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sunnami · 6 days

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❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts.

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all.

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch.

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day.

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come.

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin.

“Watch out!”

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face.

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria.

“Move!”

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion.

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues.

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you.

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing. “Oh, good heavens, what happened?”

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.”

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls.

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant.

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back.

THE STORY GOES like this:

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.)

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.)

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world.

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that.

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.”

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.”

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus.

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.”

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?”

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.”

With that, she slams the door in their faces.

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.)

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing.

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!”

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration.

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?”

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!”

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.”

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?”

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.”

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.”

Lily glares at him.

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself.

Everything is starting to change.

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot.

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library.

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.”

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger.

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.”

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?”

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.”

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?”

“All of them.”

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?”

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.”

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.”

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.)

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!”

Remus hisses his name in warning.

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!”

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?”

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach.

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?”

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently.

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library.

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes.

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence.

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?”

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.”

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.”

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup.

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives.

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.”

You snort.

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”)

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you. Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep.

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people.

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you.

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.”

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.”

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously.

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds.

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut.

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!”

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.)

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough.

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings.

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly.

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.)

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.”

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin.

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw.

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge.

It’s Lily Evans.

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!”

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath.

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified.

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House.

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.

And so, the story ends just like that.

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position.

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds.

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.”

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.”

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.”

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.)

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.”

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and cross.)

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.”

“Thanks.” Remus coughs.

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere.

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed.

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly.

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright.

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.”

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.”

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks. “So. . . uh. . . are we okay?”

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation.

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.”

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often.

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave.

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid.

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?)

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!”

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—”

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!”

“Pads, shut up.”

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck.

Lily chortles.

Oh.

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business.

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.”

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them.

Which happens to be right beside you.

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you.

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.”

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air.

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.”

He lowers his arm with a bright blush.

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you.

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.”

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.”

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook.

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!”

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest.

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too.

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather.

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?”

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders.

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak.

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side.

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.”

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest.

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.”

“Oh.”

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away.

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .”

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.”

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—”

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line.

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly.

You let out a deep sigh.

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness.

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.”

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.)

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his.

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch.

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead.

“For what?” You ask in disbelief.

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.”

“What exactly are you going to prove?”

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.”

Merlin’s saggy balls.

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want.

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you.

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls.

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about.

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.”

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name.

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.”

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears.

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place.

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face.

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—”

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words.

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.)

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.”

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight. Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.”

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower.

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.”

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.”

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room.

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed.

“You came,” He says huskily.

“I did.”

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes.

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.”

“I know.”

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace.

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows.

But no sign of Sirius Black.

“Miss me, did you, love?”

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright.

“Merlin’s tits—!”

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.”

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.”

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!”

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—”

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.”

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.”

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.”

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.”

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!”

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.)

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again.

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him.

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet.

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss.

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.”

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.”

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—”

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.”

Sirius snickers. “How charming.”

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.”

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear.

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.)

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.”

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?”

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?”

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.”

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!”

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch.

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone.

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!”

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch.

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear.

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime.

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side.

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now.

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—”

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him.

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck.

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.”

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost.

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul.

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice.

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly.

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.”

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn��t have it any other way.”

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.)

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!”

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders.

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.”

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.”

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.”

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband.

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.”

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.”

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?”

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.”

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss.

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.”

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.”

BONUS:

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side.

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip.

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!”

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter.

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse.

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?”

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?”

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.”

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!”

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department.

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.”

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.”

Harry blinks. “Thanks.”

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words.

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?”

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

#poly!marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #lily evans x reader #hp imagine #hp fluff #hp angst #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders angst #marauders fanfiction #sunny's hp fics #poly marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x reader

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virgincels · 6 months

Text

JINGLE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, leon is creepy ngl, dub-con at first then consensual, daddy issues, you get compared to your mom lots, creampie, daddy kink

note. HAII sorry for this being late omg :3 umm this is weird and jolty and the plot im not totally happy with but :333 ignore typos or I will cry!! feedback and reblogs always so appreciated :3

tumblr removes fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that these fics contain dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Pumpkin!” Your dad’s embrace is stiff per usual. This guy - he seriously needs a lesson in intimacy. Can’t go hugging your daughter the same way you do a girlfriend. Dads shouldn’t put their hands below your midriff. They certainly shouldn’t grip your hips and pull you close with such fervour, now you’re tit to tit with the man who gifted you your pornstar rack. And it’s a bit awkward to say the very least.

“Hi, dad.” He backs off, skittish when he hears your tone of voice. Flat and clipped.

“Sweetpea, I’m so glad you’re here,” Leon starts, he’s laying it on super thick, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun.” Oh, you’re exhausted already.

“Mhm.” You nod in disinterest as you toe off your shoes, place them beside his mud-caked boots. Leon is your dad. Your dad is just a guy to you. One that’s around never, you see him seldom and from afar. He’s not exactly awful, but he’s nothing great. A little touchy if anything, and enthusiastic in a way that comes across as disingenuous.

The only thing you really know about Leon is that he’s your dad, he works with the government, and he’s still hung up on your mom. You can tell from a mile away. Looks at her like she crafted the earth itself, mapped out the stars, plucked them from the sky to make him a new moon. Totally whipped for a woman who forgets he exists until major holidays roll around. And you get it honestly, your mom is pretty, fun, and she’s all you’ve got. So you might take after dad in that sense.

You’ve seen the kinda women he brings home. That time you caught him mid disgusting, nasty, abhorrent sex act that you’ve only seen in porn. Had this poor girl’s head tilted so far back, blonde curls like liquid gold running along her back, brushing the swell of her ass, his arm wrapped around her neck - like, was he trying to fucking kill her? Well, she liked it clearly. That’s beside the point, when you saw her face the following morning, her sheepish smile and the slant of her eyes - you got it. Mom. She looked like mom. You overheard him telling her she was too young for him, a college girl, his daughter’s age - only after he came down her throat though. What a creep.

Then there was his girlfriend from a few years back, this chick who popped her gum too loud, bossed him around and got him to pay for a new set of acrylics weekly. It was uncanny the resemblance between her and mom. What next? You? Is it your turn to be pursued by Leon, by dad? The only thing you’ve got from him is tits, busty like your daddy, pretty like your mommy. And he fucking knows it. You know he does.

Leon places a hand on your lower back. Like, way lower back, the spot a boyfriend would touch when he wants to initiate a quickie. You shiver, glance at him through your peripheral as he guides you to the lounge, the wooden floor is so cold you feel it through the fabric of your winter socks. This dude is loaded and he can’t even get heated floors installed? Not even for lil ol’ you? His daughter? The one that resembles his one true love?

There’s a red box that contains a gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table, you groan inwardly. Here we go with the bonding activities, it’s so forced it makes your skin crawl. His Christmas tree is, well, it’s a tree alright, crudely and hastily decorated with a sparse amount of baubles and god-awful paper crafts you gave to him as a toddler. Aw, the sentiment is there though, kinda cute. You’ll cut dad some slack.

By the time midnight rolls around, you realise cutting dad even the slightest bit of slack was a mistake. “Take that off.” You jab a finger into his stomach, met with sinewy, toughened flesh. Woah, dad’s still got it going on. “It’s ugly, and I’m not twelve, dad.”

“Moving fast.” Leon - your dad, biological, held you as a baby, rocked you to sleep at night - wiggles his eyebrows at you. All while dressed in a Santa suit by the way, ‘cause that is one very important piece of information. He looks fucking ridiculous. It’s the same one he used to pull out when you were a kid, back when you actually gave a shit about him, what he thought about you, whether he even wanted you. ‘Cause if your daddy wanted you, why was he away so often? Told mom to jingle his balls once, an unsavoury recurring memory that you’d like to forget.

“Oh, dad, that’s actually really concerning, like, I’m not gonna lie.” You frown at him so hard the wrinkles that form on your forehead become permanent. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I was messing around.” He defends, “Christ, what is up with you today? Got a stick up your ass or somethin’? Y’know, in my day, kids used to be able to take jokes.” Now he’s pouting like a toddler in a sour mood.

“That was not a joke, dad!” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens and within seconds he’s sat on the couch dejected. This fucking dude. Ugh. He’s pathetic. How did he manage to bag a hottie like your mom?

“I just want you to love me, sweetheart.” Here we go again. Leon sighs hopelessly as he slumps back into the cushions, and you can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing a fucking Santa hat.

“I do love you, dad.” And you do. Honest. Really. Like, pinky promise. You love him out of obligation - he’s your dad, and you’re meant to love your dad. Doesn’t mean you like him though. In your very objective-totally-not-biased view, your dad is just a bit unlikeable. A bit of a strange one.

“Yeah?” He lightens up, “You love me?” God, it’s like he gets off on it. Oh, you’re just being mean now. You scoot closer to him, lean in for an awkward side hug.

“I do, dad. I love you.” You don’t have the courage to look at him. Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, and you know what’s coming. How much do you love me?

“How much do you love me?” Called it. Up until now it’s been a harmless question, but when you face him, gaze flitting from his eyes to his nose to his lips, the general wear and tear of his aged face - it’s different. This time you won’t be able to get away with the regular bout of flattery, wax poetry about how much you love him, how you wouldn’t want anyone else but him to be your daddy. When in reality, you’d swap out Leon for any poor sod. They wouldn’t leave you hanging so damn often.

“A lot, dad.” You turn your head to roll your eyes, getting it out of your system proves worthy, now you can plaster your mommy’s smile onto your face, the one he loves so much. “So much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just don’t seem like it, pumpkin.” Leon gives you a sideways glance, “I’m trying… I wanna make it up to you, y’know? For how much I was away.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m over it.” You’re not. But, you’re good at pretending you are. “I don’t need you to make it up to me.” You do. Oh, you so do. You need it to a devastating degree. “Like, I’m not a kid, I don’t want Santa, and I don’t wanna make fuckin’ gingerbread houses, or watch Home Alone-“

“What, so you’re a big girl now?” He tilts his head to the side, there’s an edge to his voice that’s hard to decipher. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.

“Well, I’m not little anymore, dad.” You gasp when he tries to take a subtle glimpse down your shirt.

“I can see that.” Leon pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek.

“Yeah, and I saw that!” When you go to stand, his grip becomes almost crushing, wanting to hold you in place so badly. For a moment it’s scary, only for a moment, this is just dad. Just Leon. He’s harmless. As lame as he is, your dad wouldn’t hurt you.

“I didn’t do nothing, baby, c’mere, don’t be like that.” Dad pets your head, and it reminds you of your childhood bedroom. “I’m sorry, alright? I never spent Christmas with just you, and I wanted to make it good for you.”

“I know, dad, and I appreciate it, just don’t need you to get all weird about it. Like, we can just— we can just be normal about it. Don’t have to do all this shit, I just want us to be normal.” Normal, huh? Neither of you can do normal, and you’re fully aware of that. ‘Cause your dad is a freak, and you can’t exactly drain Kennedy blood all that easy. You’ll be your father’s daughter even when he’s dead. “Like, I really, I really can’t deal with this whole Santa thing, did you really expect me to like it? I’m not a baby.”

“I just thought it’d be cute.” Cute? What is cute about a grown man in a Santa costume that’s covered in a thin layer of dust, dug out from the boxes he still hasn’t managed to open ten years after the divorce? “Listen, baby, I’m sorry, alright? I’m real sorry, look at me,” Leon cups your cheek, stares into your eyes with his gentle ones, “Dad’s sorry, yeah? I’m just stupid sometimes.”

“You are,” you nod, “but, I’m sorry too.” No, you’re not. Just saying it so he doesn’t drag this on, so he doesn’t call up your mom and tell her you’re not having a good time. Then your mom will be down your throat, your dad’s missed you, and you missed him too, you should be nicer to him, he tries his best, darling! “You, like, went through all that effort, and I didn’t even say thank you, I just got mad at you— so I’m sorry, dad.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, shifts so he can bring you into his chest, cheek squished against one of his fat tits, god, why’re they so big, you swear it’s bigger than both of yours combined. “It’s alright, I know you’re growing up, and I’m sorry for treating you like a baby, it’s just, it’s hard ‘cause you’re my little girl, y’know?” Not true. You’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Dad is an acquaintance.

“Yes, I know, dad.” You blink at him, he melts, traces your cheekbone with his thumb. Thank god he took that dumbass hat off, you couldn’t take him seriously.

“Gosh, baby, you look just like your mama.”

“I know, dad.”

“Crazy, ain’t it?” Leon kisses your forehead, “Only got these from me, and nothin’ else, huh?” Dad gropes your tits. The man that put a baby in your mother, that baby being you, obviously, the man whose name is on your birth certificate— the man who has given you his name, is groping your tits. “Certainly not from mommy are they?”

You shake your head. In agreement though. ‘Cause you can’t deny it, your mom’s as flat as a board. It feels weird, yes. But not bad. Maybe you’ve detached Leon from the title of ‘dad’ to the point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s wrong, so you go to stop him, but he’s unyielding in his perversion.

“You look like your mommy down here, baby?” Dad asks, he cups your pussy through your jeans with his big hand. “Can daddy see?”

You shake your head again. Slowly. This time a flimsy no, one that teeters on the boundaries of a yes. You do owe him, you’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you arrived in D.C. Making a right fuss the moment you stepped through the door. Poor guy put the rather intricate gingerbread house all together by himself, he’s dressed as fucking Santa, all ‘cause he thought you’d like it. How bad can it be? Not like fucking your dad could land the two of you in jail, right? Well, it could, but that’s not the point.

“No? C’mon, sweet girl, dad just wants to see,” Leon’s plump bottom lip juts out, you kinda sit there for a minute, then lay back on the couch. What have you got to lose? You have no emotional attachment to this man. You do. It’s not weird at all. God, it’s so weird you want to claw your skin off. “That’s a good girl.” He butters you up while he unbuttons your jeans, taps your hips so you lift ‘em up and off they pop, jeans thrown to the ground. “Oh, look at her, baby, how sweet, just like mama,” Leon rests your left leg on his shoulder, holds the ankle of your right one to spread you open. “You think she likes it like mommy did?”

“How did… How did mom like it, dad— daddy?” You correct yourself, feel this horrible churning in your stomach. Both nausea and need flooding your shaky body.

Leon presses his wide nose to the bump of your clit through your tight panties, there’s a wet patch that seems to get bigger and bigger the more he sniffs around down there. He lifts his head, rests it on your thigh as he slides them to the side, sticky, gooey arousal stringing apart, sticking to the seat of your undies like PVA glue when he separates the fabric from your soaked centre. “She liked it real sloppy, baby.” With that, he spits on your drippy cunt, runs his finger through your folds, pinches your clit. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you just how mom liked it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” you tell him breathlessly, hands clasped together as you try to calm your nerves. The warmth of his breath on your puffy clit is enough to make you shiver, he spreads you open with his index and middle fingers, the tip of his tongue traces along the centrefold of your cunt. Then Leon grows agitated by the way your panties insist on snapping back in place, so he has a little wrestle with them and your limp legs, once they’re off he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. Santa’s back pocket.

Sweetly, he kisses your clit, sucks on it like he’s getting to the centre of your cunt, blows a raspberry on it - you’re so wet it’s pooling beneath your ass. Leon spreads your cheeks to lick into your cunt, press his nose into it real nice ‘n deep, smacks his lips against your fat pussy, stubble smeared with your slick. Leaking all over your dad’s pretty face, letting your dad tug your clit between his teeth and fuck his tongue into your tight hole. “Should stop shaving.” Is all dad says once you cream on his face, “Your mama didn’t.” Okay, didn’t need to know that, but here you are, dad’s fat cock hard and heavy against your thigh. So you guess fucking him comes at that expense - finding out all sorts of details about their wild sex life. To be honest, you pegged Leon as the kinda guy who knows what missionary is and missionary only, not that you ever thought about that before. He unbuckles his belt, unthreads the prongs from the holes one by one, and drops his red Santa pants. Good riddance.

“Dad,” you whimper when he sits you up, handles you like a dolly. The tight-fitted Santa coat stretches around his biceps when he scoops you up, puts you on his lap, gosh, you’ve never really noticed those. Maybe that’s what your mom saw in him. Big blue eyes and big tits and big fucking arms. This Santa attire is really fucking you up, it’s hard to take him seriously.

“Your mommy’s real good at riding cock, y’know that, pumpkin?” Leon squeezes your ass, you feel him. All of him. His clothed cock grinding upwards into your bare cunt, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he watches the way your lips squish together. Yeah, fat pussy, so what. Get over it, creep. “Best I ever had she was, best fuckin’ pussy,” he licks up the sweat dripping down your collarbones, “but you’re made for me, ain’t you, baby?”

“Yes, dad.” You don’t know what else to say, breath stuttering when he sits you down on his cock. Thick and fairly long in all the ways a dick should be, you suppose. Look at that, giving a review of your dad’s cock. How far you have come. Fucking degenerate cock critic. It sure does feel good, his tip nestled snug against your cervix, pulsing within the silky walls of your tight cunt. Feel every vein, how his tip leaks pre endlessly, how it twitches when you clench around him.

“Baby, you’re such a big girl now,” Dad kisses you smack-bang in the middle. On your pouty lips. The ones that remind him of your mom, same lips that sucked his cock in the marriage bed, same eyes rolling back into your skull when he begins to rock his hips into you. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t you? Better than mommy.” Almost, he wants to add. You know he does. He’s so predictable.

There are no words in your brain, only able to let out shaky breaths and the occasional yelp as he takes you, grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, wait, let me— let me-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he’s sliding you off and bending you over the couch. “Better like this.” That’s ’cause you look like mom from behind. Same hair, same hips, same perky ass. Leon fucks you harder, his strokes deeper, knocking his cock into your poor cervix with his brutal thrusts. Your nails scratch at the cracked leather of his couch, unable to help the way you moan for him, it’s so embarrassing, even more so when your hips begin to move on their own, fucking yourself back on dad’s dick.

Each thrust is harder than the last, god, is he trying to go through you? Put you in A&E ‘cause his cock got tangled in your intensities? “Is this… Is this how mom likes it, dad?” You manage to get out through a stifled groan, he digs his teeth into your neck, licks a stripe over the tender skin then tugs at your hoop earring with his teeth.

“Your mom likes it even harder, baby,” Leon snickers, “your mama is a dirty bitch.” You gasp, tighten around him involuntarily, your pussy behaves in mysterious ways. “She liked it when I did this,” his hand comes down on your ass hard, you squeal, almost lose footing and fall face-first into the couch cushions. “And when I pulled her hair, and slapped her tits, and spit down her fuckin’ throat.” Your mom is one nasty bitch, good on her. Personally, you’re new to it all. “You want that?”

“I don’t know, dad.” You say helplessly, thighs trembling when he reaches round with his nimble fingers to rub neat circles into your bud, so you come undone around his cock. Coat the shaft in cream, drip slick down his balls. You muffle your moans into a pillow, painted toes curling against the wooden floor, suddenly thankful for his lack of underfloor heating - ‘cause you’re sweating like a pig.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as he continues to fuck you through it, helps his little girl out by kissing the wet nape of her neck, a big hand on her waist to steady her. Sweat prickles your skin, jolting as he gives one last sloppy push into you, hips jerking as he unloads all he’s got to give and you milk him just right. ‘Cause you know, you’re his kid, made for him. That’s why he fits like a glove. Born to get your cunt bred by dad. You think he says your mom’s name into your hair, but you don’t question it, slumping over in exhaustion.

“Dad, can you just do me a favour and take that off, please? I’m really tired and it’s pissing me off.” You curl up on the sofa, uncaring of the seed that drips out and trickles down your plush thighs.. Leather’s easy to clean.

“Why? I like it. Don’t you think it’s cute, sweetpea?” Normalcy or what the two of you consider normal returns.

“No, take it off, or I’m taking the next flight home.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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optimist-pine · 2 months

Text

Dream

Summary: in which Daryl discovers something about his heart

Warnings: Typical TWD content

Word Count: 1,021

Era: Season 4, the Claimers

A/n: The most selfish thing I've ever written - but also my favorite <3

Wooden boards creak beneath the soles of his boots as he climbs the stairs of the cozy cottage. Beside the front door, using the wall as a brace, he toes off mud-caked shoes, adding them to the pile of others, all smaller than his own. Dried clumps of dirt scatter about, some falling through gaps in the porch to join the barren ground below. The lanky old tomcat abandons sunbathing to rub lazily against his pantleg with a purr, and Daryl appeases him with a good scritch under the chin.

The screen door is unlocked as always, and as he crosses the threshold into the home his heart settles into a comfortable lull. A breeze flows in through open windows, ruffling faded curtains and artwork made by tiny hands taped to walls; fluttering the pages of a book laying open and knocking over pieces of a board game strewn about the floor. It fills the space with the gentle sounds and smells of early summer. Blooming flowers and birdsong.

He sets his kill down as he passes through a kitchen that bears the remains of freshly baked muffins, few left intact in an abundance of crumbs. Out of a cooling teapot wafts a pleasant blend of lavender, cinnamon, orange, and clove.

He pauses for a moment before the back door, listening as laughter and high-pitched squeals echo just beyond it. Then, pushing his way to the other side, his heart leaps. He's barely taken a step when he's bombarded.

"Daddy!" Voices shout as a tangle of little arms entrap him, tiny bodies clinging to his legs and stepping on his toes. A baby's happy shrieks add to the clamor of giggles as he ruffles sun-warmed heads, attempting to tug his feet forward.

But then they get him down and he lands with an 'oomph' in the soft grass, sharp elbows and knees clambering across him like he's a new piece of playground equipment to explore. The dog's licking his face, and the baby's hands clap excitedly and now everyone's laughing.

"Woah woah woah, time out." And there you are. You lean over the chaos with a grin, the sun framing your silhouette as tree branches sway behind you. You smell like spearmint and lily of the valley, cheeks pink from working the garden, and as your hand comes to rest on the slight bump of your belly he knows he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Did ya leave somethin' dead on my table again, mister?" You question, hands moving to your hips in an attempt to be stern.

There's no getting away with denying it, so he'll plead his case instead. "Ain'tcha gonna help me out 'ere?" He asks, reaching a hand up to you.

You ignore it with a shake of your head. "Guilty men must pay for their crimes." With a sharp nod, you turn to the children. "Show 'im his punishment." You instruct, bare feet making way to gather up the baby who's beginning to feel left out.

Those itty-bitty fingers are too good at finding every secretly ticklish spot, and he can only hold out for so long before he has to wriggle away from their assault.

On his feet again, he reaches out and spins you toward himself breathless and spirited. "Guess if 'm already a criminal I migh' as well steal'a kiss." He says, moving his hand to cradle your bump and the little one growing inside.

"Might as well, huh?" You repeat, the smile on your face so radiant that when your lips touch an overwhelming contentment courses through him. A soft, pudgy palm lands on his cheek and the two of you pull apart to the wide eyes and dulcet coos of the baby. He cups his other hand around the little head, placing a tender kiss on top.

The little rascals waste no time returning to their ruckus, tugging at him to follow. "Daddy, c'mon! We gotta show you somethin'!"

"Yeah! C'mon, Daddy!" The voice cries.

But he's stuck in place, unable to move as everything begins to fade away.

... No... Daryl can feel consciousness pulling at him, roughly dragging him into a new day. He begs his mind to stay; to linger. He never wants to leave this moment, a memory of something that never happened - that would never happen. But he can't stop it and he wakes on the cold cement, eyes opening only to focus on the bloodied floor where a man took his last breath a few hours ago.

He knows now. He can't stay with these people. The desperate ache in his chest reminds him of everything he'll lose if he gives up now. Even if all he loses is a dream. It would be too much.

That night, ready to make his move and depart from the men while they're distracted, he hesitates, just for a second, his heart dropping suddenly into his stomach. It's Rick, and Michonne, and... you. Sitting on a log right there, so close, face illuminated in the flickering firelight. Even in the darkness, he can see the swell of your abdomen holding his future - your future.

Your eyes find him at the same time that the barrel of a gun is aimed at your head. He's never felt a fury like he does now, all-devouring and consuming...

When it's over, you pull him close, burying your face into him like you can hide away in the folds of his clothes and the beat of his heart. His arms wrap around you so tightly, and oh - how he wishes he could keep you right here, where he knows you'll both be safe and protected. But he can't.

You pull away slightly, just enough to whisper, "We're okay. We're gonna be okay."

He nods, one hand on your belly and the other bringing your head back to his chest. Just for one more moment. He desperately wants to tell you his dream. To tell you that he believes that too. But he settles for, "I love you."

Your voice echoes back, clear and true, "I love you too."

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 4 #optimist pine

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ewanmitchellconnoisseur · 3 months

Text

"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" - 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 Aemond x Reader

A/N: I had not originally planned on this being a series but the Aemond girlies loved the first one so here is a second as a lil gift. //Divider by @firefly-graphics & @cafekitsune

Summary: You wake up to unfortunate circumstances. It only gets worse when you finally get some answers. A dream confirms that whatever chance you had at having a normal life was gone.

TW: Blood, Death.

← Previous Part • Final Chapter →

Word Count: 3.6k (Not proofread, we die like men 🫡Im also just too tired I'll do it eventually🤣)

You yawned as you sat up in your bed rubbing your eyes. You look over to the spot Aemond was in and simply see a flower. Blushing you reach over and smell the flower.

You look over to the bath on the other side of the room and notice there's no steam coming out of it. You stand up and grab your robe off of the armchair next to your bed.

You walk over to the door after you wrap yourself in the armchair and attempt to open the door. You're shocked when the door doesn't open or move an inch.

"Hello?" You try opening the door again but they don't budge. "Is anyone out there?" You wait but hear no response.

You're unsure of what to do now. You look around your room for something to do. All that you manage to find are some of your old toys and unfinished projects.

You sit in front of the fireplace trying to think of what could possibly be going on. You remember a piece of the wall that could move and search for it, trying your best to remember exactly where it was. You end up finding it next to your dresser.

The piece moves easily and you reach inside. Your hand touches something and you instantly remember. You lay down flat on your stomach reach in with both hands and pull out the wooden box.

You're filled with nostalgia as you sit down on your bed with the box. You blow off the smoke and open it up.

Inside lies a small journal which you place to the side already deciding you have to see what young you used to write about. Inside also lies a small cushion you had sewn for you and Halaena's dolls. One of your teeth which Aegon convinced you to let him take out by tying it with string to a door.

You're confused for a moment at the last item. It's a black handkerchief with gold detailing. You pick it up and stare at it a moment before you remember.

Aemond had found you crying in a corner of the library covered in dirt, mud and God knows what else. He had asked you what happened and although you didn't want to tell him he convinced you too. You admitted that your brothers had joined Aegon in tormenting you by throwing mud at you insisting it was just a joke.

Aemond felt bad especially since he understood what it meant to be at the end of their cruel jokes. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the mud off of your face before walking you to his mother's chambers.

Alicent cleaned you off and got you a clean dress before seeking out the boys and your mother. All three of them were forced to shovel horse shit while you, Helaena and Aemond watched and ate cake.

The memory brought a smile to your face. Aemond had asked you for the handkerchief back but you told him you couldn't find it.

You pick the journal back up excitedly and open it up to a random page.

King's Landing 117 AC

Dear Diary,

Today my brother was born. Father named him Joffrey, I personally think his name is stupid but I held my tongue. Septa Anne would be proud. I went with the boys to the dragon pit today. It was awfully boring. Aemond and I watched while they got to practice commands. AND YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT THEY DID! They gave us pigs! PIGS! Called them the "Pink Dreads".

Sometimes I wish I could just gouge out Aegon's eyes and put them in his soup when he isn't looking...maybe I can get Helaena to catch a beetle for me...

Anyways. I went to the kitchen to get cake but then Harwin stole it! He said it was taxes? WHAT EVEN IS TAXES?

You can't help but laugh as you continue to read. You fall asleep while reading about the time Aegon fell out of a tree while trying to grab a bird.

You wake up and blink a couple times, clearing your vision. You sit up and jump back when you see Aemond next to you lying in your bed.

"Gods! When did you get here?" He has a smirk on his face as he continues to read while eating an apple.

"A while ago. You were sleeping peacefully I didn't wish to wake you." You nod and look at what he's holding. You quickly notice it's your diary and try to snatch it out of his hand but he's quicker. He clicks his tongue at you as you try to reach for it. "Im quite enjoying this. Listen to this one. Aemond gave me a flower today!"

"Aemond! Stop! Give it back" Your face flushes in embarrassment. "I was a kid!" He drops the apple and manages to grabs your hands with one of his and holds them down.

"He is so cute!" He looks back at you with a shocked expression. "You thought I was cute, princess?" Aemond pulls you to sit in his lap and you hide your face in his neck out of embarrassment. "Aemond smiled at me today!"

"Stop!!! Please I beg of you!" He laughs and puts the journal down.

"And this!" He lifts you out of his neck and waves the handkerchief in your face. "You swore to me that you lost it! Liar!"

Aemond begins tickling you and rolls you over caging you under him. He leans down and leaves a trail of kisses from your neck down to your collarbone.

"Aemond?" He hums back in response. "Why was I locked in my chambers?" He stops kissing you for a moment before he leaves a final one on your cheek and sits up.

"You need to break fast first...then we can talk."

Aemond calls for food and for your handmaids to prepare you a bath. You're shocked at first cause of how open he was about being in your chambers while you were fully undressed. You wanted to ask if the talk had gone well about the betrothal and if that's why he was ok with people seeing him here but you opted to wait.

He watches you eat occasionally grabbing slices of fruit off of your plate.

"If you want one you could just take from the tray you know?" He smirks as he puts another grape in his mouth.

"But they taste much better off of your plate." He leans over and bites the strawberry that you're holding.

"So." He leans back in his chair. "Are you going to tell me why I was locked in here?"

The atmosphere immediately changes and is tense. He sighs deeply.

"...King Viserys died..."

Your eyes widen and you drop the food in your hand back onto the plate. Your heart clenches at the news. You had spent much of childhood following him around, you had even willingly chosen to be his cupbearer in some of his council meetings simply because you wanted to be near him.

"...that doesn't explain why I was locked in my chambers Aemond. Matter of fact that is far from an explanation. If my grandsire died I should have been notified."

Aemond fidgets with his hands the same way Alicent does as he looks at the wall.

"Kepus. What are you not telling me?" He continues staring at the wall occasionally looking at you. "Aemond." [Uncle]

"Aegon was crowned king." He says it quickly with his head held high. "As the king's firstborn son, he is the rightful heir. He was crowned before the masses in the dragon pit."

Aemond watches as your breathing quickens and your facial expressions. Your lips are pressed together as you're clenching your hands so tight.

"Who made that decision?"

"It was the King's wish. He said it upon his deathbed to my mother." You roll your eyes and stare at the wall. There was a battle going on within your head. Part of you was understanding of the firstborn son point but the other part was devastated for your mother.

"Does my mother know? What of my grandmother? I was supposed to leave with her this mourning."

"...your grandmother interrupted the crowning. She was riding Meleys, many people died and just as many were injured." You cover your mouth with a shaking hand. "I believe she is already on her way to Dragonstone probably to speak to your mother..."

Meanwhile in Dragonstone

Rhaenys wasted no time heading straight for the princess. She had no time for formalities.

She walks into the room seeing them both by the fireplace.

"Thank you, Ser Lorent." Rhaenys stops at the head of the table. "Princess Rhaenys, might we hope for news of Lord Corlys' recovery?"

"Viserys is dead." Rhaenyra's face drops as Daemon turns around. "I grieve this loss with you Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father...possessed a kind heart." Rhaenyra struggled to comprehend what was happening. She knew her father would die soon but hoped she would be back to King's Landing in time to be there.

"There is more. Aegon has been crowned as his successor" Rhaenyra clutches her stomach as Daemon walks over.

"They crowned him?" Rhaenyra was looking off into space, grieving.

"How did Viserys die?" Daemon had a look on his face that no one could quite place. Was he sad? Angry? Or just plain confused.

"I could not say." They both look at each other.

"How long ago?" Rhaenyra asks.

"A day past, perhaps two. I was made prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations."

"Viserys has been slain." Daemon watches Rhaenyra.

"Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon." It was not a question, Rhaenyra already knew that it had happened.

"She did. I refused her." Rhaenyra let out a shaky breath.

"And yet you are alive." Of course, Daemon was skeptical, when was he ever not?

"The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys." Rhaenyra was still clutching her stomach.

"They crowned him before the masses." Rhaenys nodded.

"So that the masses would see him as their rightful King," Rhaenys responded.

"That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne. And you could have burned them all for it." Daemon's unknown emotion was now evident, he was angry, livid even.

"A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure. But that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house." She took a deep breath. "The greens are coming for you Rhaenyra. And for your children."

"M-my children?" Rhaenyra's face contorted in pain. "My daughter! You brought her with you?" Daemon stood straight up.

"Sadly...no...Alicent had her chambers guarded well and her room had no passages. I'm sorry. I did not wish to leave my granddaughter either."

"You left my daughter with those cunts?" Daemon walked around the table to face Rhaenys. "You left her to become a bargain in this war?"

"I did my best Prince Daemon. We have allies within those walls that can get a message to her. Once I hear word she is alright I will be sending someone in to retrieve her."

"You have done enough." Daemon pointed at her. "I will retrieve my child from the snakes you fed her too."

"Enough Daemon..." Daemon turned to face Rhaenyra who was now hunched over gripping the table. "The babe... it's coming..."

King's Landing

Aemond watched as you paced around the room. You had requested he leave you alone for the a day only allowing in your handmaidens and refusing to see anyone else.

Since you had called for him this morning you hadn't said anything in almost an hour and instead paced around the room looking for the words to start this conversation. Occasionally you would stop, point at him and open your mouth but then you'd scowl and resume pacing again. He could tell you were conflicted.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon, kessa ao sit ilagon? Before you burn a hole into the floor." [My Love, will you sit down?]

"Now is not a time for jokes, Aemond! Do you know what your family has done? This is an act of war! They have usurped the throne right out from under my mother's feet. If you think she will let this go easily- no, if you think Daemon will let this go easily you are all sorely mistaken." you begin pacing again.

Aemond stood up and walked over to you and grabbed your hands.

"Gīda." [Calm] He pushed a strand of hair out of your face. "Everything is going to be ok."

"What will happen to me?" The thought had crossed your mind many times as you wondered what would be made of you.

"My grandsire and the King have agreed to our betrothal. They will announce it as part of the terms if she agrees to declare Aegon as the rightful King and kneel before him and the council."

"Terms?" You back away from him letting go of his hands. "Our marriage would no longer hold meaning Aemond. It would be seen merely as something my mother won in bowing to Aegon, a spoil of war. Either way, she would never say yes."

"Then Aegon will marry us anyway." He shrugs and pulls you back into him as if none of this bothered him. "He is my brother and he knows of the love I hold for you."

"And if I say no?" His face became stern.

"You wouldn't hurt me so."

"You mean the way that you have today?" He sighs deeply. "Why did you not come and free me from my chambers?"

"Because I knew you would leave at the first chance." You look away from him and he turns your face back towards him. "You're mine and I wasn't willing to risk losing what is mine."

You would typically enjoy this possessive air around him but you currently found it suffocating. You wanted nothing more than to put space between you but he was holding you tight against him.

"Aemond. This is not right. You must understand that?" He rolled his eyes and let you go.

"Who sits on the throne is none of my concern and not on my list priority."

"Then what is?" You step towards him angrily.

"You!" he snaps. "You are my only priority. If you say no to marrying me then you will be made prisoner here. You will spend the entirety of this war locked in here." You could tell he was being truthful. "Marry me and you will at least have some freedom."

"Some?" He walked back over to the table and sat down tired of this conversation. "What is some?"

"You will be allowed to walk freely around the castle with a guard of my choosing."

"And Vermithor?" You think of your dragon and where he could be. You had claimed him when you returned to Dragonstone after what happened at Driftmark. Aemond's bravery in claiming Vhagar led you to sneak into where he sleeps and approach the dragon yourself. You had also thought that if you claimed him you could ride to King's Landing and see him. You had learned the song Daemon would sing and tried singing it to him to calm him down. It worked despite almost being burnt to a crisp you had claimed him.

"I will visit him on Vhagar." He reached for your hand but you shied away. "You must understand that my grandsire worries about allowing you to have full freedom. After a while, you will be allowed to go riding."

"How long is a while Aemond?" He visibly gulped and bit the inside of his cheek. "How long?" Your voice was cold and made the hairs on his neck stand.

"Until you give birth to our firstborn." He said it quietly already knowing how you would react. It was smart you'd give them that. They know you wouldn't fly away while your child is in their possession. "My grandfather's decision not my own."

"And did you try to fight him on it?"

"Why would I?" He shrugged but soon noticed the angry expression on your face. "I want marriage with you, I want children." He tried to reach for you again.

"So do I Aemond! But not like this." You take his hand and he pulls you to sit on his lap. "I want us to marry because it is what we want. I want my mother to be there! This isn't the way I want to do this."

Aemond leans his head against your chest.

"My hands are tied, my love." You get off of his lap and walk over to the fireplace facing your back to him.

"I wish to be alone."

"Baby..." You hear him get up and walk over to you.

"Please go...now!" A few seconds later you hear him sigh and leave the room. You sit on the armchair and allow yourself to cry.

This was all too much for you. You worried for your mother and the rest of your family. Did they think you were a traitor now? Will they think you have chosen Aemond's family over them if you were to marry him?

You know there's no way your mother will kneel before Aegon, even if she decides to, Daemon would rather lock her in her chambers than agree to that.

How could they be so foolish? So reckless?

You walk over to your bed and lie down. You go over the pros and cons of agreeing to marry Aemond. You then think about ways you could escape. Maybe agreeing to a betrothal will at least get you the right to walk around, you could find your parent's allies within the walls and find a way back to them.

You can stall the wedding for a while. Aemond would understand you'd prefer to be married only after the war was over and your family could attend.

You soon tire yourself out with all this thinking and fall asleep.

You spend the next day alone in your chambers. Alicent had invited you to join her in breaking your fast but you respectfully declined. You needed more time.

You saw a boat sail out from King's Landing and knew it was most likely Otto heading out to deliver the terms to your mother. You knew it would not go well and they would be lucky if she didn't feed them to Syrax for their treachery.

It was only the following midday when you grew worried. You saw Vhagar fly away from the castle. Part of you wish you knew where he was going and the other part of you remained angry. You thought he knew you better, if he did he would have fought harder for your freedom right? He would have denied Otto's offer and not allowed him to make your marriage into something that they hoped would sway your mother into giving up her crown.

Gods you missed her, you prayed every moment for her safety. For all of their safety.

It rained that night. Something was off. You could feel it in your bones. You tried to sleep hoping it would calm your nerves. Your handmaid brought you tea to help you relax. You soon fell asleep but sadly even your dreams were disturbed.

You wake up on the floor of pitch black. Everything around you was dark. There was no light just darkness. You sat up and looked around.

"Hello?" Your voice echoed. You stood up and began walking around in the dark abyss not knowing where you were going.

"Gēlȳn enkagon jamela!" You hear Aemond's voice. [You owe a debt!]

You quickly turned around but nothing was there.

"Aemond?" You walked in the direction that you heard his voice. As you got closer you noticed your feet getting wet.

"Taoba!" You hear him again but in a different direction. [Boy!]

You turned again where you heard his voice and walked quicker in that direction. You felt something patter on your head and looked up. Nothing was there just darkness but you could for sure feel something wet as if it was rain.

There was a flash of a bright light to which you shielded your face.

"Daor Arrax!" Arrax? That's Luke's dragon.

"Luke? Luke, are you there?" You noticed your clothes clinging to your body as they were now soaked the scent of salty water filling your nose.

"Vhagar! No! No..." What had happened? Why was he saying no?

You look around you quickly trying to make sense of what it is you are hearing. The rain is heavier and you look at your hands. They aren't just wet...they're red. Your dress is now too stained red. You touch your cheek and look back at your hands and see the same red substance.

Something drops from above causing you to step back quickly. More pieces fall from the sky surrounding you. You shield your head and scream as the red rain grows heavier and more pieces fall.

When the rain softens and the sound of stuff falling ceases you open your eyes and look around you. Your face twists in pain as you see pieces of the body of Arrax surrounding you. It only gets worse when you see a human body part. You look closer and notice the hand.

"He got me." You hear his Lucerys voice and you instantly know it was his hand.

You wake up in a sweat your hair sticking to your neck and your pillow drenched. You look up and see Aemond standing at the end of your bed his clothes drenched.

And in that moment you knew.

The war had started.

A/N: So this is clearly turning into a series. Which I'm actually not mad about. Not sure where this is going but naturally the chances of any of this being 100% original is not possible. There are far too many HOTD fanfics for any ending or storyline to be original. I can only hope that it is 100% enjoyable.

I will still obviously do my best to come up with a unique ending but I feel like to have a unique ending people need to die. I need to start killing off characters like Grey's Anatomy 🤣

Anywho I hope y'all enjoyed this part! If you wish to be added to this Taglist or any other one please let me know!

Gen Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics

#ewan mitchell verse #ewan nation #ewanverse #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x you

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randofics · 11 months

Note

Hey, sorry to bother you. Is there any chance you could do some more writing on the fic about being able to reach where the bots can't? Maybe them seeking out more and more chances to get help with it so they can feel them again (once again sorry to bother im not used to doing asks lol)

My first ask that I've actually finished! It took a few days, but I got it done. Hope you enjoy this anon!

Being able to reach where the bots can't Pt.2

After the men on base found out you could squeeze into Optimus's engine space and reach where they couldn't, they would call on you for assistance quite often.

Once after a battle, they were giving Optimus a thorough lookover for any serious damage when someone spotted leaking enerjon pooling underneath him. There was enough for everyone to get a bit worried. One guy spotted you walking into the hangar and yelled for you. The tone of his voice was enough for your happy face to twist with worry.

You sprinted over and bent down to look where they were pointing. Heart tightening at the sight, without hesitation, you slid underneath him to look. Finding a dripping trail of the blue fluid, you sat up on your knees and leaned against the inside of his wheel. "I need some electrical tape!" A hand tapped your side, and you grabbed the roll immediately, pulling out a long strip and tearing it off with your teeth.

Reaching up, you felt for the torn cables and hoses. Finding a matching pair, you quickly pressed the open ends together and wrapped them tightly to seal them. You did that for the other ones till you didn't see any more bleeding. Your heart racing in your chest, you leaned back against the inside of his wheel again and asked for a clean cloth. You wiped your hands clean and gently cleaned any surface of his engine that had drying enerjon.

His shocks creaked as the tension in his frame was released. The cables still hurt, but with your gentle touch, that was quickly forgotten.

-------

Crosshairs didn't like the feeling of things stuck in his plating, but if it meant possibly getting you to touch him in order to remove it, then he could tolerate it. Now he didn't do it on purpose it really was accidental. Nevertheless, he called you over for some assistance in removing the offending plant matter.

Once again, you leaned over into his engine space and felt around for anything out of place. Feeling the soft texture of a leaf, you touched your way down to the branch it was attached to and gave it a tug. You managed to pull it free, but the end was broken off somewhere inside the mechanics of his engine.

He was too low to the ground for you to slip underneath, so you called another person nearby to get you a set of carjacks. A minute or two later, they ran up with two heavy jacks in hand. Laying on the concrete, you felt underneath his bumper for parts of his frame you could use to lift him. Sliding the jacks into position, you cranked them both a bit at a time till his front end was up high enough for you to safely slip underneath.

Flashlight in hand, you scanned the underside of his engine for the green of leaves. Spotting one poking out, you slowly pulled it till the rest of the branch came free. "Is that all of it?"

"Yeah, that feels like all of it." With that, you slid out from underneath him tossing the branch to the side and starting to release the jacks. They slowly racked down till he was on his wheels, and you pulled them away.

He transformed and tested his movements a bit. With a grumbled thank you from him, you went on with your previous work.

-------

Bumblebee had a plan in motion. He'd purposefully gotten dirty so you would help clean him. He waited outside the hangar for you to arrive and honked his horn to grab your attention.

When you saw him rolling towards you, absolutely caked in mud, you had to do a double take. "What in the world did you get into bee?" You chuckle, shaking your head at his antics.

"Can you.. wash.. me?"

"You have a wash station inside bee. Why do you want me to wash you?"

A voice clearly from an old movie answered you. "It's gotten old darling"

"So you just want to change things up a bit?"

A happy whirring answered you. You sighed. "Well, I suppose I have the time. Just park by the wash station so the hose can reach you. I'll grab some stuff."

"So, do you want the water cold or hot?"

🎶"Shawty fire burnin' fire burnin'."🎶

You let out a snort at his music reference. "Ok, hot it is." You sprayed him down, trying to remove as much dried mud as possible before using the sponges. Surprisingly, you got almost everything off with the hose alone. Dunking a sponge into your bucket of warm soapy water, you splashed soap over his hood, following behind with circular motions. Scrubbing anything too stubborn with a wet cloth.

He was definitely enjoying this. Your hands all over him and the warm water running over his plating. It was over too soon, though, and you dumped the bucket in the nearby drain after giving him a thorough spray down to remove any leftover suds.

"Sorry bee, you'll have to get your undercarriage cleaned in the wash station. It's too hard for me to wash under there."

"That's alright."

He watched you walk away through a set of double doors nearby and then drove into the wash station, letting it blast his undercarriage with cool water.

You chuckled to yourself as you walked down the hallway. You knew exactly why he'd gotten so dirty, and you thought it was cute how he tried to play it off.

-------

Rachet had gone out with Bumblebee and Raf after Optimus suggested he take a break from the deskwork to stretch his "legs". He'd grumbled about it but relented. When he returned, there was some mud splattered on his plates that he didn't pay any mind to. When Arcee commented on it, he brushed her off, saying that he'd get cleaned up later.

You arrived at base after bee picked you up from work. And as soon as you saw the grumpy medic standing at his desk with mud on his white and rusty red paint, you rolled your eyes. Figures he'd be too engrossed in work to even shower.

Motherly instincts taking over you called his name with no response. A little louder the second time. "Rachet!" He didn't look at you, but this time, he answered. "What? I'm busy!"

"You need to wash off."

"Can't right now, there's too much to do."

"Rachet, I will spray you if I have to."

"Sorry, still too busy."

You let out an annoyed growl. Then, an idea popped into your head. You ran off to find some tools.

Slightly out of breath, you placed the buckets on the floor behind rachet and dragged an extra long hose to the same spot after hooking it to a nearby spicket. Turning on the water, you ran to the end with the spray nozzle and, without warning, sprayed him in the back. He jumped, letting out a yelp at the cold water. Whipping around, he glared down at you.

"Hey, I tried to warn you. Now transform so I can get all that dry mud off you." He rolled his optics, letting out a grumble of annoyance. Relenting, he transformed, and you smiled in satisfaction.

"Just be quick about it." You got to work spraying him down and sudsing him up. You had to sit on your knees on his tire to reach the center of his hood. Your chest pressing into him as you reached for the awkward spot. Internally, he was freaking out about it.

This definitely felt nicer than the wash station, though, and eventually, he was relaxing on his shocks, enjoying your thorough cleaning.

Once you'd finished his chassis and tires, you put on some swimming goggles and slid under his side. He'd been so entranced by your touch on his panels that he hadn't even noticed you slip underneath him. When he felt your touch on his undercarriage, he jolted forward an inch in surprise.

"Woah, Rachet!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were under there." He tried to speak as normal as possible, but you noticed the slight crack in his voice. Gently, you started scrubbing the cables and other parts that made up his undercarriage. You immediately took note of how tense he'd become and listened to any sounds he made.

He kept as quiet as possible, but he was definitely feeling things he hadn't in a few centuries. Luckily, no one was in the main room of the base at the moment. Even so, he didn't want you or anyone else to hear the noises his body was trying to produce.

You could, every once in a while, make out stifled grunts and groans, which made you grin mischievously. Eventually, though, you had completely cleaned every inch of his undercarriage that your small hands and the cloth you used would allow. So reluctantly, you slid out from under him soaked with soap and grime all over.

You stretched, removing the goggles and ringing out some water from the bottom of your shirt. "Woo! Now I need a shower." He transforms, looking himself over for a moment. "Ahem, thank you, y/n." He held his fisted servo over his mouth, looking anywhere but at you. "I could tell you enjoyed yourself." He looked at you wide optics, and you grinned up at him, giving a wink and walking away to take a shower of your own.

#fanfic #transformers fanfiction #transformers x reader #optimus x reader #transformers #transformers prime #tf bayverse #bayverse crosshairs #bayverse bumblebee #rachet #tfp ratchet #pt.2 #ask

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nekassvariigs · 1 year

Text

Portgas D. Ace x reader

Make him at home will you?

Fluff

(Mentions Whitebeard at times)

He stormed off in a hurry, his mind scattered in a million pieces unable to solve itself.

"Im gonna find him." He was strongly determined to find the man who claimed to be the strongest and beat him, claiming his spot.

"Enough already, join me, become my son." the tall male offered him his hand, which he looked at in digust.

Who do you think i am to accept something like this. Your son? me? dont be stupid old man, i could kill you.

"Let me raise you to be the strongest." His spear drummed on the ground his solemn expression waiting for the raven haired boy.

No way in hell-

Was the last tought he was capable of thinking before his eyes lost sight of the world, hands trembling to uphold his weight.

"Is he gonna be alright pops?" You asked standing next to your capitan. Much like the boy before you Whitebeard was a man with a simple dream, to have a big family, he added on to it generously no matter who called him a devil, a monster a soul-less pirate.

"Yeah, i went easy on him, kids got spunk. Take him in boys." A couple of men accompanied the teen raising him over their shoulders as they dragged him onto the ship, his crew left stranded without a capitan, he let them off easy.

He was plagued with a nightmare, like a sadistic never ending dream, a figure resembling his own telling him he's not worth a good fight, he should have died before even reaching this place. He cant even stand up for himself. Hes a failure, who could love him, have him as a son.

He winced in his sleep clutching his yellow shirt tighter. A bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. His hat drowning out the noise of his sniffles.

You hated to pity a man so broken knowing fully well what it would do to him if he saw the way you looked at him, like an abandoned dog, starved for a home , a place to belong, it sickened you just thinking what could leave a boy his age so fragile.

"He's got a good heart.." you smiled, a pair of men quirking their brows at the way you looked at the captive. The stew you were stirring bubbled, spices and cooked roots lingering in the air.

"Please.." he held onto himself like he was the only one able to help it.

You layed by his side, his scrunched up form twitching each time he had a flash of self doubt.

"Shh.. Its okay.. shhh." you hummed to him placing his hat onto your lap, the two upturned smiley pins staring at you.

"Must be tough huh.." you stroked the metal pins scraping off any built up mud on them. He stayed still for the longest time, it was nice seeing him not be afraid of himself even if it was just a nightmare you guided him through.

He felt a light scent like flowers but a bit stronger, the mirror image of himself looked forward in the horizon of this odd warmth, it had been a long time since he felt a gentle touch.

Your hands raked through his dark unruly hair, your hand often times going to cup his cheek for a while before you resumed combing his hair, he felt like babe, so fussy yet so easy to calm. His knees slowly fell into your lap you hummed a song. The melody was warm and blissful resting the boys fears for a bit, he couldnt even begin to stop you from your song, that is until he smelled the stew boiling.

"Something smells amazing~!" his eyes shot up startling you as he booked for the pot, puring the hot contains into his mouth without thinking.

"AAAgh, its like molten lava." he huffed and puffed, the damage was already done, his tongue burnt his throat sore you chuckled at his antics.

You came behind him taking him by his waist you plopped him by the table.

"Of course its hot, it was boiling a second ago." You lectured him nodding your head on the obvious conclusion.

"I want more." he seemed unfazed eyes sparkling as he stared down the pot infront of him.

A huff of breath escaping your nose you poured the boy a bowl.

"Eat carefully please." you told him clipping his hair back from his face.

An odd fuzzy feeling overtook his stomach he tought it was the food paying no mind, it was good thats forsure.

"Seconds phlease!" he slammed the bowl down in a hurry still chewing on the potatoes and meat.

"Youre still eating!!" You yelled telling him to not talk with his mouth open, he snarked a bit chewing his food in a gulp.

"Seconds please.." he was a bit droopy, however, the second the bowl got refilled his eyes light up in a new light full of energy.

"This is really good-" he praised your cooking his head nearly slamming into the bowl you caught him in your palm.

"He fell asleep..!" you had a ghastly expression on your face, his cheeks stuffed with your cooking the boy was dead asleep, still holding the spoon strongly in his arms like a kid refusing to let go of his favourite toy.

"What an odd guy." you chuckled thinking to yourself you took enough time as needed sitting beside him to let him rest his head on your shoulder, a big snore bubble inflating from his nose every now and then.

Nothing, he woke up dreaming of nothing, thats a first. He awoke with a loud snort follwed up with a big yawn as he scratched his back. "What a nap." He wiped his face on your apron crumbs of food still on his face.

"Here let me help you." You took his face covering your fingers in the cloth, the boy had beautiful freckles on his cheeks slanted dark eyes staring at you as you wiped the crumbs from his mouth.

His heart pounded not able to understand what he was feeling, this warm churning in the pit of his stomach, drove him a little nauseus and scared.

he gulped slowly eyes tracing your features. He took in your gentle smile the way your hands moved across his cheeks, it was an all too odly familiar feeling.

"Thankyou-!" his voice cracked a little embarassing him, a slight blush staining his ears.

You chuckled seeing how goofy he was.

"You're always welcome.." you paused wanting to thank him however you still didn't have his name, the old man didnt fill you in on that.

"Whats your name?" You asked hands on your lap as you looked at him wolfing down the food.

"Ace. Seriously this is some good food." he licked his lips scraping the bowl clean.

"Want another fill?" You grabbed his bowl before he ate it in his food haze, he followed up with a nod, steaming hot fudge filling the bowl for the third time.

"A guy like you sure can eat."

"Ofcourse, i wouldmt be so shtrong if that wasnt the cashe." He patted his stomach, a piece of meat dissapearing within seconds.

When it came to food he wasnt joking around, he continued emptying the entire pot all on his own , leaving you to wonder where can so much food dissapear into.

"By the way Ace, do you mind helping me clean up?"

You took his bowl rinsing off any grease, your body turned against him he inspected you with wary eyes.

"Wheres the old man?" He puffed as much as he'd love to help he still had a thing to do.

You sighed remebering he's still a hotheaded brat thinking idiotic things at a time like this.

The men around the hall circled around Ace towering over him by atleast a foot.

"I'll let you have it." he smirked putting on his cowboy hat, a flicker of flames engulfing his hand, the men were scortched within a second.

"He's on the deck, don't go thinking you can just run up at him though." You scolded him looking at the bodies splayed under your feet.

"Hey," you kicked the shoulders of the men, all of them wincing from your kick, "Those who dont help dont get to eat." All of them got up groaning.

"Ya think the kid will be able to get a punch in?" One of them said causing you to smile.

"Only if hes dumb enough to fly off the ship, dont think he can swim can he?" The lot of you laughed, men helping you out in the kitchen to clean up their own mess'.

You dried your hands on your apron, setting it on a hook before you went to grab a first aid kit.

"Go take a bath all of you, you smell like burnt chicken." you instructed the lot, who looked at eachother a little startled, each of them smelling the air around them.

"Hahaha! So it is." Their hearty loughs echoing out of the room they followed behind you until the stairway to the deck.

Seemed like nothing had taken place, the old man was still slugging his drinks, compleatley unfazed by anything. You gave him an unimpressed look, he shrugged at you eyes pointing at the boy.

His body seemed a liitle beat, a trickle of blood dowsing his lips. You took out some gauge wiping it all away.

He came to, his eyes flaring red. He lunged at you thinking youd be there to attack him.

You let him slug a hit on you, your cheek sore from the punch. Seems he realized you werent the taget since he didn't bother to use any flames.

"Oh shit.. I am so sorry.." He helped you up, Whitebeard sternly looking at the situation at hand from afar.

"Let me help." he offered grabbing anything from from the kit trying to be of use. He felt a bit of shame to him having punched someone who treated him so kindly before.

You took him by his wrists, the cotton, gauge and rubbing alcohol strongly held in his hands.

Idiot, what were you thinking? How is she going to be looking at you now. Look at yourself you ungrateful brat-

"Ace!" You shouted snapping the boy back from his blank expression, the way he stared at you looking regretful afraid and unworth simply broke you.

He lowered his head items dropping beside you.

"Its alright, you should have seen the amount of fights i have been in, i come out with more than a hook to the face." You chuckled hand to your face covering your mouth, his arm dropped to his lap slowly the second you let go.

He still felt guilty. "Hey Fire-first, anyone home." He pouted at the nickname your hands calmly combing through the tools he dropped, you cleaned up his hands, which looked fairly enough rough. He had scabs on his knuckles, cracking ones at that.

"Youre a hard worker huh?" You applied some ointment on them bandaging them carefully.

He didnt get it. Anyone in their right minds would have hit him back threw him out what were you doing calling him nicknames taking care of bruises he had before he even was here.

"Ace, were a family here."

"Like hell we are-" he sucked in his breath his eyes growing a bit cold.

"Its true you know, we take care of our own." You pointed to his hands neatly wrapped in bandages.

"Eugh, i smell like an old lady with this." he gagged avoiding the obvious.

Anyone withing ear range laughed Whitebeard's face softening by your interraction.

"I know, usually sucks to walk around in it, give it a few days youll be good as new though." You smiled, the apples of your cheeks making your eyes squint.

His heart had a beat deeper than usual, he didnt respect the old man but settled on trusting you for guidance, atleast till next time.

It was a subconcious decision he had made trusting a pirate he knew nothing about so freely but the hold he had on his mind lessened by a bit the more he took shelter within you.

You left him be for a bit, he seemed to have alot on his mind the way he politley excused himself.

You stormed to the old man snarking and biting words at him. "What were you thinking throwing him across the ship like that!?"

Whitebeard listened the scrunch in his brows growing.

"Dont give me that face, the brat ran at me with a mace, what did you expect would happen?" He rested his hand on his leg leaning toawrds you.

"Youre a pain in the ass, you know!" you whisper yelled at him causing him to laugh.

"Thats a first from you." he adored the look of care in your eyes, however he couldnt contain the urge to want to show Ace the world either.

"Wont be the last either, dont fling him off like he's trash." You barked the heel of your sole hitting the deck in thuds.

"Stop worrying, he'll learn soon enough-" his expression grew sour you heeled his boot aswell.

Ace watched you from a distance hands on the rails he looked at the outburst unable to hear what you were talking about.

He sighed taking in the view of the sea the many people abroad, he faced backwards staring at the sun instead, the washed up waves sparkling in the daylight seagulls cawing midflight.

"Maybe its better here? Ah who knows what i'll do here even." He still held doubts.

He glanced back seeing you midair held by the gigant mad who humiliated him before.

His mind grew blank for a bit, legs sprinting for you before he even knew it.

A fire dousing your frame from behind whitebeard hit the air cracking it.

The attack was avoided however he was fee feet behind.

"Let her down!" he shouted amusing the man.

"Shes not hostage here, calm down." your head drooped like you were hanged on a coat rack to dry.

Whitebeard complied having no need to cause a ruckus, however it left a bittersweet feeling in his heart.

"Whatever my son wishes." he slowly put you down however dropping you nearly on the teens head.

"Woah-, wait!!" he circled around you swooping you in his arms to break the fall.

A sense of pride welled up in him knowing he did some good by you.

"Thank you, Ace."

Whitebeard respected his devoition of saving you instead of breaking a fight ,seems he hit the nail on the head here.

"Don't mention it." He said his freckled face covered red.

You slinged an arm around his shoulder making him stiffen up.

You laughed watching the faces he made.

"You can set me down if its too much."

"Huh, no not at all.." He still held you subconciously not even registering the fact you told him to be put down, he glared daggers at the old man for the stunt.

"This kid sure is something, Gurarara~!" Whitebeard laughed the picture of Ace tomato red whilst glaring at him with deadly intent was pure gold to him.

He looked like a stray cat who got mad that he has been given attention to.

You tapped his back your face coming to his periferals his eyes adverted Whitebeard focusing on you.

"Set me down." you smiled gently at him thankful for him catching you.

"Hmm oh sure." He plopped you down nonchalantly. Though he hated the idea of it eventually.

Few days past since him joining and yet everyday he came knocking by your door, bruised and bloody.

He explained himself each time you sat him down on the chair besides your desk.

"You gotta stop going after him, I can see how much you'd love to take him down, but he's not even fighting you, don't take a beating for nothing." You cupped his face dabbing on the alcohol on his cut up brow.

"Im not doing it for him." He spoke up wincing at the pain.

"Then who for?" you quirked a brow at the remark setting aside the bloodied gauze.

"Don't know." How was he supposed to start explaining that everytime he'd catch himself in a fight he'd always go look for you first thing. Feeling proud to see you doing well and happy while taking care of his dumbass.

You set off his hat dropping it so the string around his neck would keep it in place.

You raked your hand through his hair checking if he perhaps got any beatings to the head.

Your hands rummaged his hair as he sat patiently, enjoying the tickling sensation.

"Ace, i don't want to be rude, but when was the last time you showered, your hair is all greasy, not to mention uncombed." You stuggled to free your hand from a couple of his locks. The teen blushed compleatley embarrased by this confrontation.

"Fewdaysago?" he answered quickly getting the issue out of the way.

You hummed for a long time before taking to your closet to bring out a few towels.

"Lets go grab ourselves a bath." You threw him a towel which he haphazerdly caught comepleatly stuck by what you said.

"Come on lets go." you pulled him up leading him to the showers to change.

You stripped covering yourself with a towel you entered the tiled baths running some hot water in big bowls.

Ace in the meantime sat there compleatly frozen in his changing room dreading to go in. He pulled himself together stripping, he set his hat over his clothes.

"Took you a while." you laughed rubbing the sponge over your arm, towel covering your body.

He didnt say much his heart hammering in his throat as you washed away the soap with some hot water.

You stood up grabbing a smaller cup of water, you gently poured it over his head.

He leaned his head down letting the water drip to the floor from the ends of his black hair. He wasnt sure why he allowed this, but it felt nice being taken care of.

You grabbed the soap lathering it on his head your fingers massaging his scalp.

He had a drowsy smile on his face, his elbows on his knees he slouched forward, the bad thoughts leaving his head one by one.

"Face up please." you instructed his head raising back his hair caught in a mush of bubbles you chuckled.

He opened one eye stifling his smile as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror aside him.

The longer he looked the funnier the feeling in his chest grew, he laughed whole heartedly seeing how you had given him a hairstyle that matched the ships doctor.

The two of you stood there as Ace approaced the mirror giving himself a big bubbled mustache.

"Damn brats." he mimmicked the Capitans tone making you errupt in laugher. He felt giddy seeing you laugh your heart out, just a few days ago he was thinking how thankful he was for you now he could feel the feeling growing even more so.

You quickly wiped his fake moustache saying how little it fits him, instead you gave him a long beak and puffy bubbly feathers on his head telling him to squint, he didnt get it yet but the moment your face light up in laugher he bursted out laughing aswell.

He wrapped his elbow around you cooing like an obnoxious chicken, you could barely hold up straight from how much your stomach was hurting from all of the laughing.

"Please no more-Ppffttt." he kept adding onto the act until you were doubled over from joy.

Your face doused pink from all the laughing you instructed him to finnally lean his head back as you still held a smile to your face. You ran the warm water through his hair watching the bubbles fall down his back. He slicked his hair back with his hand, a gentle blush covering your cheeks as you examined his face.

It was so much different than the first day you saw him, he'd gotten a bit more tan, the freckles on his face a bit more prominent. But most importantly he looked a lot more on ease than ever.

You cherished the memory putting a hand around his brows to pour some more water so it wouldnt get in his eyes.

He sat there closing his eyes enjoying the warmth of your presence around him.

"Turn around please." he did as you said turning his back to you, he nudged away from the touch at first.

Your brow peaked.

"He's ticklish isnt he?" you thought rubbing his back with the soapy sponge, his slim figure really made you question where did all the meals you fed him go.

"Where does all the food go seriously? Youre skinny as ever." you spoke washing his lower back.

"Goes to the heart and soul." he smiled proudly as you staggered a bit. To the soul huh, you puffed happily.

"Im glad to hear that you like it so much, i made something sweet for later do you want some?"

"Will i get heartburn?" You tickled his sides from the remark causing him to shriek in surprise.

"Maybe from that you will". You pouted stretching his hands as you washed them.

"I'm kiddiing, i know you make some killer foods." he chose the worst time to flap his head around the water splashing everywhere.

Warm water running down his back and arms he felt squeeky clean even going as far to drag his hand across his arm only for it to squeak along.

"Fresh n clean now huh?" he showed his smile bright theeth glisening in the light.

"Sure are."

He felt a little shy to ask but it would only be common courtesy since you offered to take care of him.

"Can i wash your back aswell?" he waited before going on in a tangent.

"Sure you can, just make sure youre careful around the mark, it's still healing."

A mark huh, he was interested.

He nodded exchanging place with you he looked away while you switched up your towel covering your front.

A large tattoo on your back with the all too familiar moustache, to say he saw surprised would be something.

"Woohoaa, Thats huge, does it hurt?" he eyed it throughrouly the ends of his fingers gently glossing over it, tickling your skin.

You found his amusement sweet explaining to him "Not now no, but when i had it done it was a bitch." You chuckled allowing Ace to scrub your back, he was a tad bit quieter than usual mostly hiding the fact he's nervous in the first place but common courtesy goes he can't be backing away from it.

He poured some warm water over your back it trickled gently down your curves, Ace's mind wandering back to when him and Luffy were thrown to bathe.

He offered to wash your hair aswell, you let it fall down to your back. He seemed to know how to take care of longer hair, he made sure not to tangle it too much , massaging your roots first then messing around with the rest.

He did however swipe his bubbly fingers across your face giving you whiskers.

You chuckled looking in the mirror as he washed your hair out.

"Ace look."

His head turned to the mirror to see you giving him a cat impression.

His eyes widened water trickling from the cup in his hand. His cheeks flared for a second only to press the back of your head against his chest.

"You're now a kitten huh?" he smirked sploching a bubble on your nose. Your head slightly shaking against his laugh.

You rested your head against his chest, the fuzzy feeling in his heart rising as he wiped away the stray bubbles.

He was glad to have you chat him up everyday, show him around, take care of him, make him hot meals and offer baths. What did he do to deserve you.

His solemn expression radiated through the room as he watched you, unable to be thankful enough for your care.

"All done!" he smiled proudly as you thanked him the both of you finishing to wash yourselves up.

You changed back drying your hair as you waited for Ace back in your room. He didn't arrive until way later , blasting through your door with a flower he stole from the greenery below deck.

He hid the flower behind his back his damp hair rested behind his ears.

He huffed and puffed starting a little speech. "I know how much you've done for me, so, i got something for you aswell." he held out the flower his chest rising from the running he must have done to not get caught.

You tilted your head to the side accepting the flower and giving him a warm hug.

"Thank you." You held him by his waist careful no not scrunch up the flower he got you.

He chuckled slowly resting his face in the crook of your neck, his arms lazily wrapping around you.

He stayed that way for a while enticing you in a tight embrace. You could feel his hands heat up however the hottest part of his body was his chest right shere his heart was.

You rusled through his hair his body shivering slightly from the affection you gave him. Your head rested on his as you took in the moment.

It was silent, pleasant, sincere. He felt like he was in a dream , he wasnt questioning himself for what he had done, he only knew that he did the right thing when he chose to thank you for everything.

He sniffled against the crook of your neck, your face growing worried.

"Are you okay?" You brushed his back comfortingly he pulled away with a big smile along his teary face.

"Never been better.." He wiped the tears with his hands letting you go.

With a gentle smile you tucked the flower in a vase, ushering him to sit by your desk.

"Remember the dessert i told you about? I wanted you to be the first one to taste it." You revealed a beautifully crafted dish, it was coated with hard caramel on top a squishy cream filling and an orange puré aside.

"Im surprised youre not a top chef over here. Holy shit." He eyed the dessert taking a bite, his whole face lit up in a pudgy smile as he scooped more of the dessert in his mouth. You knew he wasn't one to take his sweet time with food, so seeing him eat it as fast as he did was a pleasure non the less.

"I wish i could ask for seconds. That was something out of this world seriously." He licked the plate setting it down. Still sucking the spoon he ate it with.

"I'll share mine with you?" you asked him, his eyes glimmered at the thought alone.

"Sure!" The two of you shared the dessert however you had to spoon battle with Ace to protect your side.

Taking the last scoop in your spoon Ace looked at you with pouty eyes. You leaned the spoon to your lips turning it to his instead.

"Here here." You smiled seeing him wolf down the piece.

The second he was done he thanked you for the meal quickly exiting your room with dishes at hand.

He dissapeared for a few minutes again, you thought he may have fell asleep on the way.

Minutes later a knock was at your door, you opened it again.

"Im back!" he allowed himself in plopping down on the bed since he didnt have a room yet.

He stared at the celing for a bit before looking at you.

"Can i stay over, just for tonight? I'll be out before you know." He claimed sitting up straight in your bed.

You thought about it for a while seeing the waves crashing outside, that wouldn't make good space to sleep.

"Stay as long as you'd like." You smiled seeing him waltz over to the couch in your room. He puffed up a stiff pillow laying down.

"You have no idea how annoying it is to sleep with everyone else, they snore on opposite breaths. So imagine the entire night all you hear is constant snoring." He yawned rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

"Ace.." you wispered hoping to god this rascal wasn't intending to sleep on the couch of all places.

He hummed back lazily watching you.

"There's no way you intend sleeping on that, right?"

"I do, where else would i sleep?" he asked you.

You giggled at his antics pointing to the comfortable bed he prevoiusly lazed upon.

His jaw hit the floor for a second before he snapped back. "Youre joking." You sat back in your bed.

"No I'm serious, come on, sleep comfortably atleast." You patted the place beside you as the male moved to sit on his side.

"Are you sure?" He asked not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

"Im sure, just relax and make yourself at home." He took off his boots with a slight flame he raked through his hair to dry it not willing to sleep on a damp pillow, he laid under the covers his arms behind his head.

You were in a slight daze at how quickly he did everything it left you amused. "Could you do that with my hair aswell?" You asked watching him prop up. "Sure, hop on." You sat before him, his arms heated up as he brushed his hands through your hair, steam rising from it, minutes later he finished messing with your hair letting it fall freely.

"Thats one handy trick right there." you admired his skill.

"I know right, youd be surprised to know how much i can do." he smiled proudly at his quirks, he discovered his abilites through various situations watching you listen to him rambling about his journeys made him feel right at home.

It was dead past midnight before he realised you were sleeping quietly beside him having fallen asleep by his tremendous stories.

"Like a kid." He snickered shoving a cover over your shoulders for warmth he doze off few minutes later himself.

For the first time in a while he slept soundly thoughout the night, he had a few dreams that were worse off however once he reached around the bed wrapping his arm around you they seemed to fade away quicker than before

You woke up that morning feeling a warm hand around you, you turned to face him, he was dead asleep, snoring lightly and peacefully without a care in the world.

The longer he stayed on the ship, fighting less with the old man and getting to know everyone a bit better, his sense of self seemed to develop a bit more.

He still had him bad dreams at times but having everyone near him meant the world to him, esspecially you, even tho he was slow with the upkeep of his problems with you, each time he came confessing his mind you shared a deep conversation with him, offering him a meal, a warm bed anything to make him feel like he wasn't alone in this world.

#onepiece #onepiece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece ace #onepiecestories #ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas d. ace #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you #onepieceace x reader

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mytheoristavenue · 2 years

Note

Take ur time ofc!! And hope ur doin ok!! BUT PLEASE CAN WE GET ANOTHER PART OF THE DIRTY FIC, IM BARKIN OVER IT /POS

I got you! Also, this was my first One Piece ask, so thank you!

OP Perv!Usopp x Reader 🍋 - Filthy

Summary: You get a suspicion that it's not Nami that's been stealing your clothes, and you catch the real culprit red handed.

Warning: Bath sex, fingering, NSFW, MDNI, fem!Reader, perv!Usopp, switch!Usopp, porn with plot, petty/bitchy Nami, slight bodyshaming, soft dom!Usopp, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, very long, nasty language, teasing, fem!reader, petnames

Note: I used the diagrams of the Sunny as a reference for this fic and the previous one, which maps the bathroom out as a small room with just a toilet and sink, and a door that leads to a separate washroom. From what I could tell, the washroom is pretty much a one pool bathhouse, with a corner you shower in, so I wrote this with that in mind!

"Damnit, Nami..." you grumbled, sorting through your dresser, the clothes on your body caked with mud. The crew had docked on a small island, and since the town didn't offer any entertainment, Luffy decided everyone would rest on the beach. Suffice to say, being forcefully involved in a mud fight was not your idea of rest.

Rummaging a bit more, you growled, not finding any clean underwear. You were irritated to say the least. Nami always stole your clothes almost as soon as your bought them, but this time it was worse, considering Usopp, the sweetheart that he was, had just treated you to a shopping spree on the last island. Now you had nothing to show for it.

"I heard my name?" the woman strolled into the women's bedroom, arms crossed and brow cocked in an accusing manner.

"Yeah, 'cuz I said it." you snarled, glancing over your shoulder.

"And what's got your panties in a twist? Are you still mad that Luffy pegged you in the head with a ball of mud?" She snickered, laying down on her bunk with her arms crossed behind her head.

"No, I'm not!" you glared at her, before going back to your search. "And it's kinda hard to have my panties in a twist when you steal all my damn clothes!"

"What?!" she gasped, darting up with fists balled. "I do NOT steal your tacky ass clothes!"

"Oh, so what? It was Robin then?" You pressed sarcastically.

"Doubt it," she responded with a huff. "She couldn't even use your tiny bras as pasties."

"Nami!" you shouted, blushing from embarrassment and crossing your chest. "My boobs aren't small!" You shook your head, dismissing her judgement. "Wait, so if you're really not taking my stuff, who is?"

"I dunno," she sighed, reaching for a file and lazily buzzing her nails. "Maybe ask that idiot we call a sniper, he's so obsessed with you, it wouldn't surprise me if he stole your panties and hung them up on the wall."

"Don't say things like that," you scolded lightly, face still as heated. "You know I like him, that's not funny."

"It wasn't a joke." she corrected. "It's literally so obvious."

"I don't see how." you pouted, not trusting her one bit. You sighed, prying your soaked shirt away from yourself. "It's not as much the stealing that's my main issue right now, it's that I don't have anything clean to change into."

Nami rolled her eyes, tossing her hand in the direction of her dresser, using her file as a pointer. "Tell you what, as a show of good faith, you can borrow something of mine. Just nothing nice."

-----

Guilt began to wither away your insides as you trudged to the bathroom. You couldn't help but feel bad for accusing Nami of stealing your things, especially now that she was loaning you hers. You were very thankful for the gesture though.

Entering the bathroom, you set your things down on the closed toilet lid, before taking your hairbrush out of your hygiene bag and running it through your hair. You followed up with brushing your teeth, and you were finally ready you shed all this filth. With a heavy sighed you peeled your clothes away, tossing them into the hamper, before quietly opening the door to the washroom. You'd heard a bit of splashing and didn't want to startle whoever was enjoying a bath.

The person in question was mostly submerged in the steaming bathwater, facing away from your, but judging from the mess of jet coils that spilled onto the the steps of the tub, you could only guess it was one of two people, and you knew for a fact that Brook was on deck. "Oh, hello, Usopp." you chirped, smiling sweetly, and clutching the knot on your towel.

He jumped upon hearing his name, hot water splashing all around him as he glanced back timidly. "O-Oh, uh- hi, (Y/N)!"

"Do you mind if I join you?" you asked bashfully. "If so, I can just take a shower, I won't mind."

"You...want to take a bath with me?" Usopp's mind was racing, brain unable to contain all the naughty possibilities that could come of this.

"It is a community tub," you reminded him with an airy giggle. "But if you want it all to yourself, I completely understand! It is a nice tub."

"I want you-" he breathed, mouth hanging a bit. "T-To bathe with me, I mean. Shit, uh- no. I don't mind at all, please, help yourself." His hands trembled just below the water. He was always the worst at playing cool when under pressure.

"Thank you," you snickered. "Look away while I get in." You didn't have to ask, he hadn't been able to look at you properly since the moment he'd laid eyes on you in that towel, and he didn't think his heart could handle seeing you fully nude. Shedding your towel, you slipped down into the water, several feet away from him for the comfort of both of you. Once you were sure you were fully submerged, you sighed with delight as the heat in the water did wonders for your aching muscles. "Ahhh..." you sighed dreamily, filling your palms with it and smoothing it into your dirty hair. "That's so nice..."

He laughed nervously, peering over at you before instantly snapping his head away, seeing your arms raised above you, bliss coating your face. "Y-Yeah, it's super hot, I just ran the water a few minutes ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry! You hardly got any time to relax before I intruded." you apologized shyly.

"No, don't be sorry. I like your company." he confessed, his cheeks aglow, although barely visible passed his caramel skin tone. "Besides, I'm sure you wanted to get away from Luffy just as bad as I did, so I don't mind you hiding out with me."

As you massaged product into your hair, you couldn't help but beam at his sudden change in demeanor. This was the Usopp you adored, the sweet, fun guy that you loved talking with. It was almost jarring to see how nervous he tended to get, as opposed to how he acted around you most times. "I like that we can do things like this," you admitted, showing him your sweetest smile. "I'm always so comfortable with you, Usopp."

"R-Really?" he asked, chuckling nervously and itching his nape. "Ditto."

"I just really trust you, ya know? You just always seem to radiate this sense of security to me. Is that weird?" You asked, scooting towards him, if only by an inch or two, before dunking your head to rinse your hair.

Usopp began to sweat, from more than just the steam rising off the pool. There was no reason at all that you should trust him, nor be comfortable with him. He was a panty sniffing creep. Speaking of which, he held his thighs cemented to the step he sat on, praying to God that the special pair he'd been enjoying before you came in would stay buried beneath him. "I'm so glad you feel safe with me." he replied halfheartedly.

You couldn't place your finger on the reason, but something about the moment felt so much more perfect than other ones you'd had, where the opportunity to confess had presented itself. "Uhm, Usopp, there's actually something I've been meaning to tell you..." you trailed, floating over to sit right beside him now. He internally panicked at your closeness, and the possibility of your hand or thigh brushing your submerged garments.

"O-oh, yeah? What's that?" While he waited for your big secret to reveal itself, he watched your cheeks take on an inflamed hue, eyes drawing wide as dinner plates. His worst fears became realized as a piece of pink lace drifted into his peripheral, floating between the two of you as an ice breaker.

"Oh my God, Nami was right!" you squeaked, snatching the underwear out of the water and inspecting them. "It was you all along!"

Usopp's heart raced as he struggled to find a reason for having them that wouldn't incriminate him, ultimately deciding on simply playing dumb. "W-Whoa, how did those get in here?" he laughed nervously, instinctually scooting away, until he hit the corner of the pool.

"Usopp..." you growled angrily. "You've been stealing my clothes, haven't you!"

"W-Wait? No, of course not!" he sputtered, raising his hands in defense. "Why would I steal the clothes I bought you?!"

You stopped and thought for a moment, contemplating over his alibi, before coming to an infuriating realization. "You sicko!" you shrieked. "You've only been picking out clothes that you like to take, haven't you!? All the lacy panties and matching bras, the skimpy string bikinis, all the short skirts and crop tops- you've been dressing me up like your own personal doll!"

"I thought you liked those!" he defended, shrinking as drew near. "I-I swear, I thought that's what you liked to wear!"

"Yeah," you grumbled. "I liked wearing them because I thought that's what you wanted me to wear!" You expression fell from anger to sadness as you backed away from him and sat facing your lap. "I just wanted you to think I was pretty. I thought that...if I let you pick my clothes, maybe you'd find me more appealing."

Usopp could feel his cheeks and ears heat up with your revelation and he guiltily swam towards you, pressing a comforting hand to your shoulder. (Y/N), I do think you're pretty. That's not the problem."

You glanced up at him through your lashes, sniffling. "I know I'm not as well endowed as the other girls but-"

"No, I don't care about all that, you're perfect." He confessed shamefully. "I'm the problem." Your stare bored holes into his head as he struggled to continue, knowing that you were waiting for him to elaborate. "I guess I've just liked you and wanted you for so long...I forgot to see you as a person and not as..."

"A doll?" you asked, looking up at him as he did the same.

"More or less," he confirmed. "I-I'm so sorry."

"Well," you began cautiously. "I can't say I didn't enjoy dressing up for you..."

"R-Really?" he stuttered, fully turning to you now, humbled by the vision of you leaning into his personal space with wanting eyes.

You nodded with a seductive smile. "had you asked, I might have even entertained the idea of modeling some outfits for you...privately." Usopp swallowed a hard lump as he watched you slowly rise from the hot water and inch closer. "I wonder what you did with my panties," you thought aloud. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I-I," he started, stopping short, eyes glued to your body as it slowly exposed itself. "I uh- jerked off with them?" he answered carefully, scared that this was some sort of trap. You shuddered at his reply, caressing your delicate hands along your sides.

"Did you cum all over my panties, Usopp?" You purred in his ear, leaning in close enough to touch him. He nodded shyly to your delight. "What were you doing before I came in here?"

"I think you know..." he murmured, humilated by your teasing.

"But I wanna hear you say it." you admitted, arms snaking around his neck, and legs dangerously close to straddling his lap. "Pretty please?"

"J-jerking off..." he breathed shakily. "With your panties."

"That's a good boy," you cooed, finally settling on his lap, your bare sex snug with his as your thighs provided him with excellent friction. His breath hitched in his throat as you grinded on him, his knuckles whitening from his grip on the step he sat on. "Don't you want to touch me, Usopp?"

"I-I do, more than anything," he sighed, throwing his head back a bit before raising it again. "But I shouldn't. This is a bad idea."

"How do you figure?" you wondered, 'accidentally' weighting yourself to put even more pressure on his throbbing cock.

"W-We can't do this and still be friends after," he rationalized breathlessly. "I-It'll be weird."

"Who said I want to be friends with you after this?" you giggled. "You're mine now. It's only fair considering how much hell you put me through." you smiled down at him, cupping his cheeks with one hand, making them squish. "Besides, I like it when things get weird." You leaned down and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose, trailing down his cheek, and then to his neck, where you stayed, peppering his throat with sweetness, pattern interrupted by the occasional harsh bite. You reveled in the lovely sounds he made for you, before ceasing your ministrations, so suddenly, he was still huffing from the ghost of your touch after it was gone. "That is of course, unless you don't want to be mine, in which case-"

"N-No!" he whined pitifully, interrupting you. "P-Please, I'll be good. I'll be the best boyfriend you've ever had! I-Ill buy you more clothes, and take you out on dates, and whatever else you ask!" his words spilled out even more desperately than he intended them to, which embarrassed him greatly. "J-Just please, I want to be yours, so fucking bad."

You couldn't help but giggle at his adorable groveling. "Awe, you want to be my little boyfriend?" you cooed, caressing his cheeks.

"Yes, more than anything..."

"Good boy," you praised, finally pressing your lips to his, while sensually rolling your hips against his. You loved the way he groaned into your mouth as you taught him how you liked to be kissed, sliding your tongue against his. He was new to this, and you adored that, taking the task of teaching him how things were done as a high honor. "Touch me, baby." You breathed against his lips, guiding his shaking hands to your flesh, and pressing them against you. He held perfectly still wherever you decided to place him, terrified to make a wrong move and have you leave him unattended.

With a little coaching, you were finally able to convince him to squeeze the fat of your hips, if only slightly. "That's it, baby. Doing so good." you eased, coercing him into exploring your skin like an uncharted island. You shuddered under his touch as his pads delicately grazed your nerve endings, reveling in the feeling of being in his arms, and all of your most sensitive parts just within reach of him.

"Can I-?" Usopp tried, parting from you with bated breath as his knuckle caressed the underside of your breast, his mind plagued by thoughts of all the perverted things he'd do to them if granted permission.

"Whatever you want, sweet boy. I'm all yours." you soothed, smiling down at him lovingly. "You don't have to be so nervous."

"I-I know," he sighed shakily. "I've just- I've never...done anything like this, ya know? I don't want to mess up."

"Well, I happen to know that you're a pretty hands-on learner," you giggled, rising against his chest a bit to tease him. "So how about you do what feels right and if I need to, I'll correct you? Think of it as..." you paused for a moment to find something he was good at to compare this moment to, tapping your finger on your chin. "Think of it as tinkering. Taking things apart, putting them back together," as you spoke, you hand snaked down to palm his erection, before taking hold of it and rubbing it against your entrance. "Figuring out what goes where, what things do."

After the inhalation of a sharp breath, for confidence, one of his hands slithered around to the back of your scalp to tangle digits in your wet hair, pulling you into a forceful kiss, while the other enveloped your breast entirely, simply holding it with the tiniest squeeze Usopp could muster. A surprised, but delighted moan escaped you, slipping past your unwilling lips and diminishing against his tongue. It was so jarring how he'd switched from squirming under your words to holding you so tightly, kissing you with such need.

Once he let you withdraw for a breath, you gazed up at him, eyes dripping with lust as you huffed. "Was...that good?" he asked bashfully, now reverting back to his previous demeanor.

"Do that again." you commanded, before squealing with joy as he pulled you back in.

-----

You whined loudly, drool sliding down your chin as you sat, still in Usopp's lap, this time with your back flush against his chest. Your legs were spread, with one bent and hoisted by the crook in his arm. You offered aid in the form of keeping your other leg at the perfect angle for him, as he sank his middle and index deep inside you. Your arms had long since locked around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as he worked you. You buried your head into his shoulder, your lips dangerously close to his ear, allowing him to listen to all your lewd noises without any other sound taking his attention away. "You sound so pretty, baby." he purred, curling his fingers against you.

The resulting moan embarrassed you, but it was music to his ears. Usopp had always been a quick learner, and it hadn't taken him long at all to realize what made you tick, what areas were the most sensitive, and what moves would numb your mind the fastest. He couldn't help but grin, recalling what you'd said earlier, repeating it for you as you submitted to his ministrations. "What's the matter? Can't handle being taken apart?"

"U-Usopp!" you whimpered, wanting so badly to scold him for making fun of you. It was humiliating how quickly he'd managed to change the dynamic of the moment. He chuckled in response, unhooking his arm and letting your leg fall lax before using his newly freed hand to play with your clit, while the digits of his right fucked you at an even rougher pace.

"What was that, baby?" he cooed, a cocky smirk spreading across his features. "Spit it out."

"B-Be nice..." you begged breathlessly, resting against him. "Please."

"Poor thing," he sighed, letting his pace slow to a near stop. "I'm sorry, baby, how can I make it up?" You struggled to catch your breath as his fingers slipped out of you. Though you couldn't see it, Usopp eagerly brought them to his lips, before sucking a bit of your essence off his previously clean skin. "Taste so good. I wonder if it tastes the same straight from the source?" His words stewed in your mind for a moment while his hand explored you further, action lulling as he allowed you decide what you'd have him do next.

"Can you..." you muttered, and overwhelming shyness taking over before you had the chance to finish. You buried your face in your shoulder before eagerly mumbling the rest.

"What is it, baby? Tell me what you want." he coaxed, one of his calloused hands reaching up to cup your breast, and the other sinking down to spread you out against the steaming water. "Whatever you want, sweet girl." he repeated your previous encouragements, adding to your humiliation. "I'm all yours."

"C-Can you please...eat me out?" you begged, peering up at him with a single pleading eye.

"I thought you'd never ask." he beamed, grabbing your sides and lifting you out of the water entirely, and setting you down on the top step. "C'mere."

-----

Tears had long since began to roll down your as you laid out on your back, palms bolted over your mouth in a half assed attempt to stifle some of your cries. Still in the tub, in the same spot he'd always been, was Usopp, ensnared in the most heavenly spot- between your legs. Ever great once in awhile, you'd mustered the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to catch a glimpse of him, but every time, his eyes would dart up to yours, your tingling flesh still in his mouth, and he'd utter the most guttural moan, brows knitting together. A part of you knew it was fake, but the arousal it gave you was far too intense for you to car.

After first, his skills were lackluster to say the least; shy and unsure. But you should have know he'd catch on quickly. Soon he was in sync with you, listening to your reactions to certain moves as if he were cracking a safe. If nothing else, Usopp was observant.

You groveled at the way he peppered kisses all around your thighs and labia, before so delicately spreading it with a slow, downward lick. Your skin felt like static as your hairs stood on end, and your lips let go of the most pathetic sound he'd ever heard.

Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what work went into the female orgasm, or how he'd know if you were having one, but he didn't' suppose it mattered. He wanted to be in this position as long as you'd let him; he was honestly doing it for himself more than you, so if he couldn't get you there this way, he'd would have been just as happy being your toy in any other way until he did.

By now, his name was just a ghost on your lips, as you were no longer able to form coherent sentences. Despite this, you still tried to call out to him. "'Sopp..."

With a final sloppy kiss to your sex, his head rose to meet your gaze, only to find you staring back at his with a tear stained face. You were overall a pitiful sight. "You okay, baby?" he soothed, reaching up to rub comforting circles on your tummy.

"C-Can't take it anymore..." you whined, sniffling as emotion over took you. Usopp immediately panicked.

"Oh God, did you want me to stop?" he stammered, terrified over the possibility of you, at some point revoking consent, and him not hearing. "I'm so sorry, here let me get you a towel-"

"Usopp...?" you interupted his worrying for finding something to cover you with by reaching out to him.

"Y-Yeah?"

"I need you to fuck me." you begged, putting on your most confident voice, which in reality, was just a touch above the whining mess you were a moment earlier. "Want you to cum with me."

It took him a moment to process your request, and for the butterflies to clear out of his stomach before he wordlessly approached you. When he was close enough, he gently grabbed your hips and moved you a bit further way from the tub's edge, before sinking down to his knees. Still silent and focused, his strong hands grabbed your ankles to toss your legs over his shoulders and he lined himself up.

"I need you to tell me you really want this." he finally breathed. "I'm totally fine with stopping if this isn't what you want."

You stared up at him through glossy, wanting eyes, thinking his offer over. Though you weren't a virgin, it had been quite a while since you'd had sex, and you were a little nervous, but the aching in your abdomen told gave you your answer. You needed him. "I-I do."

Dark and cloudy eyes studied you skeptically, not fully believing that you were confident in your reply. "Are you sure?" His continuous double-checking aggravated you, as your fists balled in frustration.

"Usopp, please just fuck me already!"

Without another word, or hesitation, he spat into his palm and smoothed it against you, before slowly easing in. You hissed as he stretched you out, eagerly waiting for the agony to melt into pleasure. Usopp took notice of your discomfort almost instantly. "You okay, baby?" You quickly nodded in response, fearing that if you told him it hurt, he would retract. Unbeknownst to you however, he knew. He wasn't entirely ignorant to how sex worked, he knew it could be uncomfortable. In an effort to comfort you while you adjusted, he held perfectly still, peppering kisses all over your face and whispering sweet nothings to get you through. "Doing so good baby, it's okay. Promise I'm gonna take real good care of you."

You shuddered with eyes screwed shut, concentrating on all your senses, in an effort to quail the pain. You inhaled his natural scent, and reached up your fingers to delicately tangle into his coils, as a means of grounding yourself. Once your mind was calmer, you began to feel an emptiness that only he could fill, the agony slowly diminishing. "I-I'm ready." you whispered, lashes fluttering apart, allowing you to gaze up at him, only to find him already staring back, a loving sick glaze coating his chocolatey eyes.

Usopp held you firmly by the hips as he eased himself out, ever so slightly, and then back in fully, his pelvis flush with yours. He held you this way for a moment before repeating cautiously. From the way he treated you, had you been in the state of mind to notice, you would've thought he may have been afraid to hold you with anything but the utmost care. If not, you might break into a million pieces, like the porcelain doll that you were to him. Though he knew better, from the many times he'd seen you hold your own against an enemy whom you had no business squaring up to, in Usopp's eyes- especially now, you were dainty and fragile. No thing that was more than that could possibly be so vulnerable under his ministrations.

He studied your every breath, deciphering it as if it were an ancient rune. Was that labored breath an indicator of your discomfort, or a stifled whimper? All he could do was promise himself that you stop him, should you become uncomfortable, or that the signs would be obvious and he'd catch on quickly. He hadn't noticed it, though his intense focus, but his pace had lulled to a near stop, and you'd begun to worry that he wasn't deriving near as much enjoyment from this as you were. "Usopp...?"

"Yes, baby?" he asked sweetly, trying his best to mask his fear of you asking him to stop.

"Are you okay?" you checked, still bashful from the sensation of being full of him, even if he was deadly still.

"Yeah," he breathed back. "Guess I'm just a little nervous. I just don't want to hurt you."

Your worried expression softened into a gentle smile. "You won't," you reassured. "I can handle a lot." It took him a moment to truly understand what you meant, after which, inflammation spread across his cheeks and ears. "You don't have to be so soft, ya know?" He wordlessly acknowledged what you'd said, leaning down to peck your lips, pressing himself deeper inside you in the process. You get go of a guttural sigh, instantly tossing your head back, breaking away from his lips.

Confidence renewed, Usopp tried to replicate whatever he'd just down, pumping in and out of you at a more steady speed than before. This new sensation overwhelmed you, in the best of ways. You face tingled and your brows knitted together subconsciously as you whined for him with heavy breathing. "You like that, baby?" he huffed, also finding this new pleasure to be putting him under a spell. You nodded nonverbally, your vocal chords busy with singing your pitiful songs. "Tell me 'bout it, baby." he urged as he pace naturally progressed, almost too smoothly for either of your to notice.

"Love it, 'Sopp." you sighed. "Feels so fucking good."

Lost in the moment, he growled at your praises. "God, I love it when you say my name." he confessed, having trouble resisting the urge to pound you into the tile. "Sounds so fucking pretty."

"Usopp," you moaned, a bit more dramatically then you needed to, hoping to tease him with what little control you had. Obviously from the way his mocha orbs darkened, it was effective as his hands abandoned the dough of your hips to find yours, fingers intimately interlocking. He held you pinned to the slippery floor of the washroom as his thrusts became more impactful, maintaining the same painfully steady pace. "Faster baby, please." you sighed, desperate to feel him fully take you with all his force.

'"Not if you're gonna tease me," he chuckled breathlessly. "If you won't be good, you'll have to earn it." This humiliation was bliss as you writhed under his high self esteem, only feeding into it more. Suddenly, he halted, pausing his movements all together, creating an almost agonizing disappointment between your legs. "Show me how good you can be," he cooed. "Fuck yourself on my cock, baby girl." You mewled at his words and the chills they sent down your spine as your struggled to horizontally pleasure yourself against him, getting nearly no results. "Need some help?" he condescended, grinning down at you. You nodded shyly, tossing your head to the side to save yourself a sliver of dignity. "Just tell me you'll be good and I'll finish you off." he reassured, looming over you, while running a calloused palm down your stomach.

"P-please fuck me, Usopp." you stammered, barely audibly. "I'll be good, I promise."

"That's what I like to hear." he laughed, his free hand once again clasping yours as he went in with nearly all the speed he could muster, reducing your brain to mush. Usopp smiled lovingly down at you when he noticed your state, drool dribbling down the side of your cheek and eyes rolled back. You looked so cute like this, he wished he could take a picture. Perhaps another time.

Your body had already taken far too much damage for you to hold out much longer, and shortly after he'd begun again, you could feel particularly strong waves crashing on your shores. You yearned so badly to be able to glance up at him, and looking into his eyes when you inevitably came undone, but your ability to pry your eyes open had long since been revoked. If you had been able to see him, however, you would have reveled in the sight of him, falling apart at the seams, shallow, labored breaths falling over kiss swollen lips. His head was dipped in exhaustion, all his stamina reserved in his hips, and none left to maintain any resemblance of posture. Your name spilled out of him in the form of ghostly praises and curses as his brows knitted together as his expression came to mirror his one from earlier, submissive and needed.

"Fuck," he whined. "Don't cum, don't cum, don't cum," he chanted, as if he could will himself of come down from his impending high. He had no concept of how long the two of you had been together, but there was no way he could allow this to end yet.

Your skin felt like static as you listened to his lewd prayers, and a terrible idea popped into your head. If he wasn't going to fill you up on his own accord, you'd just have to milk it out of him. Still huffing, with barely any energy left, and with your own orgasm mere moments away, you clenched your walls around his cock, adoring the sounds he choked out as a result. "Stop it," he moaned. "You're gonna- ah damnit." he tried, only to have you repeat your actions, finally giving way to the results you wanted.

Usopp came to a pitiful end, all the confidence he'd once held for pinning you stripped away with the loveliest sting of curses you'd ever heard with your name being final bead. As his precision faltered, the sensation of his essence dripping out of you, coupled with the last few sloppy thrusts he could muster did you in, and you screamed out for him, his name echoing off the tiled walls.

Your lover collapsed against you, struggling to find his breath after achieving his first climax with a partner as he collected you in his arms, clinging to whatever plush bits of you his fingers could find. "That was...mind blowing." he admitted. "You were- just perfect."

You giggled sleepily, freeing a hand from his vice of an embrace to tangle into his hair, scratching his scalp lovingly. "Thank you. You weren't too bad yourself, for a rookie."

"Yeah well," he chuckled, his voice cracked from over use and exhaustion. "You bet your sweet ass we're gonna be doin' a lot of practicing from now on."

Note: I don't think a single fic has taken me longer to write (when I was continuously working on it). This has taken me about 8 hours across four days to complete, and I'm so proud of it! I know so many people asked for this and I was glad to oblige. Please like, reblog, and reply! I read all of your replies and reblog notes and they always absolutely make my day!

#one piece smut #usopp smut #god usopp #usopp #usopp x reader #usopp x y/n #usopp x you #usopp x reader lemon #usopp x reader smut #one piece x reader

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