is coming i promise you all.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added/removed): @karolinesvrsion @djopuppy @ophirei @redvelvetcupcke @notmily @jamietarttdodo @beaut1ful-stranger @kanabefairy @glittermermaid222 @glittrrx @boldlyfadingdinosaur @riddlersoupwrites @jamieexistss @marvelgirlie-4 @strangegirl26sff @dyanasaur @mortqlprojections @napofaprincess @dr0wsy-m00ns @rocklandhoax @foreverdjofan @lacywithdrawal @oohgeminii @imani4reading @angxlg0dz @sunflowergir62 @d4yanalav3nder00 @discodjo @nowprettybbyimrunning  @sugartalk-ing @hutaotao @carpetmumcher @peterthehorseisinhere @laufeysvalentine @harringtondarling @marcspectorondeeznuts @strawberryloveyy @onenightafewmoonsago @pzxielz @dwindella @lortheswiftie @exooojongdaeee @moonjellyfishie @jinxispunk @sloppyjoesandwich @percyjacksonsnosebleed @shautanashipman  @exploding-bonbon

[hauntedfictionland]

Joe Keery as Steve Harrington through every season.

STRANGER THINGS (SEASONS ONE — FIVE) creators. the duffer brothers.

[eddielove]

Steve with cap backwards and sweater has me on chokehold 😋

[boopiemadz]

[History project]

No crash AU

Here's the Travis fluff you all were so patiently waiting for! I went with option B :) enjoy!

(sorry for the super un creative title)

---

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Mr. Kennedy paced the front of the classroom with his clipboard, his voice flat as he read off names. “You’ll be partnered up for the Colonial Economy project, presentation and research paper, due next Monday. No exceptions.”

“Martinez and [Y/L/N],” Mr. Kennedy called out.

Your eyes flicked up.

Travis Martinez sat in the third row, lazily spinning a pencil between his fingers. He didn’t react right away, but when he finally looked up, his gaze met yours.

There was something unreadable about him. Not shy, not cold exactly, but like he kept the world at a low volume on purpose. You’d seen him around school, usually lurking by the vending machines or zoning out in the back of class, and of course, you knew his dad: Coach Martinez, who ran your soccer practices like a drill sergeant.

“Hey,” you said once Mr. Kennedy released everyone to start planning. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

“Could be worse,” he replied. You laughed under your breath. “Could it?”

“Are you free after school?” he asked. 

You hesitated. “I’ve got practice. Your dad runs us pretty hard.”

Something flickered in his expression, annoyance, maybe, but not at you. “Right. Forgot you’re one of his.” You smirked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he said, “We’ll figure something out.” Mr. Kennedy clapped his hands and dismissed the class. You gathered your stuff slowly, watching Travis disappear into the hallway without looking back.

---

Practice had been brutal, you pulled your shin guards off with a groan and chucked them into your duffel bag. The sun was dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in that golden, eerie light that always came before a storm.

Most of the girls were already heading out, half-limping, still laughing about something dumb from drills. You spotted Travis by the fence near the parking lot, arms crossed. He looked like he’d been standing there forever, headphones around his neck, eyes somewhere a million miles off.

You grabbed your water bottle and headed over, giving him a small nod.

Before you could say anything, his dad’s voice barked across the field:“Travis! C’mon, don’t stand around like a zombie, grab cones.”

 “I’m talking to someone.” Travis contested with a snarky tone.

Coach Martinez came striding over, looking mildly surprised to see you standing next to his son. “[Y/N]” he said, nodding at you. “You’ve got a solid right foot. That pass to Lottie today? Beautiful. Keep working on that.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Thanks, Coach.” He looked between you and Travis. “Didn’t know you two were… friends.”

Travis groaned. “We’re not.”

“We have a project together,” you added quickly, shifting your weight. “A project, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Travis said, a bit too fast. “History. School. That’s it.”

Coach smiled like he wasn’t buying it. “Well, why don’t you just come back to the house, then? You can work on it there. It’s gonna storm anyway. We're having frozen pizza.”

Travis looked like he might spontaneously combust. “No,”he said quickly. “We’re good. We’ll figure it out later.”

“I’ll stay out of your way.” Said coach, “I said we’re good,” Travis muttered, eyes narrowed. You could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating off him.

You coughed, trying to ease the tension. “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind, if it makes it easier.”

Coach gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder like this was all going so well. “Smart and athletic. You’re a good influence on him.”

“Dad,” Travis hissed.

As you followed them toward the car, the wind picked up, leaves dancing across the pavement. The sky above looked heavy, like it was about to break open.

You wondered what the hell you'd just walked into, but for some reason, a part of you was curious to see what Travis Martinez was like when he wasn’t just a shadow at the edge of your life.

---

The drive to Travis’s house was mostly silent, except for the sound of the blinker clicking too long at a turn and the low murmur of Micheal Jackson on the radio. You sat in the backseat, still damp from practice, your bag shoved between your feet. When Coach finally pulled into the driveway, he cut the engine and glanced at you in the rearview mirror. “Didn’t realize you two were history buddies,” he said flatly.

“We got assigned the project,” Travis muttered. Coach Martinez let out a humorless snort. “Lucky you,” he said dryly. “She’s one of the few on varsity who actually listens.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, but also by how his tone shifted, just sharp enough to cut, and it was aimed at Travis, not you. Travis didn’t respond. Just climbed out of the car and slammed the door a little too hard.

Inside, the house smelled faintly like oregano and laundry. Travis kicked off his shoes at the door and disappeared down the hall without a word. You hesitated. Coach turned to you as he took off his jacket. “You’re early to every practice, run like hell, and don’t whine when I push you,” he said. “If he had half your drive, I’d…” He shook his head. “Anyway. Go on.”

You gave a half-smile, awkward and unsure, then made your way in.“Travis?” a woman’s voice called from the kitchen.

His mom stepped out a second later. She had warm eyes, and dark clipped-back hair. She gave you a polite smile, then blinked at you like she was trying to place you.

“Hi,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met?” Before you could answer, Travis trudged back into view and mumbled, "Mãe, ela joga no time. O pai é o técnico dela."

His mom raised an eyebrow. Then, in Portuguese: "Ah, entendi. Ela é bonita. Ela é sua namorada?" Travis groaned. "Mãe, não. A gente só está fazendo um projeto de História." She smiled softly, clearly amused at her son 's suffering. “Okay, okay.”

“Sorry dinner’s not real dinner,” she added to you in English. “Just frozen pizza. Nothing fancy.”

“That’s totally fine,” you said quickly. From the hallway, another voice perked up: “[Y/N]?” You turned and smiled. “Javi!”

He looked taller, older, but still had the same grin. “I haven't seen you since the summer!”

You gave him a hug, you had volunteered at a summer camp last summer, Javi was one of the kids you led at the soccer camp, he was always your favorite.

Their mom chuckled and disappeared back into the kitchen, calling out one last time, “Door stays open!” Travis groaned and motioned you toward the hall. “Come on.” You followed him, but before you reached his room, his dad called after you: “[Y/N] Don’t let him slack off. Make him do his share.”

You turned to respond, but Travis was already pulling his door open, muttering, “Yeah, thanks, Dad.”

---

Inside, the room smelled faintly of old cologne and pencil shavings. Posters half-tacked to the wall, unmade bed, a couple of books on the floor. Travis flopped down in the chair by the desk and ran a hand through his hair.

You dropped your bag near his bed and raised an eyebrow. “So… this is your natural habitat?”

You and Travis were quietly working on the project, the occasional rustle of papers and soft hum of the room filling the silence. Travis was still distracted, his eyes drifting outside, but you were trying to keep focused.

“I think if we add more dates to the timeline, we can make it flow better,” you said, breaking the silence. “Like, more context for each event?”

Travis barely nodded in acknowledgment, still staring out the window, the flickering lights casting shadows across the room. “Yeah, sure,” he replied in a low voice, his tone almost absent.

You tried to push through the awkwardness, hoping that maybe the project would lead to more conversation, but it felt like pulling teeth. You took a deep breath, thinking maybe you’d just power through it and get it done.

Eventually, you decided to call your mom to figure out when she planned on picking you up. You stood up and walked over to the kitchen where the landline sat on the counter. Picking it up, you dialed her number, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for it to ring. The line crackled for a moment, but you finally heard her voice.

“Hey, Mom, it’s me,” you said. “The storm’s getting pretty bad, when do you think you're going to come pick me up?”

Before you could finish, Mrs. Martinez came into the room, glancing at you with a concerned look. She could hear the storm beginning to pick up outside, the wind howling, the rain hammering at the windows.

“Oh, it’s getting pretty rough out there,” she said with a frown. “Maybe it’s best if you stay here for the night.” You gave her a slightly surprised look. “I don’t know, I don’t want to trouble anyone. I’ll just wait for it to pass, and wait for Mom to come get me...”

As if on cue, your mom’s voice came through the phone, crackling slightly with the storm interference. “It’s too dangerous to drive in this weather hun, I'm afraid Mrs. Martinez is right. Stay there for the night. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

You hesitated, glancing between Mrs. Martinez and the phone. “Are you sure, Mom? I can just…”

“No, no. Stay there,” your mom insisted, the line cutting in and out a little as the storm worsened outside. “It’s better to be safe. Don’t worry about coming home tonight.” You nodded slowly, feeling a bit awkward but grateful for the reassurance. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

You hung up, turning to face Mrs. Martinez, who was watching you with a friendly, almost maternal smile. “Well, looks like you’re staying the night then,” she said warmly, as if it was no big deal. “We’ll set you up on the couch, and you can relax while the storm blows over.”

The atmosphere inside the house was charged, a heavy silence hanging between you and Travis after his mom suggested you stay the night. After a while Mrs. Martinez pulled Travis aside to talk to him outside in the hallway. You could overhear their conversation but couldn't understand exactly what had been said as they were arguing in Portuguese. 

Mrs. Martinez looked at her son, her voice steady but firm. "Travis, ela vai ficar aqui. Não podemos deixá-la sair nesta tempestade. Você sabe disso."

Travis crossed his arms, frustration evident on his face as he shifted in his seat. “Mãe, isso não faz sentido. Ela pode ir embora quando a tempestade passar. Não é como se fosse tão ruim assim.”

Mrs. Martinez didn’t budge, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stood up, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Você não está entendendo. Está muito perigoso lá fora. Não vou deixar ela sair. Ela vai ficar aqui.”

Travis looked away, rubbing his hand through his hair, clearly agitated."Mãe. A gente mal se conhece e você quer que ela passe a noite aqui..."

Travis 's voice, though soft, carried frustration. “Você não entende. Isso é estranho, mãe.”

Mrs. Martinez 's response was firm and unyielding. "Eu sei o que é melhor, Travis. Não se trata de você. Trata-se de ela ser uma pessoa segura, e não dos seus sentimentos."

You could hear Travis 's feet shuffle as he paced, his voice growing louder with annoyance. "Eu só... eu não sei. Não quero que ela fique aqui, mãe. É desconfortável."

Mrs. Martinez sighed, her tone shifting to something softer, though still firm. “Você precisa parar de ser tão teimoso. Você não pode sempre afastar as pessoas, Travis. Isso não é sobre você, é sobre fazer o que é certo. Ela vai ficar aqui porque é o que precisamos fazer.”

Travis was silent for a moment, likely processing, before he muttered something under his breath. “Está bem... Você venceu.”

The door to the room opened, and then he came back into the bedroom. Travis’s posture was still tense, but there was no more protest. Mrs. Martinez, on the other hand, smiled warmly at you.

---

The rain outside hadn’t let up, and the power had since gone out. Travis's room felt extra quiet, just the dull drumming of water on the windows, and the warm flicker of the candle his mom had set on his desk. You were both crouched on the floor, backs against the bed, working mostly by flashlight.

The project was almost done, you glanced sideways at Travis. His face was lit by the candlelight, serious, focused, his lashes casting shadows under his eyes.

“You’re not as mean as you look,” you said suddenly. He looked over at you, brow raised. “Thanks… I think?” You shrugged, smirking. “You’re quiet. People always assume quiet means rude.”

“I’m not quiet,” he said. “I’m just not loud.”

“Oh wow,” you deadpanned. “That’s so profound.” You nudged his knee lightly with yours. “So, is this the part where we pretend we’re friends now?”

“I mean…” He glanced over at you. “You’re staying over. Might as well.” You blinked, caught off guard by how casual that sounded. The mood had shifted, just a little. He wasn’t as closed-off anymore, not all grunts and shrugs. His voice had softened, and so had his posture. You could tell the guard was coming down.

“I like this version of you,” you teased. “The non-grumpy one.”

“I wasn’t grumpy.”

“You literally argued with your mom in Portuguese so I wouldn’t sleep on your couch.”

Travis laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t about you.”

“Oh no?”

“No. It was about me being stuck in awkward situations I didn’t ask for.” You tilted your head. “So… am I in an awkward situation?” He looked at you then, really looked. “Nah. Not anymore.” Something warm settled between you.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting the silence stretch. Not the bad kind. The kind that made it feel like maybe something small had shifted. You leaned your head back against the bed frame. “You know what would make this night less cursed?”

He gave you a look. “If the power came back on?”

“Okay, yeah. But also, if we made a blanket fort.”

He snorted. “A fort.”

“Yup. Couch cushions, old quilts, the whole deal. Make it an adventure.”

“You realize we’re not six.”

“Exactly. Which means we can make it better than a six-year-old would.” He hesitated, then smirked. “You’re seriously gonna make me do this?”

“I’m seriously already planning it in my head.” Travis sighed, but he was still smiling. “Alright. Let’s build a dumb fort.” You grinned, hopping to your feet. “It’s not dumb. It’s cozy. And you’ll thank me later.” As you padded out into the dark hallway toward the living room, you heard him mutter behind you, “This is so dumb.”

But he followed you anyway.

---

The living room was dark, except for the occasional flash of lightning through the windows and the flickering candlelight. Travis stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, arms crossed, while you got to work like it was a mission.

“Okay,” you said, hands on your hips. “Couch cushions, quilts, chairs. We need at least one flashlight and maybe a lantern if your mom’s got one.”

“You act like this is a military operation.”

“Travis,” you said seriously, “blanket forts are an art form.” He stared at you, deadpan, but you saw the edge of a smile tug at his mouth again. “Alright, general.”

Between the two of you, you managed to drag in a few pillows from the storage closet, stack some chairs on either end of the couch, and drape thick quilts overhead. Travis helped, mostly by handing things to you while pretending not to care, though you caught him adjusting the corners and securing a wobbly chair when he thought you weren’t looking.

By the time you crawled inside, it was warm and dark and way more impressive than you expected. “This is actually kinda sick,” Travis admitted, ducking inside with the slightly cold frozen pizza his mom had luckily starters to make before the power went out.

You gasped. “You admitted you liked it.”

“I said kinda. That’s not the same.” You grinned and grabbed a slice of the half-warmed-up frozen pizza.  Javi peeked in from the hallway, grinning like this was the coolest thing ever. “This is so cool. Can I…?”

“No,” Travis cut in. “Go back to your room.”

You both sat back against the couch cushions, legs stretched out. The storm was still roaring outside, but the fort made it feel far away, like the two of you were kids again, hiding from the world. After a while, you finished eating, and Travis reached over to grab something from under the coffee table, a small stack of old board games.

“You serious?” you said, eyeing Sorry! and Uno like they were ancient relics. “My mom hoards these,” he shrugged. “It’s this or actual conversation.” You grabbed Uno. “I’ll kick your ass.”

“You wish.”

A few rounds in, the teasing got louder, the laughs less guarded. Travis started doing ridiculous voices. You accused him of cheating. He denied it but was definitely cheating. Every time he slapped down a Draw Four, you groaned dramatically and hit him with a pillow.

By the end of the third game, you were both lying down, heads side by side, feet tangled up in the mess of blankets. “I didn’t think you were funny,” you said, stretching your arms above your head.

Travis turned his head. “I didn’t think you were this weird.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s a compliment.”

---

The fort had quickly turned into the most comfortable space in the house. Travis had settled near the back of the fort, flipping through a magazine. You were lounging on your side, looking for something to tease him with.

You spotted it, the CD case on the floor. He'd left it just out of sight, but the shiny surface of the Green Day album caught your eye. A small, innocent thing, but you didn’t care. You picked it up, holding it in your hands.

He groaned, shifting toward you. “Come on, give it back.” You slid back, holding it just far enough out of his reach. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it for a little while longer.”

Travis grinned, clearly not going to let this slide. “Alright, if that’s how it’s gonna be...”

Without warning, he lunged forward, his hand grabbing at the CD case. You yanked it away, but in the process, you lost your balance. He was already too close, his body tumbling into yours as he overextended his reach. In a moment of clumsy desperation, he landed on top of you, his chest pressing against yours with a soft grunt.

For a brief, breathless second, neither of you moved. Travis was frozen, his arms braced on either side of you, his face inches from yours. His hair, normally messy, was slightly more wild, a few strands falling into his eyes. And it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that you could feel everything now. The heat between you, the way your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze... and you noticed something else, too.

Travis had a... well, an undeniable reaction. You were both so close that you could feel it growing against your leg, and your stomach flipped with sudden nervous energy.

He hesitated, his expression flickering with uncertainty, before he finally pushed himself up and sat back. His hand brushed against your side as he moved, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles tensed, his body still so close to you.

You took a moment to collect yourself, trying not to acknowledge the way he had fallen on top of you, how his weight felt against your chest, how his body was so warm.

“Uh, sorry,” Travis muttered, his voice low, a little too soft. He was trying to act like it was no big deal, but you could see the flush creeping up on his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” you quickly cut him off, though your own heart was racing. You sat up, trying to brush it off, but it wasn’t as easy as you hoped.

Then, Travis cleared his throat, leaning back against the pillows. “So, uh, are we just gonna sit here in silence, or...?”

But even as you moved on, you couldn’t help but notice how he was sitting, the way his shoulders were broad and the way his t-shirt clung to his chest. He was leaning back against the blankets. And then it hit you.

Travis Martinez was actually... hot. You didn’t mean to think it, but the way the light hit his face and the way his muscles were just subtle enough to make you notice, you couldn’t pretend you hadn’t noticed it anymore.

“Hey, uh, you good?” he asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you with a raised eyebrow, as if he knew something was off. “Yeah,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Fine.”

Travis just stared at you, not pressing the issue, but still seeming like he was waiting for something. He smirked lightly. “You sure?” You shook your head, trying to hide the sudden heat in your cheeks. “Yeah. Let’s just... let’s finish the project.”

The air between you two had shifted again, but this time, you didn’t really know how to deal with it. So, you both just fell back into the rhythm of the project, quiet, easy banter, a few laughs, and still the occasional look that made your heart race.

---

The night had grown quieter, luckily the power had come back on after the whole CD fiasco. The fort had become the perfect retreat, a cozy little corner of the world away from everything else. You and Travis were sitting cross-legged, taking the opportunity to kick back and relax. The movie, a cheesy '90s romance, was playing in the background, but you were too distracted to really focus on it. You had been wearing your soccer gear all evening, but when his mom offered you some of her clothes to change into, you reluctantly agreed. After all, you didn’t want to be stuck in your sweaty uniform the entire time.

The bathroom was just down the hall, and you slipped in to change into the oversized pair of pajamas that Mrs. Martinez had given you. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you noticed the shirt that was baggy fell way too low, so you used a hair tie to tie it up in order to make it look like less of a dress, and the bottoms were loose but hung low on your hips, the waistband just barely staying up. The fabric was soft, the shirt with a slight V-neck, and it fit just right, comfortable, yet undeniably more... flattering than you anticipated.

You didn’t think too much of it, just needed something comfortable, but when you emerged from the bathroom and walked back toward the fort, something felt different.

Travis was sitting in front of the TV, but when he saw you, his expression froze for a second. His eyes widened slightly, as if he’d just noticed something he hadn’t before. You tried to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest as you walked past him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile curling on your lips. “What? You’re not used to seeing me not in soccer clothes?” He snapped out of his daze, quickly looking away and clearing his throat. “Uh, no, I just, uh, I didn’t expect you to... I mean, you look…" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather his thoughts. "You look... good.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the way he stumbled over his words making it all the more amusing. “Thanks” Travis just nodded, his face still a little flushed. He didn’t say anything more, and you didn’t push it. Instead, you sat back down on your side of the fort, curling up with a pillow in your lap, trying to ignore the little twinge of nerves in your stomach. It was just Travis. 

The movie played on, the soundtrack of cheesy romantic scenes drifting in the background. Travis stretched out on his side, getting comfortable in his own pajamas, loose blue plaid pants and a fitted, faded T-shirt. He looked relaxed, but there was something about him tonight that made you notice the way his chest looked in the shirt, how his muscles flexed as he shifted. You found yourself glancing at him more often than usual, your heart racing a little more than it should.

At some point, the movie’s predictable plot started getting to you. You rolled your eyes and stretched out, still trying to ignore the tension building between you two. Travis seemed to sense it too, though, his eyes flicking over to you as he adjusted on the floor.

He gave you a sideways grin. “You don’t look too convinced by the movie.” You shrugged, trying to keep it light. “It’s just... it’s so cheesy. Like, who falls in love in a rainstorm like this? It’s a total cliché.”

Travis’s hand brushed yours as he moved slightly, and both of you paused for a moment, the electric spark of touch hanging in the air. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary, but neither of you said anything.

You shifted, trying to play it cool, but when you moved your hand closer to his, accidentally, maybe, you could see the hesitation in his eyes. And then, without a word, he slowly, subtly reached for your hand.

You didn’t pull away. You let him.

He laced his fingers with yours, and you could feel the heat of his hand against yours. Your breath hitched, a flutter going through your chest as you tried to ignore the surge of excitement in your stomach.

Neither of you said anything. The cheesy romance movie continued, but it felt like the entire world was silent now, save for the sound of the rain and the occasional rustle of the blanket. His hand was warm in yours, and for once, neither of you seemed awkward about it.

---

The movie played on in the background, but neither of you were paying much attention anymore. Your hand was still intertwined with Travis’s, but you could feel the tension slowly shifting between you both. You shifted closer, leaning against him a little, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm moved, subtly at first, and then he wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you even closer. The warmth of his body felt natural against yours, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

You let yourself sink into the moment, your head resting on his shoulder, the quiet beats of his breathing syncing with your own. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his fingers gently trace patterns on your arm, as if he wasn’t sure how to act but wanted to be close, too. And you liked it. You liked how natural it felt, how easy it was to just be with him like this.

Neither of you said anything for a while, just watching the movie as the rain continued to tap against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder making the air feel even more cozy. Every so often, you’d glance up at him, your eyes meeting him for a split second, only to look away again, heart fluttering in your chest.

When the movie finally ended, the soft glow of the TV light was the only thing illuminating the fort. You realized, almost too late, that you had fallen asleep. Your head was still resting against Travis’s shoulder, and you hadn’t even realized how tired you were until you felt the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder, waking you.

“Hey,” Travis whispered softly, his voice barely audible, “you fell asleep.”

You blinked, groggy for a second, and then straightened up, surprised to realize how long you’d been out. “Oh, I didn’t mean to, sorry. I guess I was really tired.”

“No problem,” he said with a soft chuckle. His voice sounded a little different now, lighter, more relaxed, like the air between you two had shifted in the last few hours. “You were really cozy, though. Must’ve been the rain.”

You smiled at that, shifting to sit up a little straighter, but then he shifted, too. His eyes locked with yours, and there was something in the way he looked at you now, something different than before. The teasing, joking tension from earlier was gone, replaced by something a little deeper.

“Travis?” you asked softly, unsure if it was the right time, but the moment felt like it was pulling you in.

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he moved closer, just slightly, and your breath caught in your throat. The space between you two was small now, and his hand gently cupped your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and for a heartbeat, you both just stared at each other, heartbeats racing.

Before you could even fully process what was happening, he leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against yours with a soft, gentle pressure. It wasn’t urgent. It was a question, and you both lingered there, testing the waters. And when you didn’t pull away, he kissed you again, this time, deeper, with more certainty.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It felt like everything you’d both been holding back, the awkwardness, the hesitations, the quiet moments faded away. Now, there was no more space between you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you didn’t pull away. You leaned into him, letting yourself feel every touch, every shift in the way his body moved against yours. It felt natural, like you should have been doing this all along.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your faces were inches apart, and neither of you knew what to say at first. Travis ran a hand through his hair, his gaze slightly unfocused. “I… I didn’t think that would happen tonight,” he muttered with a nervous laugh.

You smiled, your heart still racing. “Neither did I. But I’m glad it did.”

Travis grinned at that, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand where it still rested in his. He took a breath, a more serious look in his eyes now. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. But I didn’t know if…”

“If I felt the same?” you finished for him, raising an eyebrow. “Well, now you know.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, now I know.”

There was a brief pause before you both spoke at the same time.

“I…” Travis started.

“You..” you started.

And then, as if nothing else mattered anymore, he kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate. You both lost yourselves in the kiss, the world outside the fort disappearing as everything else faded into the background. It was just you and him now.

The funny thing is, the two of you got so carried away you never finished the project.

Mr. Kennedy gave you a C-, but for some reason it didn't matter, because you had gotten something much more important than an A, you got him.

[chishiyasleftnut]

Hi! („• ֊ •„) This is a long one (divided into two parts), inspired by various bots from Cherubin on Character AI. I hope you’ll enjoy it!!

Stuck With You (part 1)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Warnings: none, but smut in part 2. Pairing: Chishiya x fem!reader.

Plot: After getting separated from Arisu and the others when the King of Spades attacked, Chishiya and fem!reader camps out together on the outskirts of Tokyo.

Part 1 word count: 2000. Part 2 word count: 2793. (Click here to read!) Part 3 word count: 3088. (Click here to read!) 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Ever since the King of Spades attacked for the first time and split up your group, you and Chishiya had been stuck together. Sure, you weren’t physically stuck, but the thought of being all alone in the borderlands was far from pleasing to you, so here you were: camping out with Chishiya.

You had decided that staying in the outskirts of Tokyo where nature had completely taken over, was probably safer than staying near the centre. There was less of a chance of a surprise attack from the King of Spades, was Chishiya’s conclusion. You, not wanting to argue with Chishiya - which once he was set on a plan was much like arguing with a wall - just agreed and followed along.

“What is it?” you asked curiously. When he walked closer you finally saw what he was holding. “A tent?”

“Yep. A two-man tent, perfect for us.”

“Mm…” you hummed, causing Chishiya to tilt his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“You know how tiny two-man tents are, right?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. “They’re for two people, no?”

Of course, Chishiya never seemed like a camping guy but still, surely he had at least been in a tent once? Tents were notoriously small, that was common knowledge.

“Well, technically yes, but we won’t have a lot of wiggle room.”

Chishiya looked down at the tent he had so proudly brought back with him, his eyebrows furrowed so much that deep wrinkles formed between them. “It’s better than nothing. It looks like it’s going to rain soon.”

There was no disagreeing there; the clouds looked dangerously grey. You grabbed the box and began unboxing the contents, neatly putting all of the many pieces on the ground in front of you. Chishiya watched curiously as you shortly read the instructions before getting to work.

“You’ve done this before, I take it?”

You hummed, too focused on setting up the tent correctly to reply with words. It was important to you that it was done right: mostly because you enjoyed being dry, but also because you didn’t want to give Chishiya any chance to be snarky if you made a mistake.

Once the tent was up, you both admired your work in silence until Chishiya spoke up.

“Mh. It is tiny.”

_____

It was in that tiny tent that Chishiya and you spent the next few (very rainy) days in. By day 3, you had begun running low on supplies, so Chishiya had left the dryness of the tent to find food and other essentials. You wanted to go with him but had firmly been told that it was safer if he went alone. You “made too much noise” and “was slow” apparently.

Although you were originally quite pissy about it, you were now enjoying the karma of Chishiya wandering the rainy streets of Tokyo while you were nice and dry. Was it nice to be basking in the thought of him being uncomfortable? Probably not, but you had never claimed to be nice.

Just as you had become quite pleased with the outcome, Chishiya unzipped the tent, threw in three 7/11 plastic bags filled with stuff, and crawled in before zipping up the entrance again - giving you a chance to look at just how soaked he’d gotten.

“You look like a drowned cat,” you half laughed.

His blonde hair, which had gotten multiple shades darker from soaking in the rain, was sticking to his face, constant trickles of water dripping down his skin.

“Don’t be too happy now,” he mumbled while brushing clingy hair out of his face. “It’s your turn to run for supplies next time.”

“Absolutely not. That’s a man’s job.”

You felt Chishiya’s eyes stare at you, trying to sense if you were joking or not. You knew that if he looked you in the eyes, he would read you immediately, so you pretended to be busy with looking through the bags.

“A man’s job? I thought women were supposed to be the gatherers.”

“I’ll gladly be your gatherer once you hunt down something that isn’t out of date protein bars.” you complained as you went through the subpar supplies Chishiya had found. Was it really so hard to get something enjoyable to eat?

Amused by your clap back, Chishiya didn’t argue further but instead chuckled. And that’s when you heard the sound of his zipper. Your head snapped around so fast that it hurt, producing a small popping sound.

“Wait, hold on, why are you undressing?”

“I’m wet,” he concluded with a smirk. “Do you want me to catch a cold or something?”

“Well, no, but I don’t want you to be naked either.”

You thought that that was a fair wish. The tent was already awkwardly cramped with the two of you almost always constantly touching somewhat, you didn’t need to add nakedness to the mix.

“Grow up,” he chuckled while continuing to undress, pulling his shirt over his head with one swoop. “You’ve surely seen half naked men before.”

“That’s not the point!” you argued with a blush spreading across your cheeks at the comment. “I don’t want to see you naked.”

“Then look away.”

The suggestion was so simple that you had no argument against it, turning your head back around. With your eyes strictly focused on the wall of the tent, you heard as Chishiya laid down and got comfortable, sighing contently as he waited for his clothes to dry. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you, making your eyes dart as far left as they could go to catch whatever vague glimpse of the body that he was so unapologetically flaunting.

“Looking is fine too,” he said when he immediately caught you looking. Urgh, why was he always so observative?

“Shut up.”

_____

By day 4 you were completely over being around Chishiya. You missed the Beach; missed the many people, the comfortable beds, and even missed the chaos. A small tent in the outskirts of Tokyo was no match to the vibrant life at the Beach - a life you would never go back to.

“I miss Kuina,” you mumbled while throwing a protein bar wrapper into the designated trash-can plastic-bag before crossing your arms.

“Wow, am I not enough for you?” Chishiya joked, acting as if your comment hurt him. Of course, you knew that it didn’t. It would take way more to actually hurt him.

“No.”

Chishiya snorted at your honesty. He liked that about you: you weren’t afraid to talk back at him. It was more fun that way, he thought. So many people were desperate people pleasers and it was annoying to be around. If he had to be stuck in a tent with someone, he was glad it was you - even if he weren’t about to admit that aloud.

Not wanting to exist in silence longer than you had to, you began rummaging through the plastic bags. It was mostly just to keep your hands busy, and your mind occupied with something that wasn’t how god awfully close you were to Chishiya right now.

“You’re shit at getting supplies,” you groaned when you realised that he had brought nothing but protein bars and strawberry gummies with him. “Couldn’t you at least have gotten other flavours?”

“What’s wrong with strawberry? It’s a classic.”

“It’s so basic,” you complained while almost throwing the rustling plastic back down on the ground out of frustration. “Everyone knows grape is the superior gummy flavour.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

The tone of his voice ticked you completely off. He seemed to enjoy your frustration, almost considering it prime entertainment - perhaps because it was his only entertainment. Under normal circumstances, you would march away to cool down, but that wasn’t exactly an option now: the tent was too small to escape him, and it was absolutely pouring outside.

“Just bring grape candy next time.”

_____

On day five of your ‘camping trip’, the weather had finally seemed to clear up. Of course, this was only temporary, but you didn’t know that yet. You zipped open the tent and stepped outside to stretch your legs, reaching your arms high up in the air which caused your shirt to lift up too, exposing your abdomen. It felt good finally being able to move around.

“I need a shower,” you exclaimed when Chishiya joined you outside of the tent. He immediately zipped it up behind him, not wanting to risk any mosquitoes getting in.

“There’s a lake 300 metres away,” he said while also stretching.

“A lake isn’t a shower.”

“Sorry, princess,” he chuckled, making sure to add a condescending nickname. “I can’t magically make you a shower. It’s a lake or nothing.”

You didn’t look super satisfied with the truth. Truth be told, you missed the Beach a lot. The Beach had hot water, electricity, private rooms, and you weren’t forced to spend every waking moment with Chishiya of all people.

With a groan, you began walking down the path behind the tent towards the lake, stopping up and looking back towards Chishiya when you noticed he wasn’t following you. 

“You need a bath too,” you noted. “Besides, I don’t want to be alone out there.”

Begrudgingly, Chishiya followed you to the lake, his hands never leaving the comfort of his pockets. Once at your destination you both awkwardly looked at the lake, neither of you wanting to make the first move to undress.

“Didn’t you want to bathe?” Chishiya finally asked with an amused look on his face. “Or are you too shy?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled before beginning to undress. Once in your underwear, you again looked awkwardly between the lake and Chishiya. “Don’t look.”

Chishiya raised both of his hands in the air and turned around to give you some privacy. Of course, you weren’t entirely sure that you could trust him to not take a peek, but you also really needed a bath so you had to take the chance. With quick movements you completely undressed yourself and stepped into the cold lake, hissing at how chilly the water was but nonetheless quickly moving far enough out into the lake, so your body was covered by the water.

“Okay!” you yelled back to Chishiya. “You can turn around!”

And he did just that, turning back around and walking closer to the shore. Before you had a chance to even react to his decision, you watched as he too stripped down, throwing his clothes next to yours on the ground, and stepping out into the water. You quickly averted your eyes, looking far away at nothing in particular just so you were sure you didn’t accidentally stare.

The look on your face was absolutely priceless, he thought. Your entire upper body was turning red from shyness and your eyes were so big that they looked like they were about to pop out of your head.

With long, nonchalant strides through the water, Chishiya walked relatively close to you and settled down in the cold water. He didn’t mind your shyness, he actually found it cute how you were still worried about modesty when every second could be your last.

“Relax,” he said confidently before beginning to scrub his body. “It’s just a bath.”

You didn’t respond but instead sunk deeper into the water, making sure Chishiya could see nothing from your chin down. You missed the private shower you had at the Beach. Back then you at least never had to be confronted with full-frontal male nudity from Chishiya.

Slowly, you began scrubbing your body too, wanting to at least be clean after this awkward situation you had placed yourself in. Although you tried to keep your eyes to yourself, you couldn’t help but catch a rare glimpse at Chishiya’s body, silently admiring the way his wet skin glistened in the low sun. Chishiya, too, occasionally peeked when the opportunity arose - could you blame him, really?

[PART TWO HERE]

[halbravd]

is the sun bothering you my king

[yourmamakira]

LMFAOOO

[yourmamakira]

Re-Re Blogging this bcs this is actually my favorite thing and it makes me laugh so hard

[whytheylosttheirminds-deactivat]

Don't Call Me Kid - Rafe Cameron x Reader series masterlist

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

table of contents:

Prologue (3k words)

Chapter 1 (3.9k words)

Chapter 2 (4.9k words)

Chapter 3 (5.7k words)

Chapter 4 (6.6k words)

Chapter 5: part one (4.8k words) & part two (3.8k words)

Chapter 6: part one (5.3k words) & part two (4.1k words)

Chapter 7 (6.7k words)

Chapter 8 (coming soon)

bonus content

moodboards and hc's ✨

asks 💭

ramblings and teasers 🦜

Polls 🗣️

[nadvs]

imperfect strangers (one-shot)

pairing zach maclaren x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary after a painful break-up, you and zach go no contact, agreeing it’s best to cut yourselves out of each other’s lives. when he cracks and texts you a month later that he’ll be at your college for a game, you lie to yourself that seeing him can’t be that bad of an idea.

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Zach has been dreading tomorrow’s game. And it’s only because it’s at your college.

He keeps going back and forth on if he should break the promise he made to you and himself that he wouldn’t contact you.

He blames the fatigue from a strenuous practice. It’s what muddles his mind and makes him give in.

You two agreed that cutting all ties was best. But he’s just reaching out to an old friend that he might run into. That’s what he tells himself.

You’re sitting in a lecture when Zach’s name flashes on your phone. Your heart leaps at the notification and you hate that it does that.

You were supposed to delete his number, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your best friend.

Removing him from your life wrecked you, so little things like keeping his contact information and the promise ring he gave you the day of your high school graduation feel like acts of rebellion against the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Zach: Hey. How are you? I’m playing at your school tomorrow. Just wondering if you’ll be watching :)

You reread his text a few times. You know he has a game here tomorrow. You’ve been following his soccer season even though you know you shouldn’t.

On the screen, you see the last messages you exchanged, a little over a month ago.

Zach: Wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.

You replied: you, too.

The night of your break-up was agony. Your video call lasted three hours.

Zach’s eyes were glossy, matching yours. His dark honey hair was tousled and sticking in every direction after he raked his hand through it over and over in frustration.

Your dorm rooms slowly got darker as night fell, neither of you bothering to turn on a light. It was a cruel reminder that you’re not even a timezone apart. Your schools have only four hours between them and you couldn’t manage to make a one-year relationship work over the distance.

Hurtful words were exchanged. You accused him of neglecting your relationship. He told you his extra efforts in school and soccer didn’t mean you weren’t a priority. He said you were giving up on him. You retaliated that you were working harder to stay together than he was.

Somehow, things still ended civilly. You agreed that the distance was too much of a big, ugly, unavoidable wedge driving you apart.

You’re convinced that ending on good terms hurts more than ending on bad terms. It would be easier to hate him.

Your fingers hover over your screen, wondering what you should say. If you should say anything. You realize this means he didn’t delete your number, either. Maybe he’s been holding onto hope, too.

You decide to reply, trying to act casual and in good spirits.

You: I’ll try to make it! Just don’t be mad that I’m cheering for the home team :)

He’s grateful you texted back. He misses you so much that it hurts.

Getting better has been a slow climb for Zach. You two lasted a couple of months of long distance before calls slowly shortened and texts became infrequent. It was too hard juggling everything.

Now, he’s putting his all into school and soccer. It’s all he has left.

When dark clouds roll in on the day of the game, you think about how Zach never liked the rain and you hate that you’re doomed to remember these insignificant things about someone you’re not supposed to be in love with anymore.

You decide not to go to the game. It’ll be too hard watching him play like you used to.

But eventually, you lie to yourself that it’ll be fine and your feet are dragging you to the stadium on campus, your umbrella blocking the raindrops. You join the roaring crowd, sitting in the bleachers.

You always sat behind the opponents’ net. At every one of his matches. Zach is a striker and whenever he’d score a goal, he’d be right in your eyeline.

He would find you in the crowd when he scored, beaming at you before his team swallowed him in a group hug.

But that’s where you sat when Zach was your boyfriend. And he’s not anymore. So you find an empty seat on the side, close to the middle of the field.

You spot him immediately. He’s running down the field, his cheeks flushed.

The same boy who nervously asked you out the second day of senior year. The same boy you gave your first kiss to. The same boy who called you the moment he found out he was granted a full-ride scholarship. Now slowly becoming a stranger.

This is too hard. You need to leave.

But then you watch Zach gain possession of the ball and he’s running fast and suddenly, he collides with a player on the opposing team, sliding in one of the mud puddles scattered across the field.

The crowd erupts in a mournful whine, reacting to what was surely a painful impact.

You’re on your feet, rigid, heart racing as you watch him in the distance. He’s not getting up. Why isn’t he getting up?

You wedge your way out of the aisle and rush to the bottom of the bleachers, hands gripping the cold, wet barricade at the same level as the field.

A medic runs out onto the pitch but when he reaches Zach, he’s slowly standing up on his own. But then he leans over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.

The medic beckons Zach to put an arm around his shoulders and leads him off the field while the referee holds up a yellow card against the other player.

Zach’s hamstring is throbbing in pain as he limps through the wet grass, his cleats heavy, but when he sees you standing at the front of the stands, everything feels better.

He thought you wouldn’t attend. His lips quirk up in a smile. Your stomach twists.

Zach’s coach is trying to get his attention once he reaches the sideline, but he mumbles something to him and disconnects from the medic and closes the distance between you two, his steps short and quick.

“You came,” he says, blue eyes travelling over your face. It’s only been a month but he swears, it feels like it’s been years since he’s seen you.

The bright stadium lights are emphasizing every plane and feature of his handsome face. His hair is soaked and plastered to his skin, his uniform muddy.

“You okay?” you ask over the loud chattering crowd surrounding you.

No. He’s far from okay.

“Survived worse,” he says with that smirk that is so typically Zach.

“MacLaren!” his coach calls.

“I’ll find you later?” he asks. Your eyebrows lower in confusion. You know he typically goes straight back to his school after a game with his team. But you just meekly nod.

The game ends in a tie. Zach texts you that he’ll meet you outside in front and takes a rushed, hot shower in the locker room.

You’re standing under a streetlamp outside of the stadium, spectators pooling out of wide doors. The rain is simply spitting now, your umbrella closed in your hand.

When you watch Zach pace towards you, all cleaned up after a shower, a big duffel bag over his shoulder, you’re so happy you came. Even though it hurts, it also feels so good to see him.

“You’re walking totally fine,” you say when he approaches you. “Did you fake it?”

He loves how you make a joke right away because that’s what you would do when you were together and it’s nice to feel like you are.

Zach laughs and pulls you in for a hug and you hate how the smell of his shampoo makes an uncomfortable nostalgia rush through you.

But this is who Zach is. He’s always been warm and affectionate and cheerful.

He notices how tense you are in his arms and pulls back quickly. Maybe giving into the impulse to hold you was a bad idea.

“A yellow was ridiculous, right?” he asks. “That deserved a red.”

You gaze up at him now that he’s so close to you and try not to get enamored.

“How bad is it?” you say, glancing down at his leg. The concern in your eyes makes his whole body feel like it’s been wrung out.

“Just a sprain,” he says. “Didn’t pull anything.”

“Good,” you say, nodding. “How long are you out for?”

This feels like a conversation you’d have when you were together. Next, you’d ask if he needs a massage and that would always lead to making love, but that’s not happening this time.

“Next game isn’t until Wednesday, so I might be fine,” Zach answers. You know all about his team’s schedule, even their standings, but you don’t tell him.

A tense silence settles between you now that the small talk has been used up.

“So, this is no contact?” you ask.

Now that the break-up has been acknowledged out loud, Zach is disappointed. He liked having his head in the clouds and pretending like you’re still his.

“You texted back,” he teases, his eyes glinting in their usual playful way.

“Back,” you emphasize, pointing to him, finally cracking a smile. “You started it.”

“We can be friends, right?” Zach says. “It’s weird not talking to you.”

Being friends hurts. You both agreed to that. But he’s here already and things feel so good with him, so you ignore your instincts.

“Sure,” you simply say. Your short response throws him off.

“Nice campus,” he says.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I was gonna give you a tour when...” When he visited as your boyfriend. You never made it that far.

It was unlike Zach, the way he started to flake on promises to visit or call. You gave him grace, but you eventually reached your limit.

“You can give me a tour now,” he says, pushing the conversation into easier territory. He always had a knack for that.

“You sure you can walk?” you ask. He misses that tone of voice of yours. When you’re worried about him.

“Come on,” he says with an exaggerated scoff. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of baby.”

In reality, he always loved being babied by you.

“When are you guys heading back?” you ask. You already noticed the massive branded bus you assume he arrived on parked in the stadium lot.

“I drove up by myself, actually,” he tells you. “I’m gonna go see my family later.”

Your college is only half an hour away from your shared hometown. You nod and turn, silently beckoning him to walk with you.

“How are they?” you ask.

Zach shrugs, looking down. He’s always been close to his family and they always loved you, so telling them you broke up was almost as hard as the break-up itself.

“Mad at me,” he admits. “I told them it was mutual, but…”

“Yeah, your mom texted me,” you say.

“She did? What’d she say?” He sounds surprised.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you if she didn’t tell you herself.”

His mom’s message went into just how perfectly you fit into their lives, how upsetting it is that Zach let you go, how happy you make her son. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you don’t make him happy anymore.

You remember so clearly how she ended the message. I hope this is just a temporary bump in the road.

“Come on, tell me,” he urges with a joking tone.

“Zach,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry - I, um - we shouldn’t get into this, right?”

His smile fades. With a deep breath, he nods and looks at the ground again.

“Right,” he says.

Like always, Zach gently complies. You naturally took on a more dominant role in your relationship, leading while he happily followed, even during intimacy. It’s what you bring out in each other and falling back into your roles feels effortless.

“How much time do you have?” you ask, checking your phone to see that it’s merely minutes past six.

“Couple of hours,” he tells you. “You hungry?”

You know if you tell him you’re not, he’ll feel bad dragging you to a restaurant.

“There’s a place I think you’d like,” you say.

You’re soon sitting across from each other at an on-campus eatery, talking to each other like friends, covering safe topics like classes and dorm life.

It’s not exactly easy, but you were together for so long that holding a conversation with Zach is second nature.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he finally asks, pointing to your plastic-wrapped sandwich. He’s almost done with his food, while you haven’t taken a bite.

“Later. I’m not hungry.”

“What?” Zach watches you from his side of the table, heart thrumming at the adorable way you shrug.

“You wouldn’t have gotten food if you knew I wasn’t going to eat.”

“Oh, my God,” he laughs.

“You know I’m right.”

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You both awkwardly straighten in your seats, bodies firming as far apart as possible. Your knees pull together. He rubs the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” Zach’s voice is low, eyes focused on the table. The term of endearment he used to always use for you just slipped out.

You feel stupid for thinking this would be okay. It’s way too hard to pretend like you don’t love him. You collect your bag and umbrella off the table.

“I should go. It was good to see you,” you mumble.

“You’re leaving?” Zach asks, a slight whine to his tone.

“This was a bad idea,” you say, avoiding eye contact, words quiet and rushed. “You should go see your family.”

You rush out of the building into the dark evening, the cold air pressing against your skin, hot tears welling in your eyes.

Zach’s leg is aching as he jogs behind you, but he’d do anything for you just talk to him, at least look at him one more time.

“Wait,” you hear. “Please.” The desperation in his voice is what gets you to slow down, letting him close the rest of the distance.

You’re standing on a pathway between a building and a courtyard, chewing on your lip, grateful nobody else seems to be around.

When Zach catches up to you, his chin dips as he studies your face, raising his hands inches away from your cheeks just to promptly lower them.

Your eyes are just as wet as they were the night you broke up.

“What?” you mutter.

“I’m sorry I called you that,” he says, breaths shallow. “Old habit.”

“We said no contact,” you tell him. You swallow hard. “We should have stuck to it.”

“Are you mad at me for texting you?” His stare is deep and so painfully sorry.

You’ve been on the receiving end of this look so many times. He was always on the sensitive side, needing reassurance that you weren’t upset with him.

Despite everything, you’re not mad. Your heart is broken, but you’re not mad.

“No,“ you say, “But we can’t be friends, okay? After what we… I just can’t.”

“So, nothing?” he says. “We’re just nothing now?”

“It’s what we agreed on,” you respond resolutely. “Just because this is easy for you doesn’t mean it is for me.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Zach puts a hand over his heart. You scoff at this, looking down, gently wiping under your bottom lashes. “It’s not.”

He puts his hands on his hips, grimacing.

“Why’d we break up?” he asks, voice thin.

“Zach,” you breathe. Just like that, the wound you’ve been working on patching up splits open again.

“I love you,” he says, hot tears building in the corners of his eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you say. The fact that you don’t say you love him back breaks him. “Do you not remember how bad it was?”

“We made each other so happy,” he retaliates.

“We weren’t even a couple by the end,” you say. “You got too busy for me, remember?”

“Don’t,” Zach mumbles. “I wasn’t too busy for you. You stopped trying.”

“We’ll just talk in circles,” you sigh, frustration bubbling inside you. You had this talk so many times. “I don’t have another three-hour conversation in me.”

He still has bad dreams about that night.

“See?” he says with a frustrated shrug. “You gave up.”

“You used to act lucky that you had me,” you say, your temper flaring. “Then I became a chore. Would you fight for me if I made you feel like a chore?”

“I’d fight for you no matter what,” he says.

“You’re not listening to me.” At this point, he’s being selfish by talking this to death. It’ll end the same way.

“As soon as it got hard, you left,” he says.

“As soon as it got hard? I tried for two months, Zach. You were so busy and got so distant and-”

“That didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you,” he counters. “There’s so much pressure on me with soccer and my scholarship.”

“I know and I tried to be there for you but I only added to that pressure,” you say. “Keeping up a relationship was too much work.”

“No, babe, I-” He winces. “Sorry. Just… Don’t you remember how good we used to be? How the summer was?”

You try not to think about it. The summer before college was perfect. You spent all your time together. You gave each other your virginities. You were sure you’d be together forever.

“I remember saying we’d find time for each other no matter what,” you mutter.

Guilt floods him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Zach says.

“I know you are.”

He apologized so many times and nothing changed. He said he’d drive up to visit you. He never did. He told you he’d call you. Then he bailed more than half the time. That wasn’t the man you knew. You could feel him falling out of love with you.

“I thought we could get through the hard times,” he says. There’s that unrealistic idealism of his. You shake your head.

“My best wasn’t enough for us, Zach,” you say.

“Yeah, neither was mine, apparently.”

You nod, throat aching from your tears.

“Go see your family. They miss you. And don’t tell them we saw each other,” you suggest. “It’ll just give them false hope.”

Zach both loves and hates that the last thing you say before you walk away is something protective and considerate about his family. But your kindness is one of the many things he fell in love with you for, so it’s no surprise.

An hour later, you’re curled up on your bed, watching a comfort show with the lights off when you hear a knock on your door.

Zach’s heart is pounding in his ears. He still has your address from when he sent you flowers as a sorry for flaking on a video call you two had planned back when you were still together.

All he did since you left him standing by the courtyard is sit in his car and think and cry. He feels like an idiot for ever making you feel like a chore.

When you pause your show, turn on the lights and swing open the door, your body goes cold. His eyes are red and puffy from crying.

“Did you stop loving me?” he asks. “I need to know.”

You take his hand and pull him into your room so that your neighbors don’t hear your private heartbreak.

The door shuts behind you and you stand across from him, trying to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t let you, his cool palm pressed against your fingers.

“Did you?” Zach urges.

You glare up at him, cheeks burning from how many tears you wiped away.

“No,” you admit.

“Then why aren’t we together?” he pleads. “You just have to remember why you love me.”

You let him continue to hold your hand. The contact feels so good.

“I never forgot,” you say.

“Then tell me,” he urges. “Tell me why.”

“I…” You look down.

“You want me to go first?” he says. “I love you because you bring out the best in me. I love how when we joke around, we annoy the people around us and you never care.”

You huff a chuckle. Too many times to count, you’d send each other into a fit of laughter, leaving your friends or families confused over what was so funny.

“You went to every single one of my home games in high school,” he continues, “even though I know you hated it.”

“I liked it,” you counter. He smirks. You always had such a big heart.

“Try for me. Please,” he says. “We’ll make it this time.”

You’re silent and it scares him. You could be seconds away from telling him to leave.

“This is why I love you,” you say. “You’re so optimistic that it’s irritating.”

Zach laughs, still holding onto your hand.

“What else?” he asks lowly.

“You’re funny and sweet and…” you say through tears. “When you care about someone, you care so hard. That’s why…”

You loosen your hand out of his grip. His heart feels like it’s been wrung out.

“That’s why it hurt so much when you didn’t make time for us. It felt like you stopped caring. Like you stopped loving me and you didn’t know how to tell me.”

“I never stopped loving you, babe, I swear,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to deal with everything.”

Zach didn’t anticipate how hard keeping up with classes and practices and games would be, especially with the weight of his scholarship looming over him. He failed making you a priority. He knows that.

“It was hard and it only got harder when we broke up,” he says a little quieter.

You frown and Zach cups your face with his hands. His thumbs slowly rub over your cheeks as his gaze penetrates you.

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad,” he says, words rushed. “I just want you to know you were never a chore. You were the best thing in my life. I messed up.”

The way your lashes flutter as you blink away tears makes what’s left of his heart crumble.

“What’ll it take?” he asks. “I’ll drive up here every weekend. We’ll talk on the phone every night. I’ll text you all day and I promise I won’t flake.”

“That’s crazy,” you say with a soft laugh.

Although he’s the more passive of you two, he’s determined that he’ll make it with you. He can’t picture a world where you’re not his and he’s not yours.

“I’ll do it.” You meet Zach’s eyes and you can tell that he wholly, sincerely means it.

“That’s not what I need,” you tell him with a small smile. The love in your gaze is exactly why you always felt like home to him. “I just need the you who kept promises and made time for me. When we were together, you were present. Like this.”

“Anything you need,” he says eagerly, head bobbing with quick nods, making you giggle. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You revel in how his long thumbs drag over your skin, gazing at you through desperate eyes. Being so close to him causes a gentle heat to trickle through your body.

“You can do more than that,” you reply. He smiles and exhales sharply in excitement, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

Zach’s stomach tightens the second he feels the softness of your lips and the taste of your tongue. He slowly dips to kiss your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of you that he has smelled so many times.

His hands trail down your waist and over the curve of your hips, pulling you as close to him as possible, gripping just tight enough not to hurt you.

You always loved this about him. He makes you feel so cherished.

Your hands are in Zach’s hair as his hot mouth smacks on your skin. His body curves against yours perfectly, a piece completing the puzzle you missed being a part of for so long.

You can feel him growing hard against you and you lower a hand to rub him over his jeans, making him groan against your neck.

“Already?” you tease in a whisper. He chuckles, missing your touch and your voice and how hot it is when you taunt him.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Zach groans. You smile. He hardly ever swears, usually reserving it just for moments like these.

His fingers dip below the hem of your shirt, his skin warm against yours. He feels you nod, granting him permission.

As soon as he pulls your top off of you, he groans in delight when he sees that you’re braless. As he leans down to kiss you again, you push his jacket down his shoulders. He promptly and impatiently tugs it off, followed by his shirt, earning a laugh from you for his enthusiasm.

You gently push him backwards, straggling to your bed together. Zach lies down, desperately reaching for you as he watches you lean down over him.

You straddle him, kissing him deeply, his arms wrapping around you tightly as your bare chests press together.

His love for you consumes him, driving him to pull back and kiss you all over, puckering his lips over your cheeks and your nose and your forehead.

“Babe,” you laugh.

“I’m so sorry I made you so sad,” Zach says between kisses. “I’m so sorry I let you walk away.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you say as he continues to pepper soft kisses over your skin. “We’re never fighting again, okay?”

“Never.” You always say this after a fight. It never sticks, but you both love pretending it will.

You thought you were destined to experience these shared quirks through memories only. But now Zach’s here in your dorm room, panting beneath you, holding you like he might die if you pull away.

You feel him buck his hips forward, his hands squeezing your waist. You press your forehead against his, biting your lip.

“You want me, hmm?” you purr, the power you have over him filling you with excitement.

“I need you,” he whines. His breath is warm against your cheek. “So bad.”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, rolling your hips. The sensation of you grinding on him is so perfect. He couldn’t ever feel another girl like this and he wouldn’t want to.

“I wanna taste you,” Zach says. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“Take my pants off.” You shift to kiss him, smiling against his lips as he pushes your bottoms and panties down with eager hands.

You kick off your clothes and shuffle to hover over his face, your naked core inches away from his mouth.

Zach’s hands hook around your thighs, beckoning you to lower your hips, hungry for you. You inhale sharply once you feel his hot tongue press against your folds.

He knows you well, knows where to lick and suck to earn moans from you. You look down at him, his eyes closed as he laps at you, fingers dug into your flesh.

“That’s so good,” you say. “You’re so good with your mouth.” The praise makes him suck even harder. You tremble as you slowly roll your hips on his face.

“I love how you taste,” Zach says, muffled. “I can’t live without you.”

You throw your head back, pleasure flooding your body at the sensations and his words. You put a hand in his hair, lightly tugging as he works his mouth with slow, hard movements.

You start to breathe harder, tension coiling in your stomach.

“Can we…” he asks. He’s starving to feel you from the inside. You look down to meet his striking, needy eyes. You know exactly what he wants.

“You wanna be inside me?”

“Please, yes, yes.”

“You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you coo. He nearly rolls his eyes from the pleasure of hearing you talk like this again.

You put him out of his misery when you pull his pants and briefs off of him. You sit on your knees above him, taking his length in your hand and earning a groan from him.

“Where’d you hurt your leg today?” you ask, stroking him up and down. “Want me to massage it?”

“I just want you to ride me, babe, please,” Zach shudders.

“Don’t you want me to take care of you?” Your eyes are locked on his as you caress him, rolling your wrist.

“You are,” he says, whimpering at this point. “Please let me feel you. I miss you.”

Your body remembers Zach’s perfectly. As you sink onto him, sitting up, every muscle in your body loosens. He dips his head back, lips parting, jaw sharp.

“Shit,” he groans as you squeeze him in your soft heat. “You’re perfect.” His hands run over your thighs, your hips, your waist. He pulls you down so he can kiss you again.

“So big,” you whisper, noses nudging together as you rock slowly.

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says, his voice gently shaking. “Even if you don’t want me.”

“Zach,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s crying again. “I’ll always want you.”

You drag a thumb under his eye, cleaning away a warm tear. He nods, looking at you with a sorrowful gaze.

“Do you promise?” he asks.

“I promise,” you say. “My sweet boy.” He trembles at your words. You kiss him again, your pace starting to quicken, the pressure of him inside you so nice.

Zach swallows hard, forcing himself to believe you. Breaking up shattered him. He can’t go through it again.

“Hey,” he says against your lips.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” You’ve loosely talked about the future before, but he has never said these words to you out loud. Your heart numbs.

“Do you promise?” you whisper with a smile. The coil in your core tightens again, making your breath shake.

“I promise.” Zach feels you clenching around him and he can’t stop himself. His muscles tense and he tightens his jaw as he feels himself reach his peak.

“There you go,” you praise as he shudders beneath you. The drunk look on his face is what makes you climax, joining him in his euphoria.

He’s heaving beneath you, your skin taut and warm and sticking together. You shift to rest your head on his shoulder and he finds your hand immediately, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you say, your heart burning.

Zach holds your hand inches away from his face, a finger tracing down one of yours.

“Do you still have it?” he asks, afraid of your answer. You look at your ring finger, where you used to wear his promise ring.

“I couldn’t get rid of it if I wanted to,” you say. He shifts to meet your gaze, his eyes still glossy. “It’s in my dresser.”

“Will you wear it again?”

“Of course,” you say. “And I’ll get one for you, too.”

The thought of having a constant reminder of your love for him on his hand makes his stomach flip. His dimples cave into his cheeks as he beams at you.

“How’d I play today?” he murmurs. Zach would always ask your opinion on how he did after a game. Tonight’s no different.

“Amazing,” you say. “I… I’ve actually been following your team. I know we said no contact, but…”

Zach’s elated that you cared enough to follow his progress.

“I’ve been checking every social media account you have every day,” he admits.

You giggle and he hugs you tightly, burrowing his nose into your hair. Suddenly, the memory of your argument outside rushes back into your mind.

“Wait, did you go home?” you ask.

“No, I just… sat in my car,” he tells you.

“What? Zach,” you say, voice heavy. “Aren’t you going to see your family?”

“I never told them I’d be in town,” he confesses. You shift to look at him again. “I knew that when we saw each other, we’d… realize we should be together. And I knew I’d only want to spend the night with you. I’m sorry - I only didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

Zach’s undying faith in your relationship melts you. Even after a messy break-up and a month apart, he believed in you two making it.

You nod, pinching his cheek, making him smile again.

“We could go now, if you want,” you offer. “They’d be so happy to see that we’re back together.”

Hearing you confirm it out loud makes Zach’s heart leap.

“Next time,” he says, squeezing you tight. “Right now, it’s just you and me. And eventually, we’ll be sleeping in the same bed every night and there won’t be any distance at all.”

You can’t wait. Neither can he.

(continuation blurb)

author’s note: i started this blog with the intention to write for rafe only but my friend showed me the zach maclaren light and for that @juniebugg i owe you my life 🫡

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - SERIES MASTERLIST (r.c)

˚ · . TAGLIST is currently CLOSED¡!

: ̗̀➛ synopsis

: ̗̀➛ chapter one

: ̗̀➛ chapter two

: ̗̀➛ chapter three [coming soon]

[crownofgildedlilies]

my peaceful nights belong to you

in which: a son of poseidon has himself convinced a daughter of athena doesn’t want to listen to him complain.

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of athena!reader

warnings: angst, my poor percy has been through TOO MUCH

tropes: hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers

word count: 2.1k

a/n: friendly reminder that request r open (esp for headcanons) and bc I have a four hour layover tmrw I will be absolutely active on here. plz enjoy. also, this is inspired by a tiktok I saw that said Percy's trauma is so overlooked. so here's me not overlooking it.

All eyes were on the great Percy Jackson.

Yours were, too, don’t be fooled. You had always found him impossible to look away from. But it wasn’t admiration you were studying him with as tales of his quests were told and retold and embellished around the bonfire. Quests you had been on, each and every time.

No, you were watching him with concern.

Because the son of the sea was drowning in all the attention.

It was almost painful for you to watch, but you couldn't look away.

A beautiful train wreck, you supposed, studying Percy's uncomfortable but obliging conversation with one of the newer sons of Ares who hadn't been around for Kronos or Gaea and simply thought fighting in those wars had been fun.

But people had died. Your people, your friends. It was war, and it was painful, and even though you were the daughter of the war goddess, you hated it with every inch of your being.

No amount of planning on your behalf could have saved Beckendorf. There was no stopping Leo from sacrificing himself.

"That's called being a demigod," Percy had told you one day, offhanded, sometime between nearly dying in a volcanic explosion and being stolen from her by Hera.

"That doesn't mean we have to stand idly by and accept it," You had countered, frowning, and Percy must have realized he'd said something that had upset you, because he had pulled you into a hug and muttered an apology you still hadn't worked out was necessary or not.

But what you did know was that he was your best friend, that you had been in love with him since you were both fourteen, and he absolutely did not want to talk about all his past glories like a good little Greek hero.

Seated on a front-row bench with Grover on on side and an assortment of other campers you knew he wasn't close with surrounding him, you knew you had to run a rescue mission.

Especially since Grover was too distracted by eating his marshmallow roasting stick to realize how tense Percy was as the Ares kid went on and on.

"Perce, there you are." You wedged yourself into the not-entirely open spot next to your best friend, smile on your lips and a sly look in your eyes. Percy's own widened in sight relief, his arm wrapping loosely around your shoulders in a casual movement that was entirely too familiar. "Thought you ran off on me."

"Never," He sighed, some of his tension already dissipating. You grinned a little unevenly at him, not wanting to give the others watching any clues that the great Percy Jackson wasn't completely and utterly alright.

"Good," You bumped him with your shoulder, and he squeezed his arm around you for just a brief moment, tugging you close to his side. You had to turn and face the young Ares boy to keep yourself focused. "How are your archery lessons coming?"

The new camper looked slightly put out about the change in conversation, but you pinned your stare on him and didn't back down. For a moment, you thought he would continue to pester Percy with questions about fighting in two wars, even with you sending up very clear signals that neither of you were interested.

But the boy made the right choice, launching into a rant about how long range combat was not his strength.

Halfway through the story about almost shooting Connor Stoll's foot, you felt Percy lean towards you, his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he dropped his voice to a whisper, meant only for you.

"Thank you,"

Since you had taken half a seat, your body was pressed firmly against his from your ankles to your shoulders. His touch warmed your skin like a sunny day on the beach, and you weren't sure if it was a son of Poseidon thing or a Percy Jackson thing.

So instead of answering him, you set one of your hands on his leg, just above his knee, and squeezed.

The moon was shining over camp when you gave up on finding sleep and decided to sneak out.

You’d been around long enough to know just how to sweet talk Mr. D into letting you be out past curfew, and Chiron had a soft spot for you, since you helped save the world. Twice. It was the harpies catching you that you were afraid of.

Travis Stoll had almost learned the hard way that Mr. D was not kidding about them eating campers.

But children of Athena had passed on the secret to sneaking out through generations, and you were exploiting that very information for a midnight trip to the lake to stargaze there when you spotted movement on the roof of Cabin Three.

Really, you weren't in control of your own actions as you turned swiftly to change course. Maybe it was Tyche with her luck or Aphrodite with her meddling in the affairs of the heart that had you scaling the side of Poseidon's cabin, a path you had taken more than once.

Or maybe, for once, you couldn't blame the gods. Maybe you were the only one making the choices that had you settling on your back beside Percy on the slanted cabin roof.

He hadn't seemed all too surprised to see you, but all he offered in way of greeting was a nod before he returned to studying the sky above.

You only let the silence last for three minutes, a gnawing feeling in the pits of your stomach unable to let it be.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, voiced simultaneously quiet and startlingly loud in the otherwise silent night. With your head turned to watch his side profile, you watched him tumble from his thoughts and back onto that rooftop, with you.

"What?" He was playing coy, you knew him well enough. What you didn't understand was why he was holding back with you, of all people. You, who had been there with him from the night Grover dragged him over Half-Blood Hill. Who had followed him and Grover and Annabeth across the country to save his mom, who fought Luke and Kronos with him, and mourned the loss of so many friends.

You, who hadn't slept for six months when he disappeared, only to find him in New Rome with the claim that he had forgotten everyone and everything but you.

His tether to his life. His best friend. His something more.

"About whatever is bothering you so much tonight." You shot him a flat look, but his was still doing a good job at avoiding your eye. Frowning, you nudged him with your elbow. "I saw you at the bonfire, Perce. Something is eating at you."

For a moment, it was silent. And then Percy drew in a deep breath, like he was readying himself for something, but he still hadn't looked at you.

"I guess I’ve just been thinking about just… everything." He sighed, but you could hear the apprehension and exhaustion in his voice. He was still keeping things back, but you couldn't understand why. And that killed you, as a child of Athena. "I've been fighting since I—we—were twelve. It's too..."

"Too what?" You prompted when he trailed off, his voice dying in the warm night air. Your hand brushed against his on the rooftop between your bodies, and you considered the risks of just grabbing his hand and squeezing to offer comfort while he sorted through his thoughts.

"Forget it." He shook his head, and your heart sunk. "You don’t want to hear me complain."

You frowned, twisting to face the sky and wracking your Athena blessed mind for some way to prove to him that you did, in fact, want to hear it. You wanted to hear anything, ever, that he had to say.

But when words failed you, actions didn’t, and you finally stopped pretending to accidentally brush your pinky against his and just wrapped your hand around his.

You both stayed like that for a while, quiet and thinking, until you turned your head to face him, unsurprised to find a stormy look on his face while he still studied the stars. Maybe he was thinking of Zoë, of all the others the two of you had lost over the years.

But you were thinking about him, only.

"I’ve been fighting with you since you came to camp," Your words were quiet, little more than a summer’s breeze brushing across Percy’s skin, but you knew he heard you. "But maybe now we’re not fighting monsters anymore. Maybe we’re fighting the memories and scars they left behind. But I’m still fighting with you, Percy."

He turned his head, then, his eyes finding yours like they were always meant to. And, deep down, part of you knew they were.

Every shared glance during combat, or after a stupid joke, or when a battle ended and all either of you could do was search the carnage for a hint of the other—those eyes had found you.

"I’m just so scared I’ll never get to live my life.” Percy confessed, voice hauntingly hollow. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back like a lifeline. “I don’t know if I’m running away from what’s already happened or into the next big mess. And what if next time… what if…"

He trailed off, eyes wide in panic, a bit of desperation. You squeezed his hand again, because you couldn’t give him the words. He needed to find them himself.

Percy screwed his eyes shut and darted forward, slotting his mouth over yours in an unexpected, horribly angled kiss. Teeth clashed together, your bottom lip caught in the mayhem and you gasped at the slight bite of pain.

He jumped back like you had burned him, propped up on one arm as he leaned on his side next to you.

"I, shit, I shouldn’t have—" He fumbled for words, already trying to shuffle further away from you, but you held tight onto his hand to keep him close, sitting up to follow him. "Please, let’s just forget about this, okay? I just, I got caught up in everything and—"

"Tell me you didn’t want to kiss me, then." You promoted, brows knitted together as you studied his face, desperate for a glimpse of how he was feeling revealed to you in the moonlight. "Because if you can’t say it meant nothing to you, you need to tell me, right now."

"I… can’t say it."

And just like that, you were the one kissing him, one hand curving around the back of his neck to keep him close while the other remained threaded through his fingers. His free hand reached up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin as if he needed confirmation that this was real, that you were real.

When you finally pulled apart to breathe, you didn’t go far. Not from him. Never from him.

"I was worried next time I wouldn’t get the chance to do that." Percy finished his thought from before, a little dazed from the kiss you both had been long awaiting, apparently. You smiled softly and closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against his.

"If you’re running towards the next prophecy, I’ll run with you." You promised, pausing only briefly to shift your position so you and Percy were laying on the roof again, only this time your head was propped on his chest and his arm was wrapped securely around you. "But if you want to sit up here and talk about the monsters you’re running from, I’ll do that, too."

"Thank you." He echoed his words from the earlier bonfire. And you could tell from his voice that he really was thankful. Because as tough as he was, Percy Jackson was still half mortal. "I…" He started, the air thick with tension about what he was going to confess. "I keep having dreams about Tartarus."

You let him talk, devoting your attention and mind to him, tracing shapes and stars and waves against his chest by your head while he spoke.

Time moved quickly that way, with talk of his fears and what weighed heavily on his mind broken up only when his throat would clog with emotion and you would tilt your head up to kiss away the memory long enough for him to regain his composure.

Because no one knew him better than you, and he didn't have to be the great Percy Jackson with you.

He could just be Percy, the boy who was haunted by his past and terrified of his future.

And you would give him all of your peaceful nights for him to have only one.

[sayoneee]

☆ BACK TO THE OLD HOUSE

percy jackson is a nuisance. a nuisance you have always been fond of, some way, somehow. (5.6k)

contains: percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite! reader. post tlo (spoilers). kind of melancholy but it gets better (kind of). book percy.

kashaf’s note: guess whos alive!

TO QUESTION, to ponder, to seek out the gods is sacrilegious. the gods preferred their divinity to be kept strictly within the confines of worship — whether by completing their ‘menial’ tasks or by committing sacrifices, they, in their infinite wisdom, are not allowed to be objected to. 

“so, my mom’s a god? of love?” 

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and mentally counted to three. opening your eyes, you make eye contact with the newest addition to camp, and your newest responsibility. bruised and scuffed, the poor kid blinks back at you confusedly as you mull your options. “yes, and no,” you decide.

“our mom’s a goddess, and love is just the most common of her jurisdictions.” 

the new camper looks around the cabin, taking it in, you follow their gaze, lingering on the painted swans on the wall behind you, and bouncing to the pearls adorning the vanity, littered with various seashell trays holding gold jewelry (the first time you had entered these very walls, your throat had tightened at the pure ostentatiousness of it all).

they glance back at you, confused. you sighed again, “yes, our mom is the goddess of love.”

“oh.”

the candles residing in conches flicker as if waiting to pass judgment, and silence blankets you and the new camper once more (this is potentially your fiftieth time attempting to explain the same concept, yet you’re no better at it than when you first started — shaking and solemn). 

needless to say, it’s more than just difficult to explain this tacit rule to new campers — after whatever tragic event transpired for them to realize that the greek gods of myth and legend indeed exist, they simply don’t have the mental capacity to learn the unspoken rules of the whole being a demigod thing.

you could be warmer, somehow, you suppose, with your mother being the goddess of love and all — in all honesty, you’re still not sure how you became the aphrodite cabin counselor, over selina (the entirety of camp half-blood’s favorite daughter of aphrodite) but the counselorship would have ended up in your hands anyway, after everything (the sight of her once-beautiful face as she coughed up blood in clarisse’s lap swims across your memories). 

you pinched the bridge of your nose again, sighing as the candles snuffed out all at once of their own accord (judgment has been passed), “take the empty bed in the corner, we get up at like the ass crack of dawn so you might wanna catch up on your sleep.”

you watched the kid sit on the bed (looking every bit out of place as you did when you first arrived amidst the sheer indulgence the cabin is), and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest as the child (the entire camp is full of children, but the vast majority of you have never gotten the chance to be the children that you are) stared wide-eyed at posters of movie stars, like tristan mclean, adorning the walls.

with one last glance and forlorn smile at the kid, you walked out of your cabin, your expression hardening at the sight of other campers. the walk to the arena is a short yet bleak one, in the silence you can hear drew’s screaming ringing in your ear (drew is preferable to hearing your other half-siblings, ethan, or even luke; drew is alive).

in the middle of the sword-fighting lesson being taught, you slipped into the arena, undetected for the most part except for the pair of sea-green eyes trained on your figure as you came and stood next to him, clearly hanging back.

“this is usually your shit, jackson,” you say, ignoring how pitiful your racing heart is, and watching clarisse at the helm, steam blowing out of her ears as new campers fell over themselves trying to parry and block with wooden swords.

percy turns to look at you, and from the corner of your eye, you can sense the storm brewing across his face. “maybe i’m not the attention whore you think i am,” he snorts, and there is a small trace of bile in his voice, but you don’t focus on that.

instead, your face burns at the memory of your last argument after you dove in front of ethan’s knife (you still wince when you remember the way his visible eye widened when he realized it was you who caught the blow), and percy’s bitterness as will patched you up, what the fuck is wrong with you, you could’ve gotten yourself killed.

and your weak but indignant reply, i literally saved your life, asshole. are you that much of an attention-whore that you need to be the one on their deathbed right now?

“i’d say you kind of are,” you say, turning to meet his gaze (for a brief, stupid, second you wonder if somehow he was a son of zeus because of how the air suddenly became charged with electricity), arms folding across your chest. “the whole making the gods pay child support is a bit attention-whore-esque.”

percy laughed, a sound you and the other campers haven’t heard in a while (it’s different from before but it is still a sound that in your weaker moments, you admit to craving to hear). “someone had to do it,” he says, sobering up immediately.

“luke tried,” you whispered (the name is still taboo around camp), shivering as you felt percy stiffen beside you. a beat passes and the resulting silence is suffocating.

percy offers you a sad, tight smile before walking out of the arena. you watch him go with a strange pain in your chest and a longing for the before, the laughter leaping across the sun-drenched strawberry fields, the joking i told you so’s during meals, and the softness of the campfire sing-a-longs.

it’s hard not to blame the gods, for that is blasphemy, but on most nights, you find yourself uttering your mother’s name with a tangible acidity, and you find that you’re not alone in this sentiment. the once-reverent echoes of aphrodite, promise me true love, promise me victory, promise me beauty, have now faded to lifeless whispers — formalities instead of prayers. 

even your own prayers are different now, you pray for the sea — if your mother is allowed to be ambiguous with her gifts (curses) then she must expect the same ambiguity in your prayers in return. when you’re done half-heartedly muttering your prayers and sacrificing your food, your gaze meets a familiar pair of sea-green eyes across the campfire, glowing like a beacon in the dark. 

standing up, you find drew, looking every bit as perfect as ever. you lean down to whisper, “lights out at eleven, i’ll be back.” 

drew nods, squeezing your hand before she begins herding the rest of your half-siblings back to your cabin, solemn and toneless (an empty shell compared to the once vibrant and snarky drew from before).

the walk to the beach is silent, although you know that you’re being followed — you didn’t survive the war being complacent. when you finally do arrive, the mysterious figure reveals himself in the moonlight (again, you’d be a fool to not recognize the son of poseidon’s careful footsteps).

percy looks every bit of a character straight out of a tragic romance novel that your mother probably inspired, and again your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him — under the scars and the jaded attitude, he is still the same percy jackson with stars in his eyes when he first introduced you to his mother. 

“why do the naiads call you that?” percy asks abruptly, tilting his head to the side as if studying you as he approaches.

barely audible accusations of apatu’ria bubble at the surface of the lake like seafoam; the whispers have followed you since you arrived at camp, and you have never known why.

“call me what?” you ask, feigning ignorance as iterations of deceitful replay across your mind.

percy blinks, confused, “isn’t your mother related to the sea somehow? don’t you know they call you apatu’ria?”

you fiddle with the gold bracelet on your wrist (a gift from selina), percy’s gaze follows the movement as you hesitate. “well, yeah, like i know what it means but i don’t know why they call me that.”

percy shrugged, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “they call me ‘prosklystios’ a lot,” he said (in the way that he knows you, better than you know yourself).  

“so what, we’re just reduced to epithets of our parents? what an honor,” you mumbled sarcastically, staring out at the lake, watching its surface ripple as the accusations grew more fervent. you paid it no mind however, the burden of being a daughter of aphrodite had already claimed its weight on your shoulders. 

“careful,” percy sighed, his gaze focusing on you instead of the water, “might’ve just won a war but that won’t stop either of us from being smited if big guy in the sky thinks we’re being impertinent.”

distant thunder rumbled overhead as if proving his point.

“speak for yourself, pretty boy,” you say, eyes looking toward the firmament littered with stars, incognizant of your admission, “if i got the gods to basically pay child support without being sent to tartarus, i would do whatever the fuck i wanted.”

percy being percy, of course, did not register that last bit of your sentence, a shit-eating grin forming across his face, a slight red hue tinging his cheeks, “you think i’m pretty.”

you turn to look at him, ignoring how your heart hammers at the way he’s smiling down at you, you roll your eyes. “percy,” you say slowly. “my mom is the goddess of love, everyone’s gorgeous in her eyes.”

“yeah, but not everyone’s gorgeous in your eyes.” 

gods, he was so aggravating but the way his eyes twinkled and the genuine elation on his face almost made you admit defeat. 

you crossed your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at him, “this is why i never compliment you, you always let it go to your head.”

“aw, c’mon, you love me for it though,” percy says, still grinning widely, his unruly black hair falling into place perfectly.

“you’re an actual attention-whore,” you say, spinning around on your heels and trekking across the sand, leaving percy alone to stare out at the water. you walk back to camp, ignoring percy’s calls of wait punctuated by his laughter as he jogs up behind you. 

“i hope mr. d catches you out past curfew and the harpies eat you,” you say deadpan, once percy has caught up to you. 

“you’d miss me too much and would come to be my hero, again,” percy smirks at you, following along as you head toward aphrodite cabin (you’re secretly very glad for his presence, you hate walking around camp when it’s this deserted — the memories that you tried so desperately to bury try to claw their way to the surface).

“just because i caught a knife for you, once, does not mean that i’ll ever do it again,” you say, folding your arms across your chest as you stand outside the door of your cabin. “getting stabbed is not a ten out of ten experience.”

percy softens, his impish grin still there, but the intensity of his gaze is enough to make you melt, “good, can’t have you dying on me.”

you snorted, “even if i did die, i’d tell nico to raise my ghost so i could haunt you forever.”

percy’s still smiling, his eyes are still soft, and he’s so close to you right now. “go out with me,” he says, suddenly, earnestly.

blood rushes to your ears. “what?” you blinked, staring at him as if he’d grown another head.

percy shrugged, leaning forward to press a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. you barely registered the action in your mind, trying to regain your ability to form coherent sentences as you watched him. percy looked away from your questioning gaze. “better go before the harpies eat me,” he said before jogging in the direction of his cabin. 

he leaves you standing in front of your cabin door, frozen in shock for another five minutes, before you shake it off, and head inside, convincing yourself that you had imagined the entire encounter. the familiar scent of jasmine envelops you as you linger in the doorway. drew is still awake on her bed, her back pressed against the wall and her head in her arms. she doesn’t bother to look up at your entry until you’re sat next to her, curling an arm around her bony shoulders and pulling her into an embrace. 

the two of you sit in silence as drew attempts to calm her heartbeats to sync with yours, her head resting on your shoulder as you rub soothing circles into the planes of her shoulder. you fall asleep in a tangled mess of limbs, a desperate attempt to close the gaping hole selina left in her wake. this is sisterhood, you think when you wake up and drew’s head weighs like lead on your shoulder.

the bright morning does little to assuage your burdens — you know it’s going to be a long day as soon as you hear campers giggling. rule number one of being a camp counselor: no matter how benign, giggling is the number one sign of trouble.

you took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before turning to the younger half of your half-siblings currently in the process of attempting arts and crafts. “what the fuck do you guys keep giggling about?”

your half-siblings only giggle harder. 

after what seemed like eons, the new camper finally comes up to you — a kid no older than eight, who motions for you to bend down before they begin stage-whispering in your ear, “is percy jackson your boyfriend?”

you immediately feel scandalized, jerking away like you’ve been burned, “no, who said that?”

(when you’re being lulled to sleep by the sound of drew’s imperceptible snoring in your ear, your subconscious spends its time lingering, dwelling on could’ve been’s, and should’ve been’s, the obsession as stubborn as when you refused to believe that percy had actually died on mount st helens.)

the kid continues to smile ‘innocently’, “everyone says that you guys hold hands at campfires.”

sudden flashes of percy’s unyielding grip on your hand and his broad smile, as he forced you into a sing-a-long with him, rise to the forefront of your mind, but that was before — when annabeth still had a steely look in her eyes, when travis and connor’s antics still garnered laughs from everyone (and a rare amused glance from mr. d). now (the after), there is no such jocularity, and percy is kept at arm’s length, reduced to offering you sad smiles across the campfire.

“we do not hold hands at campfires,” you say, struggling to keep the disdain out of your voice.

“but there’s a ‘we’,” the kid says, scrutinizing you up and down.

you have to mentally count to three so that you don’t end up arguing with a literal child (it’s not a great way to prove that your sanctity is still intact). “there’s no we.”

the kid shrugs in an if you say so gesture, giving you one last weirdly knowing look before turning back to their arts and crafts. a weighty silence settles, punctuated only by the sounds of scissors and rustling papers. 

stares and loud whispers follow you around camp, more so than usual for an aphrodite kid — clarisse finds you in the midst of it all, lost in thought when her cabin is supposed to be pulverizing apollo cabin at volleyball, a sharp glint in her eye. 

“you’d tell if me you were dating prissy, right?” she says, her hand faintly closing around your elbow, pulling you out of your reverie. 

“what are you talking about?” you say, eyebrows raising in shock. this wasn’t your first rodeo — just before the war this summer, camp gossip had credited you to be going out with connor stoll, but this was different. clarisse was the fifth person today who had asked you if you were dating percy. 

“so you are dating him?” clarisse looks offended, or well, as offended as clarisse can be, “and you didn’t tell me.”

you can feel eyes on you, watching your every move as other campers subtly pause their activities to listen in. 

“clarisse,” you say slowly, reaching out to hold her forearms and looking her in the eye, “i’m not dating percy.” when she opens her mouth to interrupt, you add, “and i would definitely tell you if i was.”

clarisse exhales, shooting you a disbelieving look, but mercifully leaving you alone with a quiet, “okay.”

you know what she’s thinking, so you offer her a taut smile, patting her on her shoulder as you brush past her. you headed toward the lake, with a feeling that you’d find the answers you were searching for.

the lake is empty except for one solitary figure on the sand, facing the horizon with his hands in his pockets. you hang back for a minute or two, taking in the sight of percy with his eyes closed, and the peaceful look on his face. 

a grin settled across his face as he addressed you, his eyes still closed, “i know you think i’m pretty, you don’t have to stare to prove it.”

you ignored his words, and he opened his eyes to watch you angrily march across the sand to stand face to face with him. 

“are you the reason why everyone thinks we’re seeing each other?”

“yeah, why?”

to say that you’re taken aback is an understatement — you had anticipated some more denial but this was unexpected. and sudden.  

you jab a finger at his chest, “everyone’s getting the wrong idea, so you need to stop whatever it is you’re doing like right now.”

“but they could have the right idea,” percy says, looking amused.

your heart scrapes painfully against your chest, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“we could be dating, forreal,” percy says, excruciatingly slow, elongating each word. 

the earth stops spinning on its axis for a minute, and time seems to freeze — for a split second you worry kronos has risen again before you calm your racing heartbeat and exhale slowly.

“i need you to be so forreal right now,” you say, your eyebrows furrowing.

“i’m being so deadass right now.” 

“no, you’re not,” you say, turning and walking away. your heart squeezes pitifully in your chest, as you call out, “find me when you stop joking,” before leaving him alone on the shore.

when percy approaches you again, you think he’s finally come back to his senses, though a weaker, more primitive urge inside you hopes that he hasn’t (it’s for the better, you try and fail to convince yourself).

he interrupts your conversation with drew (though the two of you weren’t doing much talking), smiling charmingly at her before asking if he could steal you away for a minute during breakfast. drew shot you a concerned look, waiting for your reassuring smile before assenting.

“you’ve come to your senses?” you ask after percy leads you away from the mess hall.

“i’ve always had my senses, thank you very much,” percy grins.

you roll your eyes, trying not to smile, “oh yeah, i could totally tell when you played rock, paper, scissors with a hundred-handed one last summer.”

“hey,” percy says, throwing his hands up in the air defensively, “i won that one.”

“on a gamble,” you countered, smiling (you missed this, missed him, and the feeling that everything will be alright enduring).

“not the point.”

“then what is?”

“go out with me,” he repeats, sudden, and earnest.

your heart stuttered pitifully. “not this again,” you sighed.

“why not?” 

“why?”

“you know why,” percy tries to make eye contact with you. still, you avoid his gaze, watching the other campers heading into the mess hall give the two of you weird looks. 

“no, i don’t,” you say firmly, before walking away, ignoring his protests, leaving behind a group of onlookers that you could care less about, and percy, who was staring at the spot you had just been standing in.

you returned to your cabin, to the familiar jasmine scent and pearl adornments, and promptly collapsed on your bed. more than anything, you just wanted your mother. you wanted your mother to smooth out your hair as you cried, offer you advice, and get rid of the stupid curse.

the door opens quietly and you immediately sit up, dabbing at your face and hoping that your eyes haven’t turned red and swollen already. drew shut the door gently behind her, her expression softening the slightest fraction at the sight of you.

“do i look that bad?” you ask, trying not to sniffle (and failing miserably).

a whirlwind of emotions cross drew’s face and you manage a watery grin. “okay, y’know what, don’t tell me then.”

drew sits next to you on the bed, handing you a box of tissues, “wasn’t planning to.” 

the two of you sit shoulder to shoulder as she lets you have a minute to clean up before going straight for the jugular. “i heard what happened.”

you laughed, a choking noise that dissolved into weak coughing. drew patted your back. “so, the entire camp knows now?”

“no,” she says, before changing her mind, “well, yeah.” 

“great,” you groaned, “my life is so over.”

drew tensed, tearing her gaze from the posters of hot people on the wall, to look at you, her brown eyes ablaze with fury and her silver earrings (also a gift from silena) jangle, “shut up, you’re the senior counselor of aphrodite cabin, and they’re all losers unworthy of your time. your life so isn’t over.”

(this is the drew from before, the drew that comes and goes in flashes so sudden that you try to piece her together like a puzzle that never seems to connect.)

“the curse,” you say, your throat tight. 

drew’s eyes widen imperceptibly, her blue eyeshadow sparkling in the candlelit cabin, before her expression settles into a scowl. “what about the gift?” her voice sharpens as she stresses the last word, sparing the smallest glance toward the roof of the cabin.

you can’t continue, and you don’t have to — she knows what it is that you’re thinking of (she always has, from the minute you met her, two cold and shaking children alone in the dark).

she shakes her head emphatically. “silena,” her voice chokes, before dropping to a whisper, “silena left us — you can’t leave us too.”

“i know,” you whisper back, your eyes filling with tears. “i know.”

“oh, honey,” drew says sympathetically, drawing you into her arms, and smoothing your hair away from your face as you let out a sob against her shoulder. “break his heart,” she says. 

“i can’t,” you mumble.

“you have to. he’ll die if you don’t, and a broken heart is better than dying.”

“i can’t do that to him, he’s so unbelievably good, drew, he deserves everything and more.”

“ignoring how ridiculously sappy that sounded, look at what happened to beckendorf,” you pretend not to notice how drew stumbles through his name (he looked at silena as if she had personally hung the stars in the night sky), “maybe he wouldn’t have gotten over it, but he would’ve been alive.”

you remember how silena had proudly said she was going to put an end to the archaic rite of passage your cabin was infamous for around camp; beautiful, idealistic silena with stars in her eyes (who liked beckendorf to the point she’d blush profusely at the mention of his name), who had no idea that this would all come crashing down around her some short months later. 

at your silence, drew continues, still stroking your hair, “look, not to make this harder, but even i’ll admit jackson’s one of those guys you meet once in a lifetime—”

“thanks, drew, that was really helpful,” you interrupt, chuckling dryly.

“oh, shut up, i had a point,” drew says, swatting your shoulder playfully.

you sigh, letting her continue.

“so, like i was saying before i was so rudely interrupted, because jackson’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime type of guys—” here, you coughed pointedly, making drew glare at you before continuing, “—you should be like more willing to see him happy and like living a long ass life because you’re so in love with him.”

“so what, either i reject him and ruin our friendship irreversibly or we date and i break his heart and ruin our friendship irreversibly, or we date and i don’t break his heart and he dies tragically and there’s a possibility that i die tragically too?”

drew shrugged, making a tiny braid in your hair, “pretty much.”

you turned your head in her lap to look her in the eye, “how are you so apathetic about this?”

“someone has to be because you’re not thinking this through rationally.”

you groaned, “aphrodite has to hate us.” (you haven’t called her ‘mom’ genuinely except to her face during the winter solstices.)

“no, she lives for this kind of thing,” drew rolled her eyes, braiding another piece of your hair, “she definitely thinks she’s doing us a favor.”

you groaned again, “what if i just avoid him until summer ends and he goes back to school and forgets this happened.”

“i didn’t think love made you this stupid,” drew says, amused.

“shut up, i can’t wait until you have the same dilemma, and you’re the one asking for advice.”

“doubt it,” drew says, wryly.

you rolled your eyes, “okay, but what if i tell him about the ‘gift’,” you make air-quotes, “and let him decide?”

“yeah, but what if that just makes it backfire and makes you die tragically either way.”

“well, at least he’ll know about the possibility? it’s better than just being like ‘oh i can’t date you even though i’ve liked you since i was twelve’ with like zero explanation whatsoever.”

you hear muffled footsteps coming from outside of the cabin, and the door swings open loudly to admit lacy, who looks flustered and out of breath. you and drew quickly sprang up off your bed at her arrival.

“your boyfriend’s asking for you,” she says, looking at you.

drew raises her eyebrows at you, an unspoken are you going to see him? behind it. 

you furrowed your eyebrows back at her, conveying no, shut up.

drew shrugged at you as if saying if you say so.

lacy looks between the two of you, confusion apparent before cautiously interrupting, “he’s waiting outside, by the way.”

you panicked at the thought of possibly confronting percy, “lacy, whatever you do, don’t tell him i’m in here.” you paused, “wait, tell him i’m taking a nap or something, please.”

more shuffling noises can be heard from outside, and drew groans, smacking her forehead with her palm, “what is wrong with you?”

you ignored her, focusing on lacy, whose confusion intensified as she looked between the two of you. “tell him i’m sleeping and he should try coming back later.”

she nodded, before opening the door and stepping outside.

drew stared at you, “y’know, i thought people were exaggerating when they said love makes you stupid but after looking at you, they were so right.”

you scowled at drew. she raised her arms in surrender, “just calling it like i see it.”

lacy returned a second later, “um, he wasn’t outside when i went to tell him.”

that was decidedly odd, but you chalked it up to him being busy or something, and shrugged, “i’ll see him later, it’s fine.”

it was actually not fine, because you didn’t see him later. or the next day. or the day after. well, you saw him but you didn’t see him. percy had somehow uncovered a hidden talent for making himself appear everywhere and nowhere all at once. he was there at meals, laughing with tyson or grover, he was at sword fighting practices, leading the class or giving clarisse a partner, he was at campfires, sitting next to annabeth and connor. yet, the minute you tried to approach him, it was almost as if he’d vanish, like an immortal was running interference.

you’ve taken to wandering by the lake on most nights — your only company the voices of silena (go talk to him, her urging is as present as if she was really there, memories of the time the two of you hadn’t been talking for a week resurging) and luke (what’re you doing out this late, kid? a phantom hand reaching out to ruffle your hair, and the feeling of ice being poured down your back envelops you). 

as the sun sets, the tall and lanky figure — a figure you could recognize on the darkest nights — stands overlooking the lake in true jay gatsby fashion, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans. you stop and stare for a second (maybe a minute, an hour, time has truly escaped you), and suddenly you’re small and shivering in the dark again. 

percy doesn’t look at you when you approach, though he fidgets with his camp necklace. 

“hi,” you say, unsure of where to begin. 

percy sighs, “look, if you’re here to ask for space, i get it, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable the other day.” he doesn’t turn to look at you or even glance at you through the corner of his eye once. 

“what?” you ask. “what are you talking about?”

“trust me, i get it, you don’t have to try to spare my feelings,” percy says. you want to will him to spare you just a glance. still, he avoids your gaze, focused on the horizon before you. “we’ve been friends for so long, i thought you could be honest with me.”

his words, though not said harshly (percy isn’t capable of being harsh, not to you at least) cut through you like a knife. 

“you heard me when i was talking to lacy, then,” you say, with horror as the realization dawns on you slowly.

percy finally looks at you, and the sheer hurt in his iridescent eyes makes you inhale sharply. a lump forms in your throat.

“i did,” he confirms quietly. “why didn’t you say something earlier?”

fighting in a war hadn’t prepared you for man’s greatest folly, something that you, arguably, should’ve been good at. the lump in your throat is difficult to dislodge, yet percy is patient as you swallow uncomfortably.

“i never meant it like that.”

percy’s eyes flash, and you feel sick to your stomach. “have you ever wondered why so many of the other cabins hate us?”

his previously pained expression morphed into a look of confusion. you continued, “in aphrodite cabin, our rite of passage is to break your first love’s heart. silena—” your voice breaks. “—silena tried to put an end to it, and then both she and beckendorf—” you choke up again, and percy’s expression becomes solemn, “died tragically. we didn’t know the consequences of not doing it were real until then, and we realized it was a curse.”

you watch percy seemingly wrestle with his thoughts, taking a step toward you. 

“why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” there is no judgment in his voice, yet you still feel embarrassment pooling in your stomach.

“can you honestly tell me that you’re okay with this? with the gods dictating another aspect of your life?” (somewhere in the back of your mind, you can hear luke’s voice repeating the same sentence.)

“you didn’t ask for this either.”

“it’s not our job to question them,” you say, trying not to let a tear slip.

“maybe we should,” percy says, still looking straight at you. 

“careful,” you say, as thunder rumbled distantly overhead, “this is what luke was saying.”

“i don’t care,” percy says, “if you or i die a tragic death, we’ll just have to go through tartarus.”

he said it so simply, so matter-of-factly that your breath catches in your throat.

“so, you’re okay with this?” you ask, trying to suppress the tinge of hopefulness in your voice.

percy looked at you in disbelief, his face was so earnest, “why wouldn’t i be?”

you laughed, more out of shock than anything else. percy continued, “i think your mother would think we’d make a cute couple, so maybe she won’t curse us with a tragic end.”

you’re grinning now, tears forgotten, “more like she’ll give us a tragic end because she likes us.”

percy shrugged, “i think we’ll be fine as long as we’re together.”

he kissed you, finally, which was long over-due, and you felt like everything was finally falling into place. 

“took you guys long enough.” 

you turned around to find the source of the interruption, making eye-contact with clarisse, her arms folded and a smug expression on her face. beside her stands most of your friends, all adorning matching wicked expressions. your heart stops beating for a second before your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“how much of that did you guys hear?” percy asked, suddenly looking bashful.

“most of it,” drew replied with a smirk.

percy looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement on his face as your friends surrounded the both of you, hoisting you on their shoulders.

“maybe the two of you need to cool off,” annabeth said with a laugh.

connor grinned at her, before calling out, “dump them in the lake!”

you groaned, begging, “annabeth, please.”

“this is payback for all the pining i had to witness over the years,” she said with a laugh.

percy shrugged at you, a grin on his face as if saying accept your fate. you gave in, shaking your head as you laughed at their antics.

[unmarlou]

silver soul.

pairings. percy jackson x fem!reader.

summary. a late night trip to montauk beach.

lacy says. percy jackson the loml since i was like ten LMAO. i seriously love the idea of percy considering his s/o being drenched like an extension of himself. i usually put the song to let u know the inspo but this time i recommend listening while reading! ok bye luv u.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

percy found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes on the road.

by compulsion, he’d sneak a look at his right hand side every few minutes, trying to retain every detail perfectly.

the blue and silver hue curtesy of the night, your image contrasted against the shrubs of grass lining the beach. the way your hair rippled behind you from the strong breeze of the open window, your hand extended beyond yourself in hopes of catching air in your palm.

the only thought that could cross his mind was a desperate wish for a camera, a way to capture this sight and keep it forever.

his eyes reluctantly returned to the empty road. there hadn’t been car to pass in awhile, which made him feel less bad about looking away as frequently as he did. not to mention how familiar it all was, he knew what pace to keep, what turns to make, how much longer it’d be.

the wind brushed past rapidly, giving the skin a break from the exhausting summer humidity. it’d been a bit since the saltwater smell had arrived, but it nonetheless filled the car with a renewed sense of excitement.

the music of the radio echoed beyond itself, reminding the seagulls and grains of sand that they weren’t alone.

rounding a corner that percy knew all too well, he glanced at you again, only this time you were already looking at him. his hair was blown about, his toned arms sharply displayed ahead of him, and there was a gleam in his green eyes you liked to believe was only ever meant for you.

the car was brought to a halt in the middle of a deserted parking lot and you smiled at him, before wordlessly rushing out and away.

he was quick to follow, not before reaching into the backseat to retrieve the beach towels you’d brought. opening his car door and looking beyond, his heart raced with anticipation at the stark white moon shining over the dark water.

he ran and ran and ran after you. you’d discarded the t-shirt worn over your bathing suit in the sand alongside your shoes. he smiled to himself, quickly unfurling a towel and tossing your things upon it.

he then removed his own shirt, throwing it next to everything else mindlessly- he couldn’t be bothered with being meticulous when the sea was calling him. he chased your footprints down the beach but stopped right at the edge as he caught wind of you.

you’d emerged from the water. a story percy had heard about a beautiful creature coming up from the sea foam flashed in his mind but he could barely form a full thought to put a name to it. the moon was bright behind you, lining your silhouette in pure silver. illuminating with each stride, if he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought you were the most heavenly neried.

water soaked your body and he was absolutely taken by the sight. he felt that in some strange way, you were completely submerged in him. seeing you in the sea, you and him had become one.

you dragged yourself through the waves over, a water dripping hand extended to him, “c’mon!”

without hesitation he accepted, though he was still watching you with half a mind. as you led him farther in, his eyes grazed your rising and falling chest littered with droplets.

waist deep now and unable to help himself, he pulled on your hand, bringing you to him with a small yelp, earning a breathless chuckle at your surprise.

your arms instinctively came to rest around his neck, staring up at him through waterlogged lashes, “hi.”

“hi yourself.”

waves crashed everywhere but around the two of you. one of his hands found its way down to your leg, bringing it to his waist in indication. once you were completely entangled to him, both his hands rested comfortably around your waist.

“it’s not fair, you know,” you told him.

his head tilted slightly, “what isn’t?”

“you get to be all dry.” your eyes narrowed at him and he laughed.

“you want me to get wet?” he mused with his famous smirk.

“mhm.”

“whatever you say.”

on his word, both of you plunged underwater. you stayed tied to him, although bubbles and strands of hair clouded any visions of one another for a few seconds. once they were away, you saw his hair floating off his head and knew he was concentrating well enough to keep it wet per your request.

light seeped in in rays, encapsulating the both of you, creating a comfortable warmth that almost made you want to stay.

a hand left your hips to reach your cheek and pulled you into a kiss. even underwater, his lips were still as soft albeit slightly most salty than you remembered.

arms still locked around each other and lips moving in sync, you breached the surface. pulling away and taking a deep breath, percy seemed to chase after your mouth for a second, forgetting you couldn’t also breath underwater.

catching your breath, and looking at him in full, his dark hair stuck to his forehead and water ran down the tip of his nose. you brushed it away with a giggle, returning both hands to the sides of his face.

looking at you above him, he smiled, “better?”

“much.”

he gave a small nod, mouth slightly agape, searching your features with that same gleam in his now blue-green eyes. his voice suddenly lowered to a whisper, “did i ever tell you you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen?”

you gave a reluctantly shy smile, the temperature in your face rising despite the breeze, “only every day.”

he chided, “not nearly enough.”

he watched you with intent, as your head lifted up to the sky. no matter the circumstances, he’d only ever want to look at you. your shoulders wore streams of ocean that resembled himself. he gently pressed his lips to your collarbone without conviction.

moonlight once again took the whole of you, your skin glowing in an almost religious way.

as you were blissfully unaware and gazing at the stars, percy was able to form his first full thought since you’d gotten in his car all those hours ago; you were now consumed in him, the way he’d always been of you.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

[unmarlou]

work song.

pairings. percy jackson x fem!reader.

summary. not even tartarus could keep percy from coming home to you.

lacy says. don’t say anything about me using the same middle pic as my last fic. pls.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

it was the longest twelve minutes of percy’s life.

his eyes were sown shut, fearing if he opened them it would all go wrong somehow. percy was always one to think he would screw everything up.

his fingers were blistered so badly he thought there wasn’t a single part of normal skin left, but nevertheless he pressed them against the doors of the death with every bit of strength he could muster. which wasn’t a lot. in the moment of heat he heard the one thing he craved most in the world, your voice.

come back to me, percy. come home.

he was so sure it was all in his head but it didn’t even matter. sweat was beading down his whole body while holding a lunge at the right side door. he held his eyes so tight he began to see stars - or was he just going to pass out?

no. no he couldn’t. he would not.

annabeth’s screams beside him were drowning out. he searched his mind for anything to cling to, to keep him grounded, to keep him going.

he went back to the same memory he replayed every morning and every night and most afternoons- the first time he’d ever seen you. he could see every detail, from the small beads of sweat on your neck from a humid new york summer to the bat of your eye to the ever-so-small wrinkle of your orange shirt. the way you had glanced at him, passively. twelve-year-old-percy’s thoughts came flooding back, she’ll probably never look at me again.

he was so close to throwing up he was thinking of ways to turn his head so he wouldn’t get any on annabeth, while remaining in his position. he grunted viscerally, his arms and legs burning and shaking with work.

you’ve been so brave. you’re so close, percy.

he threw his head back at your voice. he heaved the greatest sigh of relief, which he probably couldn’t afford but truly couldn’t help - this was everything he’d ever wanted to hear, especially from you. the air was so thick and hot it didn’t bring anything other than more pain, scorching his lungs.

in a feeble attempt at aid, he brought himself to a moment two summers ago. he could almost feel the tuft of the beach towel below his arms. yours and his laughter radiated in his ears; he couldn’t remember what was so funny, he guessed even then you two weren’t really sure. it was just the both of you on the long island sound, unable to catch your breaths. you’d grabbed his arm in the midst, holding on with shut eyes and a heaving chest. percy kept talking, adding layers to the joke, in hopes you’d keep laughing and never let go. he knew even the birds could never sing something so sweet.

that horrible song about piña colada’s and getting caught in the rain had started again for the third time. he’d never be able to go to a margaritaville after this. but this also meant they weren’t too far now.

his head came to rest against his arm searching for comfort that couldn’t be found. his body battled between restlessness and exhaustion. all he wanted was to get out of this damn place whilst also wanting to collapse right here and accept a heroes fate.

annabeth’s hand grazed his shoulder and he lifted his head to meet her. her eyes bore into what was left of his soul, her jaw clenched, and brows firmly knit- she’d never looked so serious, “we’ve made it this far, no giving up.” her expression softened ever so slightly at percy’s anguish, “she’s counting on you. no giving up.”

you were counting on him. of course this was a fact he’d known all this time, but when thinking about you down in the pit of hell, he’d only ever thought about collapsing in your arms like a little boy that’d experienced a burnt tongue or scrapped knee for the first time, the worst pain he’d known so far. but hearing the words aloud was promoting this revelation to his forefront.

you were counting on him. just as you had when on that boat, on that island, the middle of the sea to retrieve that gilded ram fleece and take you home. just as you had fighting back to back in that open field as enemies poured in from zeus’ fist, some closing a circle around you two, the thought of a vulnerable backside never crossing either of your minds, in the acts of protecting your home. just as you had on a deserted manhattan, never once sharing your true worries about losing him because you held faith he’d prevail, and when he did, those final moments on mount olympus where he denied sovereignty because you were counting on him to return home with you.

you were counting on him, like you had been this entire year. on a relentless search to find your stolen heart, one finally yours, and bring him home.

there were sudden surges of anger running through his veins at the realization that absolutely everything had been striped from him- he was literally a ghost of his former self just a few seconds ago. he would see you again, so help him gods. and he would take revenge on everyone and everything that separated him from you.

“i will kill gaea,” he muttered. “i will tear her apart with my bare hands.”

with the elevator shaking like the power of the four corners of the earth was working against it, and it was, every feeling he had, both emotional and physical, was bounding to send percy into overdrive.

what came next was simultaneously the fastest and slowest sequence of events he’d ever experienced. he could see every still shot as it happened: the doors shuddered open and almost took his fingers with it, not even gaining his bearings, dusty ancient air smacked him in the face with unexpected velocity, quickly he saw a shot of leo, gods he’d never been so happy to see leo, then the floor became closer, closer, closer, he knew what was coming and the last thing he could tell himself was, think of her, her, her.

“are you even listening to me?”

he was, he promised he was, but your cheek was glistening in the silver light and your arm was just barley grazing his and your scent mixed with the saltwater, not your perfume, just you, was enough to make him lose track of everything.

“yeano.”

you rolled your eyes, the playful way with a ghostly smile on your lips, the way you always did when he said something kind of stupid, and he thanked the gods he frequently said something kind of stupid.

sitting up in the rafters of the argo ll, wind brushed past attempting to take your clothes with it. he was trying his absolute best to contain himself, to maintain an ounce of normalcy in an otherwise very opposite setting. but he’d be lying right through his teeth if he said he didn’t want to be in your back pocket right now, and stay there forever.

“i’ll just never tell you how much i miss you ever again, i guess.” you faux hurt and he knew it.

finding it in himself to touch you without going crazy, he brought you to the crevice between his chest and arm, “i missed you, too. maybe even more.” saying the last part in a hush, fearing his own feelings.

you were recounting the last eight months, telling him about your nonstop search, never deviating from the task, and in the same vein, conveying just how happy you were to be with him, finally. even if it was bittersweet.

your hand played with his, an action that sent tingles from his back down his arms, as your back rested against his side. the silence was enough for him, perfect even. with newly regained memories still weaving their way through his mind, he knew this was a position you two had sat in time and time before, but it didn’t fail to make his heart hammer.

the feeling of your warmth on his was almost nostalgic in a way, like he knew it, he knew he knew it, but it was so distant yet so comforting he felt like it must’ve been from some dream.

“we’ll be back home before you know it. together.”

and then, the scene switched.

it was hot. and humid. he was eternally grateful for the umbrella overhead, shading the table from the unruly italian sun. you were seated opposite him, but you certainly weren’t looking at him. your gaze was far and away, unfixed and slightly unnerving in his opinion.

he kept his fingers under yours regardless, running his thumb over them with ease. the newly empty chair beside you both was borderline antagonizing, he knew, but before he could pick your brain, you confided.

“i have a bad feeling, percy.”

your croak with the use of his name made blood run cold under burnt skin. you didn’t use perseus, but still, you rarely ever said it unless it was serious, an indication to him of severity.

you weren’t nearly this down seeing annabeth off, of course you were upset but this change to anxiety was after her leaving. “i’m not too thrilled about it either but, she’ll be okay. she-”

the shaking of your head cut him off. you still weren’t looking at him, which added to his unease. he tilted slightly in hopes of catching your eyes, but was unsuccessful. he continued his thumb stroke, subliminally signaling he was here.

he watched your lips contort, trying to find the words to fit. selfish as it was in the moment, he thought he could lean over and kiss you, take away any worry and just be one.

your sigh was strenuous, “something bad is going to happen, i don’t know. i just…”

you finally met him back at the small table in the middle of rome. gods you were so pretty. you sat just outside the umbrella, casting half of yourself in bronze, he was amazed how unaware you were, of your beauty in moments like these. he had to kick himself in the leg to stop from blurting it out.

connecting your fingers with his, a search for comfort despite the sweltering heat making it near to impossible, you squeezed, “i just don’t want to lose you again.”

he reciprocated, feeling confident in his answer, “you won’t.”

and then, the scene switched.

your shrill scream was enough to make the angels cry. to make him cry.

in the seconds it took for you to turn around and try to assist frank, leo, and jason, percy had dove over the edge to catch a falling annabeth. although there was absolutely no hesitation on his part, in no world was he going to leave his best friend to fall, he felt an all consuming sickness at the impending outcome.

there must’ve been words shouted and exchanged all around but he couldn’t hear them over the roaring in his ears, all of his strength being put to use in opposite directions. he could see nico, hazel, and most importantly - maybe most disheartening - you, leaning over the edge.

his mind was working a mile a second, thoughts blaring all around despite his inability to really focus on them. he knew what he needed to get out first and foremost, “the other side, nico. we’ll meet you there. understand?”

his arm was shaking so violently and the weight on his other was becoming unbearable. he didn’t want to have more time to think this situation over, “lead them there! promise me!”

“i-i will.”

that was all he needed from him. his vision now settling on you. if you’d told him a goddess had come down to see him off, he would’ve believed you. his thoughts suddenly cleared, if only for a second.

light poured in from the hole above, illuminating your silhouette. you’d never looked so beautiful. percy felt such shame he couldn’t tell you that. from the look on your face, words weren’t really necessary. you understood, he knew you did. he knew you knew he needed to do this. he felt maybe there was even some part of you that encouraged him to, for annabeth was your best friend too, and you both knew if the fates had it be percy who turned around, you would’ve dove after her all the same.

“come back to me.”

“always.”

and as he let his fingers slip, falling into the chasm, all he could do was stare up at your fading imagine, because if there was a last thing he was to see, he needed it to be you.

the ground was dirty.

he could taste it. not that he was one to go around tasting floors but he could tell it was old and dirty. the stench of stale air was an unwelcome accompaniment. his body was throbbing, a constant pulse from the top of his head to his feet, every time feeling like a new stab wound.

his hearing was muffled, just making out a commotion of sorts, seemingly far away. his arms were uncomfortably spread beside him, from falling to the floor, he remembered. they were sore to move but not impossible.

he just barely had a grip on who he was when he felt a hand. a soft hand, a hand pulsing with life, one that had given comfort at every turn. it was shaking his pained shoulder, while another soothed at his connecting forearm.

he could feel the breath on his ear before the words, familiar and warm, and though he swore to be sick of warm for a long time, he’d never be sick of this.

“percy?”

an ache at the core of his being subsided instantly. his eyes shot open, without second thought, without even a first.

it was dark and hazy, his vision greatly distorted with hooded lids. but that didn’t stop the inherent recognition of your presence beside him. he’d know the curve of your face and shoulders, the feel of your hands and breath anywhere, any time, and any place.

because you were home.

and he had done it. he had come home to you.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

[boneblushed]

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

[livinginshambles]

I thought you'd be different | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: A cinderella story (maybe a little rome and juliet while we're at it) but Hogwarts - Enemies-ish to lovers. You find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (James). When you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. When you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style.

Probably part one of two again.

Notes: Not proofread, grammar mistakes. Discrimination issues, themes of bullying. Regulus is our friend. James is an idiot, but we knew that already. Sirius sucks.

Masterlist

--------------------------------

You could still remember the moment vividly, as if it was engraved in your memory. That moment when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor like your two older sisters had been sorted. You could still see the look of surprise, concern, horror and then eventually disgust, every time you close your eyes.

“Now we finally know your true colors,” is what your sister Alyssa had hissed coldly at you. You had pleadingly looked at your other sister, but Marla had supported her twin sister, disregarding the confused and scared look in your eleven-year-old eyes.

“Don’t talk to us, don’t look at us and don’t mention us at all,” she sneered down at you and for a moment you wondered how she hadn’t been the one to be sorted into Slytherin instead. But you had cast your eyes down and agreed.

You were making your way down the corridor, long strides as you passed your sisters while looking them straight in the eye. They grimaced at the sight of you, but without their entire group of classmates, they didn’t dare make any comments. A feeling of victory erupted inside of you, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that crept up your face.

But years passed and you had become the very stereotype of a Slytherin student, completely leaning into the cold, distant, quiet but calculating persona that your sisters had created for you. Might as well, you figured after your parent’s dismay at the revelation of your house.

“What poor soul suffered for you to look so satisfied?” You turned your head to look at the person who called out to you. James Potter and Sirius Black were both leaning against a statue in the open yard. “Did you get rid of Regulus or something?” Sirius taunted. “Finally had enough of him following you around, did you L/N?”

“Go die in a ditch, Sirius,” you retorted with an eye roll, but seemed unphased.

“Why so much hostility,” James unpleasantly remarked, and you halted in your step. “10 points from Gryffindor for loitering,” you pettily decided.

“If you have nothing to do, other than insulting students, I would love to recommend you to Professor McGonagall for detention. Heard she was still looking for the person who made all the pumpkins explode last week during Halloween, and you guys are terrible at getting rid of the evidence.” With a last glance up and down, you continued your way towards the room of requirement.

When you entered the sober room with a sigh, you noticed the small scrolled up piece of parchment in the middle of the room. You frowned. This was your space. The room didn’t open this space for anyone else, you made it specifically as a safe haven.

You cautiously approached the parchment and rolled it open to reveal nothing. It was completely blank. You shrugged. If the room left this here, it was meant for you, and so you took a seat and started drawing on it.

James sat in an empty room, his invisibility cloak hiding him from plain sight as he pulled the now folded paper from his back pocket. He inspected it closely, almost pressing the paper to his glasses in a curious manner. He had gone to the Room of Requirements earlier that day and found a piece of paper floating in the air.

James unfolded the paper, and his eyebrows flew up. Lines were appearing on the paper by itself, and a beautiful portrait of a weeping willow with a girl, crying on a bench under the tree appeared.

James fumbled to find his quill and ink. Then he started to write something on it, in a handwriting that he only ever used for written exams. Credits to Professor McGonagall, who had announced that she would not be grading anything she couldn’t read. And she had looked over her glasses at him while she said it.

It’s beautiful.

You dropped the parchment at the words that formed right under your drawing. You traced it with your fingers. Then you decided to write back.

Thank you, I’ve been dreaming about this for the past two days.

You frowned at yourself, unsure why you would disclose such information, but figured no one would be able to trace this back to you anyway.

James blinked at the response he got, mouth open in surprise. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. It must simply be a spell of some sort after all. He stared at the sad drawing and the sentence, and then he made up his mind, writing back.

It must be lonely for that girl to cry by herself under the weeping willow.

Your eyes followed the words that formed in a trance.

If she ever feels lonely again, she can always pour her heart out on this parchment. I’ll be the mighty guardian wizard that will make all her worries magically disappear.

A grateful smile made its way up your face and when you scribbled back a response, James couldn’t help but smile as well.

Maybe she will.

That's how you became James’ best kept secret. He learned that you were indeed a student at Hogwarts, but that you felt lonely. That you enjoyed butterbeer, but never got to enjoy it on a Hogsmeade outing with friends, because you rarely had any. He learned that you felt inferior to your siblings and a disappointment to your parents. He noticed how you would draw a circle as the dot on your ‘i’ and learned, when he asked, that you did that because you had once seen Professor McGonagall do that when you were in your first year, and had practiced mimicking her handwriting, should it ever come in handy.

You doodled a wizard sitting on the bench next to the crying girl, a consoling hand stretched out.

Two months passed and before you knew it, you were explaining Transfiguration through the enchanted parchment. You did conclude from this that your pen pal was most likely in a year or two higher than yourself but decided not to comment on it. James on the other hand, was under the assumption that you must be from his year, as you managed to help him study for his exams.

In return, he had told you that he felt pressured by the reputation that he had to maintain. He loved Quidditch and absolutely despised Ancient Runes, to which you had replied, “who doesn’t?”. He told you that he had illegally learned to become an Animagus, a stag, and that he wasn’t sure yet what the future would hold for him. He even revealed to you that he desperately wants to protect his friends and sometimes had nightmares, which usually resulted in a sneak around the castle at midnight. When you had asked him if he’d ever been caught, he responded with, “never”, and had explained to you that he had an invisibility cloak.

But now, it was almost 12 o’clock midnight, and James chewed his lip while he looked at the parchment. He hesitated for a moment. Then he decided to ask you the one question he had been yearning to know the answer to.

Who are you?

You looked at the paper sadly, and sighed.

You’d be disappointed.

I understand if you don’t want to reveal yourself. But know that I could never be disappointed by you, Willow.

James sighed when you didn’t answer anymore. He waved away the light that emitted from the tip of his wand and took his glasses off. He went to put the parchment under his pillow as usual, when he saw the scribbling movement that he’d gotten so accustomed to.

He scrambled to grab his wand to shed light on the paper but accidentally nudged them off the nightstand and onto the floor, where it rolled under his bed. James’ eyes flickered back to the paper in his hand, and he managed to catch the first letter of your name as it was written in capital letters.

But your cursive handwriting, the dark and lack of glasses made it impossible to read the rest of your name. When he finally reached his wand and put on his glasses, he heard the clock strike twelve and he cursed as he grasped the parchment tightly, hurried ‘lumos’ and saw that the parchment had reset itself to a blank page again, just as every night at 12 o’clock at midnight.

Wait, please! I didn’t catch it before it erased itself. Please write it again?

You let out a sigh in relief after you had internally bashed your head against a wall.

No, it was stupid of me. I’m glad you didn’t see it.

“Regulus,” you acknowledged as you pulled the chair back to sit next to him in the library. “Y/N,” Regulus quietly responded without looking up from his book, and if you didn’t know any better, his straight face would indicate annoyance. Luckily, you did know better.

You leaned back into your armchair with a racing heart. You couldn’t believe you had done that.

“You smile any brighter, the sorting hat will transfer you to Hufflepuff, you know,” you teased him.

His face distorted in a grimace and without missing a beat, he replied, “do kill me before such a thing occurs.” You shook your head and finally sat down. Then you pursed your lips in thought.

“You know how I’ve been working all summer to earn galleons?”

“No.”

“Well I did.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I rented a small flat,” you blurted out. Regulus finally looked up at you, surprise almost evident on his face. Then again, you didn’t have the most amazing home situation either. You often opted to stay behind at Hogwarts for the holidays. It is how you two had befriended each other, especially ever since Sirius left him to his own devices at home. Parents, it was a trauma bonding thing.

“Congratulations,” he nodded, his voice trailed off as he tried to see how this would concern him.

“So I thought you might want to stay with me over the Christmas holidays? Your mother doesn’t hate me, so I thought it might be possible. Gives you a chance to get out once in a while.” You tentatively brought up the sensitive subject.

“And what makes you think living with you will be any more bearable than living in my own mansion?” Regulus snarkily remarked.

You squinted your eyes at him in a scowl. “A simple ‘no’ would suffice don’t you think?”

“Do I have to pay rent?”

“Depends on whether or not the answer impacts your decision.”

“So not then.”

You huffed.

“Fine, I suppose I could join you in your small flat.”

“Merlin, don’t go doing me any favors Reg, I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

Regulus shook his head in amusement.

Satisfied with your rather successful attempt to invite him over, you got up. The chair you sat on screeched loudly as it was being pushed back. You could feel the librarian’s furious eyes on your back and rolled your eyes at her as you made your way to the door. “Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” you waved your hand in the air and exited the room.

You made it approximately two steps when you spotted your sisters again. “Of course you would cause a disturbance in the library,” Marla spat at you. You raised your eyebrows but remained unimpressed.

“I see you’ve got your buddies to back you up now?” you commented and tilted your chin slightly upwards. Your eyes flickered to your other sister, their closest friends, and the marauders.

You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you and your sister. “Boo.”

It took your other sister, Alyssa about one second to have her wand pulled out and pointed at your throat.

James watched the interaction with a small frown on his face. He didn’t really speak with the fellow Gryffindor twins, but their friends and Lily were friends, so the marauders had joined them on their way towards the courtyard.

His mind flickered to a conversation he had had with ‘Willow’ about her sisters, and he wondered if you felt the same sadness and inferiority as his pen pal. And with that in mind, he pulled Alyssa back by her robe with one harm, the other lowering her raised wand.

“Let’s not,” he shrugged, when she raised her brows in question at him.

“She clearly threatened my sister,” Alyssa defended.

You scoffed at that. “I said ‘boo’. That’s hardly a threat,” you rolled your eyes and glanced at James who tried to offer you something that resembled a smile.

Was he mocking you? “Fancy yourself a hero, don’t you, Potter.”

“Hey, I was just trying to help,” he raised his hands in defense.

“Cause you’re such a good soul,” you sarcastically remarked.

“Yeah, actually. At least better than you. That hostility is so uncalled for,” Sirius mumbled under his breath, and you shot him a glare. “Right, better than me. Let me ask the two-dozen tormented Slytherin students you’ve bullied this past year. Bet Snape will buy your self-proclaimed ‘kindness’.”

You were already walking away when Sirius opened his mouth to call something out to you, but James kicked his shins in attempt to shut him up. Your words resonated in his mind.

Am I a twat?

Maybe he was a twat.

What the bloody hell are you on about?

Someone called me a twat today. Now that wasn’t necessarily true, but the implications were there.

Did you deserve it?

Sort of.

Sort of?

I mean, I am only an asshole to people who are assholes themselves and deserve it. But I guess that makes me an asshole too.

You hesitated for a moment and decided to write your opinion on the matter.

Maybe you being an asshole to people makes them assholes. And then it becomes a vicious circle. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that bogger.

You reckon?

Wouldn’t have written it down if I didn’t.

On a brighter note, do you have a date for the Yule ball after the exams?

If you’re asking me out, I already promised my friend that we’d go together.

Oh right. But would you save me a dance? Maybe at midnight under the main crystal chandelier?

James bit his lip again in suspense. The Yule ball is a masked ball anyways, if you don’t want to reveal yourself.

It felt strange to you. Really looking forward to something to the point you could feel jitters in your stomach in anticipation. But it was having a certain effect on you that even the younger Black couldn’t help but miss.

Midnight, main crystal chandelier. You decided to leave it at that. Besides. You could enchant the mask a little extra, so you’d be even more unrecognizable. You wondered who would be behind the kind words of the parchment.

Regulus squinted his eyes and moved his jaw in thought. When he had had enough, he pulled you aside.

“Out with it.”

You deflated. You knew that he knew what he was talking about, so you shrugged. “Someone asked me to save a dance next week,” you mumbled.

“And you want to?” Regulus’ tone shifted to an incredulous one.

“I found an enchanted parchment in the room of requirements and it’s connected. I’ve been using it to have conversations with a mystery person.”

It felt great to be able to share this with your friend and you leaned against the wall behind you. “So yeah.” You finished the confession with an awkward hand gesture.

Regulus took a moment to register what you said. And then, as if it was the most normal thing ever, he responded with, “I see. And you have no idea who?”

You let yourself slide down the wall and tiredly put your head on your propped up knees. “Probably a Gryffindor.”

Regulus started laughing. You snapped your head up and scowled at him, not that he was used to anything else from you.

“As long as it’s not a mudbl-“

You kicked his legs and made him lose his balance. You shot him a warning glance. “You know my opinion on that.”

Regulus sighed. You had once confided in him about your home situation, including that time when you had overheard your parents argue when you came home for the first time after having been sorted into Slytherin. Your father had addressed the matter as soon as you walked through the door.

“You’re no daughter of mine.” He had said with disapproval in his voice. It wasn’t meant as a figurative insult. It was a statement. Your father believed that you could simply not biologically be his daughter. The words had you avert your eyes to the floor in shame.

“My entire bloodline has been sorted into Gryffindor.” He had looked at your mother. “Your family does have Slytherins. She’s most likely the result of your affair with that muggle a decade ago. It is possible.”

James was nervously looking around, standing partnerless in the middle of the dancefloor. He had long forgone the mask that he had chosen because it prevented him from using his glasses. He looked at the great clock just above the table with drinks and pulled a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” Regulus relented. “We’ll see who it is next week.”

It was time, so where were you? Hopefully you hadn’t chickened out yet because he was absolutely dying to meet you.

There was just something about you. It sparked something in him that he hadn’t felt since Lily. He’d look forward to your messages all the time. Every morning, he practically jumped up in anticipation and excitement as he reached under his pillow to read your ‘good morning’ message for the day. A smile would pass his lips each time.

James was ripped from his thoughts when a hand was placed on his shoulder blade. It tapped twice. He stopped breathing for a moment before turning around. And then the breath was knocked out of both of you completely.

For two different reasons.

James stared in awe at you. You wore a white and silver dress, covered in diamonds. A delicate white mask covered the upper part of your face, and he stared intently at your eyes, but somehow, he still couldn’t pinpoint who you were.

He could see all of your features clearly, but as if he was in a dream, he somehow couldn’t piece everything together to identify you. A charm, he realized. He was disappointed but shook it off. If you felt insecure, then he wouldn’t push it.

James’ face broke out in a grin, and he stepped forward. He couldn’t help but reach out to your face. But you took a step back. His hand fell and he frowned at your reaction, suddenly scared. He wasn’t wearing a mask after all. Compared to you, he was completely vulnerable.

Before he could say anything, you cut him to it. “No,” you hoarsely managed. “This was a mistake.” You turned around and escaped from the center of the dancefloor. James chased you.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry!” He called out after you.

You slowed your pace when you reached the corner next to the staircase. Then you shook your head with a sight, and you pinched your nose. James could see your furrowed brows.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. But my intention wasn’t to dance with James Potter. It was a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”

James shook his head in his turn. “Don’t say that,” his eyes pleaded. “So you know who I am. Am I..” He hesitated. “Am I that bad? I don’t know if you’ve heard any rumors about me, or what made you have a bad impression of me, but I’m the one you’ve been talking to for the past months.” He looked at you desperately. “Give me a chance, please. I only ask for a dance.”

Your eyes flickered over his sad face. You knew James from all the pranks that he did, mostly committed towards your house. You knew him from the banters you had with him, and from crying students that you undid hexes for. You knew him from pushing him out of the way as he purposely blocked your path to throw insults at you.

But you also knew the boy from the enchanted paper. The one who listened to all your worries. Who offered advice and indulged into your hopes and dreams for the future. You knew the boy who confided in you all his deepest secrets and own insecurities. Who made your day and cheered you up with his jokes and positivity.

“I can give you a dance,” you caved, and you offered him your hand, which he scrambled to hold.

James was a fairly decent dance partner, you soon discovered as he guided you with grace. “So I suppose you dance often?”

“I just practiced a lot,” he sheepishly admitted. “I had to impress you somehow, you know. Someone like you had to be crazy out of my league after all.”

Your lips twitched. “I think you’ve got it all backwards, Potter.”

“You know you can call me James, right?”

“Well, James,” you enunciated his name. It felt weird on your tongue. You had only ever spoken his last name in contempt. “I’m not very liked by more than half the students of this castle.” You motioned towards your mask. “Hence the enchantment,” you added halfheartedly.

“You don’t have to tell me who you are,” James immediately assured you, and you did relax at his words. “I’m just really happy that you’re real.”

You let out a laugh. “Why would I not be real?”

“I don’t know,” James whined. “Maybe I was just talking to really sentient paper or something?”

His answer only made you laugh more. James’ grin only spread wider.

“Whoever you are, I wouldn’t judge you,” James added quietly. You watched him silently as you swayed around the room.

“That’d be a first,” you joked sadly, remembering your own family.

“What can I say, I’m just different,” James cheekily winked and then twirled you around.

“We’ll see about that, James. You have the rest of the night to convince me.”

The dance ended and you curtsied to each other, out of breath. “But you’ll have to excuse me while I go find a bench because my feet are killing me. These heels are no joke,” you groaned in pain and sort of started to limp your way back.

James quickly came to support you and held your waist as he escorted you back to the side of the room. When you discovered that there were not in fact any benches, you sat down on the first few steps of the staircase. He raised his eyebrows when you kicked off your heels and saw that the entire slipper was made of glass.

“I transfigured those shoes myself, you know,” you proudly stated. James looked at it in disbelief. “This can carry a human weight?”

“Yeah, it took a lot of different enchantments and attempts,” you admitted.

James’ disbelief changed to awe. He took a seat next to you and you two started chatting about random things. You looked at James’ profile as he talked about Quidditch and felt soft towards him. Maybe he really wasn’t so bad after all.

The two of you were deep into a conversation when you were interrupted .

“Who is this, Prongs?” Sirius curiously stepped forward and shook your hand. You couldn’t help but grimace at him.

You politely nodded and explained the situation, but even though you engaged into a civil, nonchalant conversation, you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the presence of James’ friends.

“Anyways,” Sirius leans in towards James. “Did you see Snape over there?” He nodded his head towards Snape, and you squinted your eyes at the boy in front of you.

“You’re not thinking of doing anything to him, are you,” you sharply asked. Both James and Sirius were taken aback by your new tone.

“Nothing harmful,” Sirius laughed, but it faded when you simply raised your eyebrows at him. Sirius looked towards James for help. James hesitated. He had been reluctant to indulge Sirius’ ideas ever since his conversation with you about being a twat.

“We’re just having a bit of fun,” James tried to explain. “We’re just joking around, besides, he’s in Slytherin, so definitely a blood supremacist.” Your face fell at his words.

You watched his features contort in disgust and suddenly you were eleven again, and all you could see was your sisters disgusted face.

By the time you had snapped out of it, Sirius was already making their way towards Snape. James had gotten up and his head flickered between you and his friends.

You got up as well.

“I really thought you’d be different, James.” You scoffed to yourself. “You really had me convinced there for a moment. But I understand that you’re really just a bully after all, blinded by prejudice. You really are a twat.”

James’ heart dropped at hearing you say those words. He felt ashamed and shook his head pleadingly as he searched for words. But the thing is, you couldn’t care less, because you were hurt too. So you turned around and fled up the stairs as fast as you could, just in case he would come after you.

“Hey Prongs, you coming or not?” Sirius called out. James looked back at Sirius as he contemplated his next move. He mouthed ‘no’, and then tried to run after you. But by the time he reached the hallway that you had disappeared to, you were nowhere in sight.

In denial, James ran towards the moving staircases and looked up, in hopes to find you there.

Had he looked down, maybe he would have caught the last shimmer of reflection of the diamonds on your dress.

James refused to give up, however and he started to knock on the paintings, hoping that they could tell him where you went. He just had to apologize.

A symphony of protests and yelling echoed within the hall. “Quiet you!” “Have you no respect for the sleeping?” “I will complain to Filch about this, young man!” “Leave us alone!”

When the voices resided, most portraits were empty, their contents having escaped elsewhere.

Defeated, James groaned and hit his head with his fists. “You stupid git!” he yelled out in frustration at himself. James slouched down to sit on the stairs. Then he reached for the parchment and a pen in the inner pocket of his jacket and started scrambling something down.

“Please answer,” he whispered. He almost had to laugh at how pathetic he must look.

You sat on your bed after having made your way to the Slytherin dorms.

I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I said that. I’m stupid and I ruined everything. Please let me make it up to you. I enjoy being with you, I don’t want you to think of me like this.

 Like I said before, this was clearly a mistake.

James read your words over and over again and he buried his face in his hands in shame. He stayed there for a long while and by the time he returned to the room, the party was over, and people had started returning to bed. On the left side of the staircase were your enchanted glass slippers precisely where you’d kicked the off and left them.

Taglist:

@bath1lda @lilianelena39 @quackitysdrugdealer @princessprongs @clumsyassbitch @thecraziestcrayon @themoonofeternity @ttkttt @rentaldarling @handybrownpurse @elsie-bells

@charlie-weasley-is-underrated @dreamingofmarauders @moonyslibrary98 @wildernessflora @hollandweather @queerqueenlynn @locklyebrainrot @thisrandombitch @grac3aph3lion @earfquak3 @venomsvl @middle-of-the-earth @shrekscrustybudassy @bettytaylorversion @littlepoisonmushroom @faumpje @iloveutwice @katelebate @moonysupremacy01 @marina468 @fangirl-kimora @bellesowl @badasswlthafatass @sjprongs @armydrcamers @its-a-ittle-bit-cold @ireallywannasleep127 @sayukoi @jsjcue @cashtons-wife @idllyastuff @severegiantjudgefriend @ivy-34 @moonyunebi @caspianobsessed @kquil @moonys-luvr @mindflay3r @nokkoongie

[singmyaubade]

No Longer Yours

James Potter x Female!Reader

A/N: I am trying a new way of writing these stories, there won't be lots of dialogue in this part, but there will be more; this is just a look into where the story starts.

IB: In The Cold November Rain by @sweetsweetjellybean (Make sure to check it out, it’s amazing and one of the best I’ve ever read !)

Summary: James had disregarded you for multiple years, but when you have an epiphany in your final year, how does it feel to taste his own medicine?

Warning: It may contain swearing and soon-to-be smut.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You never considered yourself to be a pushover when it came to things. Instead, you would use the word "understanding" and used it the most when it came to James Fleamont Potter.

He meant the absolute world to you since you were nine when you first met him. He lived next to you, both of your rooms being next to each other. You could always see him in his window, not that you were stalking, but you could never quite get your eyes off him.

Every time he would catch you staring, he would give you a wave, never felt weirded out. Then he would ring you up and ask you to come for dinner with your family. You would always accept unless your mother insisted on not intruding on them anymore.

You always caught his look of disappointment when you told him you couldn't come over, seeing him on the phone with you. It would always make your heart flutter, always having to stop the smile from forming on your face.

And then, after dinner, he would always come over, and you two would hang out (of course, with the door open). But you knew James would never try anything.

Your parents had suspicions when you both were fully formed teenagers and had hormones. Again, you knew James wasn't a perv; he respected you.

Even when he would slap your thigh in laughter when you said a joke or when his front pressed against your back when you two joked around, or his touch would linger when he ticked you.

But that was all besides the point; you loved James like no other. You loved the rest of the Marauders, too, but with James, there was no questioning if the love was different.

The only times you weren't sure about that 'love' was when Lily Evans would come around. He never truly knew how to pay attention to or regard you when she came around, but he claimed it was 'love.'

You wondered if he loved Lily the same way you loved him or if it was more complete, passionate, and extraordinary. You could never ask; James wouldn't know what to do. You couldn't blame Lily, it wasn't her fault, and she turned down his advances multiple times.

You were sure that James would move on, but then, during sixth year, Lily confessed that she was starting to have a crush on James.

You tried hiding your disappointment, but it was hard; it nearly broke your heart; you knew James would tell you all about it as soon as you saw him again.

There was no wish to be cruel, but a part of you, maybe the whole, was hoping she would joke. Perhaps she would again realize how immature James was and remember how he bullied Snape.

But that would be selfish and unfair to James; you were supposed to be his best friend, and he deserves this.

And you knew Lily was kind, beautiful, thoughtful, and honest. She deserved James more than he deserved her. You wouldn't break her happiness because it was pure; if you did, it would be evil.

So when she asked you if you were okay with that, constantly questioning your feelings towards James, you said,

"Of course, you should go out with James," You placed a hand on her shoulder, "I think you two would be amazing together." A genuine bright smile passed your face as she embraced you and thanked you for being truthful with her.

While they dated, James would always tell you every time he and Lily did something.

From every kiss, every date, and every cute moment to Lily laughing at a joke he made about crisps in Hogsmeade or the dove they saw randomly, which is a sign that they are genuinely in love.

After telling you every detail, he would embrace you in a tight hug so you could smell his scent entirely. He would thank you for being "such a good friend and say that "he loves you."

You knew he loved you but you wished he loved you in a different way. A way that his heart would scrunch when you were around or a way that made him want to compliment your hair or your smile like he did with Lily.

You wished it pissed you off enough to be mad at him, but every time he hugged you, you forgave him and knew it was just him being happy and wanting to tell a friend.

He still always joked around with you the same and bantered with you, but it was just less, you wanted more, but he could only give you so much time, and you knew that.

Only a few of your friends understood, like Remus and Dorcas. They would comfort you in every moment when you felt unsure of yourself, or you just wanted to talk.

You probably would have been misunderstood if it weren't for them, but they acknowledged and validated your feelings.

That's what got you through that time.

Nonetheless, there was no point in dwelling on past memories. James and Lily broke up at the end of that very year, it being mutual due to the realization of too many things clashing.

He was a bit of a wreck but recognized that it was for the better. It didn't stop him from sometimes crying in your arms, talking about how much he missed Lily.

Eventually, James started to move on, talking to you more, joking with you, and inviting you to sit next to him at dinner. You had missed this for so long and were grateful.

He went back to tickling you and playfighting with you. He would even make you sit with him during potions.

This was until the end of the year Quidditch match, Gryffindor had won, and excitement had raised. You went to congratulate James on the win, having a big jar of Fizzing Whizbees in your hand, his favorite.

You opened the door a crack, overhearing him but not wanting to interrupt his conversation with the rest of the Quidditch team.

"Come on, Potter, don't tell me you aren't going to snog her tonight," A boy you recognized as Matthew Collingwood teased, "She's been over you for years; why not just hit it and quit it?" Your face contorted to disgust after hearing his use of words.

"Don't tell me you are talking about Y/n," James scoffed, "There is no way I would ever think of her like that," A part of your heart broke hearing his words; he didn't even defend his last words.

"I mean, she does have a fat bum," Another boy laughed.

"Oy, she's like a sister to me, don't talk about her like that," James warned, his tone sounding half serious as the boy put his hands up jokingly.

A sister.

"Okay, but come on, Potter, you have to shag her at least once before we graduate," Matthew sneered.

"Listen, boys, I wouldn't touch Y/n if she were the last girl on earth," He belittled, "Besides, she would cling to my cock like crazy after that; I mean, look at her now, can't even take a piss without her peering over my shoulder." He gestured, pretending to take a piss and looking behind him to see if you were around.

The boys hollered, laughing at James’s visual representation of you.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you dropped the glass-made jar, shattering in the process. You let go of the door, turning your heel to run away.

The tears started running down your cheeks as you wiped each of them as they came. You went under a tree, crying your eyes out, wondering why James would be so cruel.

He was your best friend, and you thought he loved you enough to not make fun of you. James could sometimes be thoughtless, but he never was brutal to you.

Did he really think you were clingy, consistently all over him? Did he get annoyed by how much you were around him? Would he never like you even if you were the last girl on the planet?

You were humiliated, embarrassed by his words, his thoughts. Every feeling of James Potter that made you happy and wanted to fall into his arms turned into hate and resentment, his words reiterating in your mind a thousand times.

That night, you vowed never to make James Potter make you feel that way again.

So that night, you didn't join the celebration. You told your friends that your stomach was hurting and you weren't in the mood for festivities.

You didn't know if James had asked where you were during that night, and you didn't want to know after the words he had shared with others.

Since you were allowed to leave Hogwarts the day after summer began, you did. You didn't wait for James to go with you; you left without him, wishing all your friends goodbye, dismissing all questions about why you were leaving early and blaming it on your mother's wishes.

"Okay, well," Lily sighed, "Make sure to ring me over the summer and visit if you can." You embraced her and nodded your head, telling her that you will.

"And don't forget to ring me as well," Dorcas said from behind you as you went over to her and hugged her tightly, "Whatever he did," She whispered in your ear, "Give him hell."

You pulled out of the hug and gave her a smile, "I will."

As she left, you approached the Gryffindor common room to find Remus reading as usual.

"Gonna wish a good friend goodbye?" Remus questioned, looking over at you. You were glad he wasn’t questioning why you were leaving so early in the morning.

"How could I ever not?" You asked, embracing him for a minute.

"So, are you gonna tell me what he did?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"How do you and Dorcas know everything?" You said, rolling your eyes.

"How good of friends would we be if we didn't." He smirked, "I can ta-"

You cut him off, "No, this is not your responsibility; I will take care of it." You smiled, "But thank you for caring; it means the most to me."

"Of course," He said as you nodded and turned to leave, "And take care of yourself." You turned back, giving him a reassuring smile.

After saying all your goodbyes for the school year, you sat in a window seat, looking at the school you loved dearly. You never thought you could quite say this, but you were ready for home.

Once you returned home, a letter was waiting for you on your window seal stating,

Dear Y/n,

Give him hell.

Sincerely the only one you need,

Dorcas Meadows.

And what kind of friend would you be if you didn't do what was asked?

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

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James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anymore”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”